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Cyrus nodded. “Makes sense to learn more about McKenna.”

She’d been planning the exact same thing after coming up short at the bell tower. “Their farm is north of the town—not too far, really.”

Cyrus leaned over, bracing his hands on the bar top. “You know, it would make more sense if we went together.”

Evelyn shook her head and took a sip of honeysuckle wine, the faint sweetness coating her tongue. “I already told you; I work better alone.”

The lie was more difficult the second time. During Evelyn’s time back home, she had worked primarily alone, but not because she was better that way. She’d been training as Daughter of the Goddess, betrothed to Son of the God. It didn’t make sense to waste time working with others in the Guard when she’d eventually leave. The irony of it was not lost on Evelyn. She had left in the end, just not as everyone had intended.

Cyrus looked unconvinced but changed the subject. “You checked the bell tower today?”

Evelyn nodded. “Didn’t find much, but I don’t think McKenna was killed there.”

Cyrus raised a brow. “I came to the same conclusion myself.”

Evelyn shook her head. “It doesn’t make any sense. It’s as if . . . as if the killer, the vampyr, left the body for everyone to see.”

“Or to show it off,” he said, his tone bitter.

Vampyrs were cruel, ruthless creatures. They destroyed, tore bodies apart. Never had Evelyn seen a body left in the way McKenna’s had been.

“Again, it doesn’t make any sense.”

Cyrus sighed. “No, it doesn’t.” He remained braced at the bar, golden-brown waves falling over his face. The ends in the back curled slightly, and Evelyn suddenly wanted to run her hands through them. “Why are you doing it?” he asked.

“Doing what?”

“The job.”

Evelyn mused over the question. To protect those in Callum, but she couldn’t tell him that. No. She couldn’t allow anything related to the Daughter of the Goddess to come to light. Even something so slight as revealing her knowledge of vampyr had put her at enough risk.

“Pay,” she said. “I need the money.”

Say little. At least she’d told the truth, too. She’d already sold the last of her moonstones, and the money she’d made as a barmaid wouldn’t last long. She took a long gulp of honeysuckle wine, sweet and floral.

Again, Cyrus appeared unconvinced. “The vampyr will kill again. They need to feed every three days. The sooner the vampyr is killed, the sooner the town is safe again.”

True. Evelyn had been able to recite the blood-feeding habits of vampyrs at the age of seven to her tutors. Yet, Cyrus brought up a good point. She needed to find the vampyr sooner rather than later, which meant working with Cyrus was the right thing to do.

“All right,” she said.

Cyrus lifted off the bar top, a sly smirk spreading over his handsome face. He crossed his arms, and Evelyn wished he hadn’t, fearful his flexing muscles might rip the fabric of his tunic into shreds.

“All right what?” he asked.

Fucking flames.

“I’ll work with you. If you’re going to the McCarthys’ farm tomorrow, I want to go with you.”

He nodded. “Deal. I can get us there quicker than on foot. Partners, then?”

Evelyn’s heart hammered in her chest. She hadn’t fought a vampyr in so long, let alone worked with someone. The prospect frightened and excited her, and it had nothing to do with the huntsman and those eyes of his.

She could help Callum. Solve McKenna’s murder. Kill the vampyr. Then leave.

“Partners,” she said with a nod, determination she hadn’t felt in a long time swelling inside her.

Chapter Eight