Page 2 of Glimmer and Burn (Unity #1)

His smile was pure sin, and the slight tilt to his head was the only acknowledgment of her tone. “I’m not certain, love. What sort of game were you hoping to play?”

Game? She glanced around her, getting her bearings again. He hadn’t used the agreed upon signal phrase, which meant he was just some charming scoundrel showing interest because her dress was low cut. Her ability to hide her annoyance began to wane.

“Actually, I’m waiting for someone,” she replied, no longer hiding the bite from her tone.

She should be more diplomatic in her response, angering the wrong sort could cause an incident.

But Miranda had always done poorly in etiquette class and hiding her emotions was not so easily done.

She did, however, refrain from adding a snarky ‘now leave me alone’ to her statement.

“Is that right?” he said, all easy grace and nonchalance.

Except that every fiber of her being was humming.

Maybe it was the club affecting her, what she had seen in the other room, but she did wish he was ugly.

His jaw showed a hint of stubble, raven hair cut so that it just covered his ears yet was roguishly styled, and his blue eyes lured her like a song until she might forget why she was here.

He radiated all the wrong sort of energy that screamed ‘danger’ and ‘trouble’ but whispered ‘you’d like it.

’ It was a hard combination to ignore. If she were not on such important business, it might be fun to show him exactly who he was attempting to seduce.

Knock that smile off his face and give him some genuine shock if she oh so easily kicked his legs out from under him.

No. Miranda tore her gaze away, determined to keep her wits. She refused to smile, he’d only mistake that for encouragement.

“Evening,” another voice said, from behind her, deep and gravelly. A second man approached her table and offered a quick sort of smile before continuing, “Is it whist or poker? Cause I’ve a mind for backgammon.” He tipped the edge of his peaked cap.

Miranda froze. The signal. Then she took a quick, deep breath.

Though her bearings were shaken, she could still recover.

She had to recover. She wished with all her energy the handsome distraction would leave and not continue to make this harder.

As amusing as it would be to throw him on his ass, she did not want to make a scene and scare away her only chance at saving her sister.

Instead of leaving, the Handsome Distraction seemed cheerful.

“Wonderful, backgammon it is.” He pulled out the chair next to her, and she caught a scent that made her head spin before it was overpowered by alcohol.

Was he drunk? She was too green to really tell and he seemed to hide it well.

No slurring. But why was he sitting down with her?

“Excuse me, this is a private—” She began to protest, but the informant interrupted.

“Drake stays. At my request.” His words were final, spoken with the ease of authority of someone who wielded great power.

Her pulse spiked, she had a plan and now he was changing it. She considered that they intended to jump her and take her money, her prize merely a lie to lure a gullible noble from the safety of the Garrison.

She could take one of them, but two? And if they were not entirely human, as she suspected, then even one would be difficult.

She adjusted her posture and chair, disguising the movements as unease, but she was tensed to retreat.

There was a path to the door with a few chairs pushed out, but no patrons to get in her way.

Hopping a table would be no challenge, to get something solid between her and them.

Her informant sat opposite her. He was good-looking in his own way, a more haunted and dangerous sort of way.

He wore simple clothes made of rougher fabrics, though he exuded control and power.

If the handsome stranger had disoriented her, this one had her on edge.

He appeared entirely human except that his eyes were black and gold, with no trace of white.

He was a grimm, the hybrid child of a demon.

Guardian’s shared blood with the Divine, but grimm shared the blood of the Infernal, deity of destruction and chaos.

There was not nearly enough known about grimm, but the stories, whether fantasy or truth, were the stuff of children’s nightmares.

The informant’s gaze shifted easily between her and the handsome stranger, Drake—whose body language suggested he was as thrown as herself.

That was promising, it suggested they weren’t working together.

The informant slouched casually in his chair, pulling out a pack of cigarettes which he tapped in a slow pattern on the table before speaking.

His manner as easy as if he were relaxing on a beach.

It had to be intentional. He knew he changed the game having them both here and he didn’t care.

“So,” he started as he popped a cigarette free and lit it, “I’ve found myself in the most interesting of situations where the noble daughter of a prominent guardian family and the recently- restored bastard half-blood son of a noble have a shared interest in information I possess.”

Miranda’s nose flared as she cast a look next to her, glad to see the devil-may-care look had disappeared from Drake’s face. His features were stern, jaw clenching as he stared down the informant.

“I know you, too,” Drake said, his voice less lyrical than before, deeper and filled with warning. “Thaddeus Wraith.”

Miranda blinked. It couldn’t be…

Wraith responded with a small smile, more a quirk of the lips, and took a hit from the cigarette.

“Very good, Lord Drake. And it’s Teddy, please, I’m not as scary as the papers make it seem, yeah?

But my identity isn’t the problem here, is it?

” He didn’t pause long enough for a response.

“Now. I’ve something the two of you want and that’s got me thinking. How valuable is it to you?”

“You promised that information,” Miranda interjected more forcefully than intended and she was proud of herself for not backing down when Wraith’s molten eyes focused on her. “I brought the agreed upon amount,” she pressed.

Wraith was infamous throughout the city.

The leader of an organized crime ring that expanded throughout the whole of Unity.

He didn’t work in the city’s underground, he was the city’s underground.

Whispers about him often used the derogatory term ‘imp’ but until now she was never certain if that was because of his lineage or his preference for brutality that demons often shared.

“Yes, well, Miss Wilde, this is business,” Wraith stated, pausing to take another drag of the cigarette, “And in business, I favor the highest bidder. So who wants to place the first?”

This was not how it was supposed to happen.

She was not supposed to be in a bidding war, she already agreed to a price and she only had so much at her disposal.

But she was not going back empty handed.

She would win at any cost. Cheating and underhanded tactics were not off the table, which was a hard choice for a guardian, but Lord Drake made the choice for her the moment he appeared and ruined everything.

Devin Drake uncurled his fists. A second bidder was not what he and Wraith had agreed upon, but Devin was hardly surprised by the underhanded move.

Wraith was the unofficial leader of Demon Row. The Butcher of Barret. The Lord of Crime. It was rumored Wraith himself was a grimm, a fact now glaringly obvious.

The man’s eyes were otherworldly. The whites were entirely black with bright, almost glowing gold irises.

His body was draped like he were lounging in the safety of his home, smug and at ease.

Devin found it harder than most to trust demons, having served in the infamous Demon war.

Seeing their brutality first hand did not exactly endear him to their plight.

This was his club, damn it. Wraith was the outsider here. Devin had security everywhere, knew every secret corner, every brick. He was not about to go making the wrong sort of enemies, but he wasn’t going to be played with on his own property, either.

“This isn’t how we do business,” Devin said, keeping anger out of his voice.

Yes, he wanted what Wraith held. It was the first step to ending the revenge that had festered in him for the last sixteen years.

He had no clue what a noble woman would want with information about a corrupt alderman.

He didn’t care. For all her pretty face and pleasing assets, she was not what he was truly after tonight.

He intended to charm her into vacating this corner of the room so he could meet Wraith privately.

He hadn’t known she was to be his competition.

“Then we won’t do business.” Wraith shrugged before flicking his ash into the ashtray.

“It makes no difference to me, I’ve plenty of means to get money.

Your little vendettas against Yarrow Graves matter very little in the grand scheme of things.

” Wraith gestured with his cigarette before setting it in his mouth and taking a hit.

“So,” he let the smoke drift from his mouth, “what’ll it be?

Am I taking my business elsewhere? Time is money, I don’t much care for wasting it. ”