Of course, Ariyal was also the only man capable of smashing through her icy control and igniting the temper she had never realized she possessed.
She hastily thrust aside the disturbing thought.
“No,” she snapped with more force than necessary. “This is a job, nothing more.”
“Hmmm.” The fragile wings twitched as Levet stepped toward her, his gaze locked on the unconscious Ariyal. “Is he dead?”
“Of course not. He was hit by a spell.” As the explanation tumbled from her lips she felt a sudden surge of hope. Gargoyles were creatures of magic, weren’t they? “I don’t suppose you could wake him up?”
Levet waddled forward, sniffing at Ariyal’s feet, which nearly brushed the floor.
“It will soon wear off,” he assured her.
“Damn.” She adjusted him on her shoulder. “He weighs a ton.”
Levet tilted his head to the side. “You are taking him to the Oracles?”
“Eventually,” she offered vaguely, her gaze traveling toward the open door. Despite the darkness she could feel the relentless approach of dawn. “For now I need shelter.”
The gargoyle blinked in bewilderment. “Surely you must sense that there are tunnels beneath this house?”
She gave a sharp shake of her head. “The mage and the Sylvermyst have vanished for the moment, but I can’t risk lingering here.”
“Ah.” The gargoyle tapped a claw to his chin as he considered their options. “Victor has a lair not far from London.”
“Victor?”
“The clan chief of London,” Levet explained with a smug smile. “He is a close and personal friend of mine. I do not doubt he would be pleased to offer us shelter if I were to approach him.”
A close, personal friend? Jaelyn hid a smile. She was fairly certain that Victor would give a different story if asked.
Not that she intended to cross paths with the powerful clan chief.
“Actually, I prefer something more ...” She chose her words with care. “Discreet.”
Genuine concern touched his ugly little face. “Are you in trouble?”
She shrugged, glancing toward the Sylvermyst draped over her shoulder.
“I just don’t want to answer unnecessary questions.”
“I ... see.”
“Do you know a place where I can disappear for a few hours?”
Levet hesitated before heaving a reluctant sigh. “There used to be a blood pit near Fleet Street, but I do not suggest it.”
She ignored his warning. Granted the usual blood pits were filthy, underground clubs where demons could buy whatever they desired: sex, drugs, and of course, willing blood hosts. But, they also rented rooms with the strict policy of don’t ask, don’t tell.
“It sounds perfect,” she assured him.
“It is not really a suitable place for such a beautiful woman.”
“I’m not a woman, I’m a Hunter.”
Levet’s eyes widened even as a mysterious smile curved his lips.
“You may call yourself whatever you please, ma enfant, but I can assure you that you are very much a woman.”