Unknotted

Gathering another tray of drinks, I followed Peth out of the kitchens to the lowest deck where there was a docking station. A small speed boat had pulled up and trolls had tied it to the dock. Three hybrids were filing off, dominance permeating the air. My dominance was howling. I clenched my teeth together to keep a roar of challenge trapped as Whiskers and his companions relinquished weapons and strode my way.

Peth bumped my elbow, making me nearly drop the tray of drinks. “See?” she smirked. “Fate.”

My whole body went rigid as he neared. Somehow, he seemed even taller in the daylight, his strides more confident. That blasted warmth in my gut ignited at the way his suit highlighted his broad shoulders and narrow hips.

“Did you hit him?” Peth accused softly, narrowing her eyes.

I didn’t remember doing so, but most of what had happened bled together into a muddy nightmare. I must have landed at least a few blows, or someone else had. One of his deep blue eyes was swollen shut, a colorful bruise covering half of his face.

“I didn’t do that,” I whispered back. The magic tugged on me a little, growing a bud of sympathy. I crushed it before it could blossom.

Peth stepped in front of me, blocking me from Whiskers’s view, and held out her tray. The tall, dark hybrid with the different colored eyes, the one we gave the code name “Stones,” breezed past her without acknowledging us.

The second hybrid, the one with a bright smile and friendly eyes, we had dubbed “Sparkles.” Like his companions, he was dressed in a suit. A very well-tailored, expensive suit that played perfectly with the color of his gray-blue eyes. He took the offered drink from Peth and gave her a smile that pushed her into giggles.

“Pull yourself together,” I mumbled.

“You should have knotted yourself to that hybrid.”

The last up the ramp was my nemesis. I slid farther behind Peth, my heart palpitating in time with the pulse of magic around me. I swore it was whispering words I couldn’t make out. Words I wasn’t willing to listen to.

“Drink?” Peth offered him.

He tried to smile and winced at the effort. Why hadn’t he healed himself during the last tide? His bruises were a few hours old at least. “No. Thank you, though.” He continued after his companions.

“Are we sure that’s the same guy from last night?” Peth tilted her head to the side as she studied him, or rather, his backside. “He seems so nice.”

“That’s him,” I growled, unable to deny how the magic was twisting about me and stretching toward him. “That’s Whiskers.”

As if he felt us talking about him, or perhaps the magic was harassing him too, he paused at the top of the ramp and peered back. I quickly dragged my eyes away and headed in the direction of the next boat pulling in.

Peth placed her last drink on my tray. “I’ll keep an eye on them.” Then she strode after them, her heels clicking against the metal ramp.

The trolls manning the docks caught a rope from the speed boat and dragged it flush against the docks, tying it off. I was trying to shake off the magic’s whispering when I realized who was leaping off the boat. The hybrid was on the smaller side. He slinked more than he walked across the dock. Dark curls hung in his dark eyes over thick brows. He had a hard jawline covered in a short-trimmed beard. Grudgingly, he handed over half a dozen weapons to the trolls.

Turning away from the trolls, he smirked. The sneaky gecko likely had a few more hidden weapons on his person. My mouth was too dry to speak as he approached. Which was fine. What would I say to Travers Mecarde, the son of the ultra of Ruani, anyway? For some reason, it didn’t seem like the time or place to say, “Hey, your father runs the most corrupt territory on Cenzia and you should suck eggs for it.”

He grabbed a glass from my tray, downed it in two swallows, and set it back. Was he just nervous or had he developed a drinking problem since I last saw him? He was going to be wholly disappoint if he had. There was no alcohol allowed at this meeting—order of Caspella, herself.

Travers trudged up the stairs without a word. If he had known who I really was, what would he have said or done? I would put money on him trying to kill me.

There were a lot of people who wished me dead. And while I didn’t care to die at the moment, I couldn’t stifle the pride it brought to know corrupt people cared enough about me to want me dead. In its own way, that was an empowering thought.

“Enchanters,” one of the trolls grumbled to his companion. “Always late. Always have to make an entrance.”

Fantastic. Waiting. The least fun part of missions. Yet it always took up the majority of time. Had the other parts not been so thrilling, I would have considered retiring. I set the tray down on a stool and stretched.

“Georgie. Keadanian heading your way again,” Peth whispered through the earpiece.

Her warning came as another boat, this one larger than the others, was pulling up to the docks. I adjusted the tray and positioned myself to offer drinks to the arrivals. Two faces from the previous night came into view: the poachers, Wanddy and Harhort.

I licked my lips, suddenly nervous. Or eager to kill—I couldn’t decide which.

Standing at the bow of the boat, Harhort held his hands aloft and smiled. “Ah, friend. So good to see you again.”

Coming down the ramp, tucking his phone into his coat pocket, was Stones. Huh? I was expecting Whiskers. Stones was practically vibrating, his eyes lowered. Lowering one’s eyes sucked for a dominant. What option did Stones have though? Challenging an enchanter to a staring contest while the tide was in was a guaranteed loss.

“I can’t say the same,” Stones grumbled, breezing past me.

“Don’t be like that,” Harhort said in a mock pout, crossing his arms on the rail. “I thought we had become pals over these last few years.”

“You’re sorely mistaken.” Stones cast a look over his shoulder, his brows pinched, concerned someone might be watching him conversing with Harhort. Hm… Did that mean his companions didn’t know he was down here?

He seemed to come to the conclusion that no one was. Because, of course, none of the trolls around him were worth noting. He boarded the enchanters’ boat.

“We will have to make this short. I have a lead on an interesting artifact that I would hate to let slip from my fingers.” Harhort opened a door to the room below deck.

“Fine with me,” Stones grumbled. “Let’s get this over with. The shipment will be delivered as we discussed. I will bring—”

Blasted doors and their blasted ability to hide information. They always seemed to close just before the bad guy gave up the meaty details of his nefarious plan. Fine, I would just have to find a way to convince Stones to give me the information I needed about this “shipment.”