seemed…not sure that Bale should take on such a task.”
“My cousin questions everything that’s not his idea, even from our reyex,” Torch said. “You must’ve noticed that by now.” From the way Piper pursed her lips, he knew she had. “Anyway,” he continued, “we have our own tasks. You”—he pointed at Piper—“are going to meet Rave in his lab. He thinks he may have isolated the substance in Anjali’s black oil dragon trap that paralyzed me. He wants you to confirm the contaminant.”
Anjali grumbled under her breath, “It wasn’t my trap.” When he arched his eyebrows at her, she shrugged. “Although I did throw it at you.”
“You threw it at Rave,” he reminded her, “and hit me. But you’ll have a chance to make up for your terrible minion-ing. Because you are going to turn me over to Ashcraft.”
Chapter 10
Both females stared at him like he was insane.
Torch thought he could get used to the look.
“You can’t do this,” Piper said. But he left her on the elevator heading down to Rave and dragged Anjali out when they stopped at the casino level. Piper stared daggers at him as the elevator doors closed, but she could take it out on his cousin.
Meanwhile, Anjali was staring flamethrowers at him. “You can’t do this.”
He tilted his head. “Is there an echo?”
“Only back and forth in the empty space between your ears,” she snapped. “Why’d you fight me so hard if you’re just going to give in to the ash-hole?”
“We’re not giving in,” Torch said. “We’re tricking. Some might say cheating. I learned about it in Vegas once.”
He strode through the casino atrium. Despite the vast open space with plenty of room, Anjali clung to his side.
“Explain,” she demanded.
“It was your idea, actually. Give Ashcraft tainted ichor and let him choke on it.”
Her gaze shuttled nervously from side to side, as if someone might be listening. “But your ichor isn’t contaminated.”
“Yet.” He led her through the foyer with its faux cave décor. Like Bale’s jail except with more bling.
She blinked as they emerged outside into the hazy day. Thin clouds flattened the light, but she was a bright splash of color in her boutique finery.
The circular drive in front of the Keep was busy—it was always busy—but a valet standing at attention waved.
“This way.” Torch put his hand at the small of Anjali’s back.
She balked. “We’re confronting Ashcraft now?”
“Not quite yet,” he said. “Just going for a ride.”
She dragged her heels a little but picked up her feet when she saw the bike next to the valet, who held out a black leather jacket and two helmets.
“Thank you, James,” Torch said as he took the jacket.
“Good day to be flying through those curves, sir.”
“Always.” He tucked Anjali into the jacket. It was too big but it would do until he got her one of her own.
He choked that thought.
Apparently something of it showed on his face, though, because her hazel eyes narrowed. “What are you—?”
He plunked the helmet on her head. While she sputtered, he tightened the chin strap. Not quite tight enough to ensure she couldn’t bite, but with the padding of her dreadlocks, it fit perfectly.
He put on his own helmet and straddled the bike.
She opened her mouth and he revved the engine.
Her jaw cranked from one side to the other.
But of course she got on.
The vintage Indian was a beast in its own right. It roared as he spun out of the drive, under the Keep’s portcullis, and toward the highway. She was obviously no novice to riding pillion. Her grip around his waist was snug but not nervously so, her forearms resting easily on the points of his hipbones.
The clamp of her thighs was a little tighter but he suspected she was doing that to punish him for his presumption.
When they left the city traffic behind, he opened it up. The Indian raced its own reflection in the puddles from the previous night’s storm, the engine
“My cousin questions everything that’s not his idea, even from our reyex,” Torch said. “You must’ve noticed that by now.” From the way Piper pursed her lips, he knew she had. “Anyway,” he continued, “we have our own tasks. You”—he pointed at Piper—“are going to meet Rave in his lab. He thinks he may have isolated the substance in Anjali’s black oil dragon trap that paralyzed me. He wants you to confirm the contaminant.”
Anjali grumbled under her breath, “It wasn’t my trap.” When he arched his eyebrows at her, she shrugged. “Although I did throw it at you.”
“You threw it at Rave,” he reminded her, “and hit me. But you’ll have a chance to make up for your terrible minion-ing. Because you are going to turn me over to Ashcraft.”
Chapter 10
Both females stared at him like he was insane.
Torch thought he could get used to the look.
“You can’t do this,” Piper said. But he left her on the elevator heading down to Rave and dragged Anjali out when they stopped at the casino level. Piper stared daggers at him as the elevator doors closed, but she could take it out on his cousin.
Meanwhile, Anjali was staring flamethrowers at him. “You can’t do this.”
He tilted his head. “Is there an echo?”
“Only back and forth in the empty space between your ears,” she snapped. “Why’d you fight me so hard if you’re just going to give in to the ash-hole?”
“We’re not giving in,” Torch said. “We’re tricking. Some might say cheating. I learned about it in Vegas once.”
He strode through the casino atrium. Despite the vast open space with plenty of room, Anjali clung to his side.
“Explain,” she demanded.
“It was your idea, actually. Give Ashcraft tainted ichor and let him choke on it.”
Her gaze shuttled nervously from side to side, as if someone might be listening. “But your ichor isn’t contaminated.”
“Yet.” He led her through the foyer with its faux cave décor. Like Bale’s jail except with more bling.
She blinked as they emerged outside into the hazy day. Thin clouds flattened the light, but she was a bright splash of color in her boutique finery.
The circular drive in front of the Keep was busy—it was always busy—but a valet standing at attention waved.
“This way.” Torch put his hand at the small of Anjali’s back.
She balked. “We’re confronting Ashcraft now?”
“Not quite yet,” he said. “Just going for a ride.”
She dragged her heels a little but picked up her feet when she saw the bike next to the valet, who held out a black leather jacket and two helmets.
“Thank you, James,” Torch said as he took the jacket.
“Good day to be flying through those curves, sir.”
“Always.” He tucked Anjali into the jacket. It was too big but it would do until he got her one of her own.
He choked that thought.
Apparently something of it showed on his face, though, because her hazel eyes narrowed. “What are you—?”
He plunked the helmet on her head. While she sputtered, he tightened the chin strap. Not quite tight enough to ensure she couldn’t bite, but with the padding of her dreadlocks, it fit perfectly.
He put on his own helmet and straddled the bike.
She opened her mouth and he revved the engine.
Her jaw cranked from one side to the other.
But of course she got on.
The vintage Indian was a beast in its own right. It roared as he spun out of the drive, under the Keep’s portcullis, and toward the highway. She was obviously no novice to riding pillion. Her grip around his waist was snug but not nervously so, her forearms resting easily on the points of his hipbones.
The clamp of her thighs was a little tighter but he suspected she was doing that to punish him for his presumption.
When they left the city traffic behind, he opened it up. The Indian raced its own reflection in the puddles from the previous night’s storm, the engine
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