Page 68 of The Devil May Care

“Varo. Platinum hair, cropped close. His silence weighs more than words. His blade is steady, deliberate.”

I snort. “Doberman. All sleek menace, thinks he’s too good for the rest of us.” That earns me a sharper look. Not angry, but like I’ve said something sideways he’s tucking away. Interesting.

“Elira Voss. Ash hair streaked violet. Ink-stained hands. Clever, restless.”

“Border Collie,” I answer. “Too smart for their own good. Always needs a job or they get destructive.”

“Nyxen Vale. Neither man or woman. Slender, masked, shrouded in smoke. Silent.”

“Saluki. Ghost hound. Elegant, unsettling, gone the moment you blink.”

We work our way through the list of contenders, Caz handing me the details I need to pair name to face. Thyraen with molten eyes is a Cane Corso. Caelthar with his gold-ringed ears? Old English Bulldog.Malrik the polished tactician and one of the Elder’s nephew is a standard poodle, not because of his hair but his attention to detail. Zyreus the dancer is an Afghan Hound, Dravenis the overeager teenager with the floppy curls is a Jack Russell. There’s also Rhovan the brooding wall. He’s a Rottweiler, Sevrik with his cruel smirk is a Shiba Inu, and Kaelen the patient towering shadow reminds me of an Irish Wolfhound.

By the time I finish, the silence is thick. Caz’s watching me again, but not like a prince judging a contender. More like a man trying to fit a new piece into the puzzle.

“You compare them all to animals,” he says at last. His tone isn’t sharp. It’s almost… intrigued.

I shrug, tracing the edge of the book between us. “It helps me remember. I’m better with animals than people. I’m a vet tech—back home, an assistant to someone who heals animals. I worked with them every day. It’s kind of a habit. Celebrities, coworkers, random people on the bus—I’d match them to dogs. Or cats. Or whatever fit. It sticks.”

His gaze deepens, ember-dark and steady. “So you see us this way. Through creatures.”

“Yeah.” My voice is softer now, but steady. “Animals don’t lie about what they are. People do.”

His expression flickers again—something like respect, maybe. And when he turns a page toward me, his hand brushes mine in the motion. Warm. Calloused. Not an accident. The contact lingers a breath longer than it should, enough to send sparks rushing through my chest.

“And me?”

I blink. “What?”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “You match them all. What am I, then?”

The question is sharper than it should be, like he’s daring me.

“Doberman. Tall, sharp, a little terrifying, way too disciplined for your own good.” I blurt the words without thought. For half a heartbeat, I think I see it—the smallest twitch of his mouth. Then it’s gone. He turns the page like I didn’t answer at all. But the weight of the question lingers. He wanted to know.

“Do I also think I’m too good for the rest of you?”

Does he what? I almost miss the fact that it’s my own words being offered back to me.

“So it’s not a perfect science.” I roll my eyes. Changing the subject iseasier than answering his question. Because yes, kinda I do get the impression Caziel holds himself apart, but I don’t think it’s because he looks down on others. There’s some rift there. Some deep darkness pulsing at the center of his being. Not malicious, but pitch black. A crucible that helped shape the man he is. I recognize it from the same roiling mass of pain and longing that built me up. The same inky void that held me together when my world was fracturing around me.

“What are you reading?” I ask, shamelessly changing the subject.

“An account of the Ember Maw border collapse from two decades ago.” He lifts the book slightly clearly willing to take my lead.

I blink. “That’s not recreational.”

“No.”

“Light reading before bed?”

“There were casualties.”

Right.

He turns a page, slow and steady.

“The borders aren’t secure,” he says. “There are incursions near the southern cliffs. Villages have gone dark. Patrols vanished.”