The Leviathan swallowed profoundly and leaned forward, lips puckered as if he wanted nothing more than to French kiss the living hell out of my Mate.
I gripped Hugo’s shoulders to pull him away, darting into the VIP area, I shouted a quick thank you over my shoulder before the Envy Demon could stop us.
“You've been practicing,” I noted proudly. My chest heaved, and my eyes sparkled with the residual effects of his magic.
Hugo smiled weakly. “A certain person told me that only young Incubi had so little control.”
“I’m sorry.” My smile slid away. “I wanted to hurt you because I was hurting. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“I needed to hear it,” Hugo said as he reached out with tentative hands, and pulled me into his embrace. My head fit between his pectoral muscles perfectly. He smelt like expensive cologne and magic.
“I’m still sorry.” My voice was muffled against his chest.
After a second, Hugo let go. I lamented the loss and turned to the subdued VIP section. The walls were polished dark wood paneling, the opposite of the horrendous decor that swathed the floor below. Soft and delicate music weaved through the sparse chatting crowd. Cigar smoke and wind chimes. An odd combination.
“Who are we looking for?” I leaned over and gripped Hugo's bicep as I surveyed the crowd. I recognized a few faces from my covert wanderings, but they would not have known who I was.
“Ryn Cole,” Hugo said out of the corner of his mouth. I groaned. “Do you know who that is?”
I quirked a brow and gave him a look that screamed, 'are you serious?’
“I was raised human,” Hugo spoke so quietly that he barely moved his mouth. “Help me out here.”
I turned away from the crowd and tugged the incubus to the dark corner, nestled between the empty chesterfield and a dusty bookshelf.
“Is he over there?” Hugo asked, craning his neck to look past my shoulder. My curly hair smacked him in the face as I whipped around and glanced at the room.
“Brown hair, in a low ponytail. Drinking scotch by the fire.” I tilted my jaw in the direction of the man.
“And?” Hugo whispered.
“Ryn Cole is Mammon's, the King of Greed's Second in Command,” I said in a deep breath. “He’s dragon-blooded.”
“He’s a dragon?” Hugo hissed.
“No. He's a Fae. Enslaved. Cursed by dragons, the original Kings of Greed. That ownership and curse passed down to Mammon when the dragons left Hell.”
“How do you know all this stuff?”
“Basic Cyclian history.” I shrugged.
“How do we get his attention?”
“Greed likes unique things. Ryn hunts rare items for King Mammon. Did you bring anything?”
“Yes. Let me just get this one of a kind Fabergé egg out of my pocket.” Hugo remarked dryly.
I snapped my fingers. “Love it. Love the sarcasm. Love the energy here.” I said, genuinely. “Maybe, let’s think outside the box instead of shitting on it, okay?”
Hugo had the decency to blush, chastised.
“I can’t think of anything.” He bit his lip before his eyes widened. “Wait! You're a Drude.”
“Yes.” I rolled my eyes. “A Drude is not a rare item. We're...” My mouth slammed shut. I had forgotten my pain for a brief second. Being around Hugo had led to the longest time without thinking about my family since they had died. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
“You're the last one left.” Hugo finished the sentence. His eyes were soft. “Rare.” He raised his hand and cupped my cheek. Staring down at me like I was the beginning, middle, and end of his world.
“How do we get his attention?” I asked.
Hugo's eyes darted around the room. “Leave that to me.”
Ten minutes later, Ryn Cole remained by the fire. Hugo and I had not moved from the shadow of the bookshelf, but every other person in the room had been stripped of their inhibitions (and clothing) and decided to partake in an orgy.
The floor was a carpet of writhing bodies. Demons, Fae, and the occasional human.
I grabbed Hugo's hand and stepped over two stunning men who were discovering each other, and continued until we had taken a seat the abandoned couch opposite the Fae.
Ryn Cole swirled his drink and stared into the fire. He stayed like that for a long time before he pulled his attention away from the roaring flames. The Dragon-blood’s face was impassive as his gaze swept across the orgy and then settled on mine. He took a leisurely sip of his scotch. Unconcerned.
“Mr Cole—” Hugo leaned forward, but Cole put his hand up to stop him. The Fae finished his scotch and placed the tumbler down on a coaster.
Cole shifted in his seat, folding his hands over his lap. “A unique way to ask for an audience.” His voice was a dangerous purr.
Hugo cleared his throat.
“I wasn't talking to you. Cambion.” Run Cole stated without emotion, not sparing Hugo a glance.
I smiled weakly and waved. “Hey.”
Ryn Cole's eyes were the only thing that moved.
“Drude.” Cole scoffed, turning back to the fire. “Such a shame. What happened to your kin. Did my floral wreath get lost in the mail?” Cole spoke with a strange accent. A mixture of British and American, with dropped syllables.
“I heard that King Mammon did not join the fight against the Bhakshi and the Shayati.” My voice was hard. “Your King hides behind treasure, but will not rise to save his home.”
Ryn laughed. “A strange way to ask for a boon. To insult my King and bait me.”
“Everyone knows you hate your King,” I winked.
“Except, perhaps the King of Greed.” Ryn smiled sadly, his eyes did not leave the fire. The flames were reflected in his gaze.
I stayed silent, the occasional pop of the burning wood, and the low husky moans of the copulating people behind us were the only sounds.
“Ask your questions,” Ryn said gravely.
It took a second for the words to sink in.
“There is a symbol, burnt into the wall behind your club,” Hugo said. “When did you first notice it?”
Ryn narrowed his eyes. “Three months ago.”
“Do you have the security footage?” the incubus pressed.
“Gone.” Ryn's lip twitched. “Your questions are rather tedious.”
I examined his words. Fae could not lie, so he was truthful. The issue was that we had to find the right questions to ask before his generosity ran out.
“Do you know who put the symbol there?” I asked.
“No.” Ryn licked his lip.
“Who do you suspect?” I reworded my question. He smirked, amused like a giant watching an ant.
“You might find this interesting, Hunter.” His eyes bored into Hugo's. “Mr. Davenport, your commander, arrived to collect his usual shipment of Devil's Silver bullets. Shortly afterward, the rune had been burnt into my wall. Just dreadful. Vandalism is just so petty, don’t you think?”
I didn’t answer his question.
“Was there anything odd about Davenport’s behavior?” Hugo asked, his voice somewhat strangled.
“Yes.”
“What was odd about his behavior?” Hugo clarified with a growl.
Ryn Cole was having too much fun playing with us. I could see it on his face. “Davenport placed the order over the phone, as usual, but changed his mind when he arrived. Instead of Devil’s Silver, he requested a shipment of Iron bullets, coated in Devil's Silver, and spelled to dissolve after impact.”
“Fae killers,” I whispered, staring down at the hands of my host.
“Verily.” Ryn Cole smirked.