It oozed from every pore.
“Are you a witch?”
She instinctively backed away, not halting until she hit a stack of hay bales.
“No.”
He moved until he was crowding her, his eyes narrowed as he sensed her lie.
“You have no magical abilities?”
“The charm of my personality.”
His slender fingers stroked down her throat. A subtle threat.
“Tell me.”
“I …” She halted. Gods, she’d gone as cowardly as a snallus demon. Reclaiming her spine, she shot him a furious glare. “I have a few skills, but I’m not a witch.”
“Explain.”
“Bossy. Arrogant. Ass.” “Laylah.”
Her hands curled into fists. Dammit. The vampire wasn’t going to let this go until he had an answer. Of course, there wasn’t a chance in hell she was going to give him the truth.
He might just decide she was worth more on the black market than he could get from the Commission.
“My foster mother was a witch, but she claimed the magic she could sense in me was dormant,” she bit out. “It didn’t matter how often I tried to conjure spells, I was hopeless.”
“So what is your magic?” he pressed, obviously convinced she was hiding some major magical mojo. If only.
“You’ve seen.” She shrugged. “I can manipulate nature …”
“No, those are the powers of a Jinn,” he ruthlessly overrode her. “What magic do you possess?”
Like a gift from heaven (or more likely hell) the doors to the barn were abruptly shoved open and a tiny gargoyle stepped into view, a frown on his ugly features as he glanced toward the hayloft.
“There you are.” His wings twitched, his tone petulant. “Really, ma cherie, I shall begin to suspect that you are attempting to avoid me.”
Ignoring Tane’s muttered opinion of interfering gargoyles and the pleasure of chopping them into tiny bits of stone, Laylah moved to jump from the hayloft, landing lightly in front of her savior.
“I promise, Levet, you’re not the one I’ve been trying to avoid.” She deliberately glanced toward Tane as he landed beside her, his expression grim.
The gargoyle grimaced. “Ah well, that is perfectly understandable.”
Sublimely indifferent to the insults, Tane circled behind the demon, peering out the door as if expecting to discover Levet had brought along a horde of ravaging zombies.
“Why are you here?” he demanded.
“Your fearless leader is concerned that he has not heard from his pet Charon.”
Seemingly convinced Levet had come alone, Tane turned to study the gargoyle with a disbelieving scowl.
“Styx sent you?”
Levet gave an airy wave of his hand. “In a manner of speaking.”
The honey eyes narrowed. “Did he send you or not?”