rang the doorbell multiple times.
She was no shifter, he would have scented that right away, and she didn’t exude any sort of ominous warning or aura. All in all, he decided, just a confused human.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Rakell sighed and pulled the door back open. “Yes?”
“I’m looking for Laura. Is she here? Who are you? Nobody told me you would be here.”
“I am Rakell. Who are you?” he rumbled, leaning out slightly in an imposing manner, trying to intimidate the woman into telling the truth, in cases he was predisposed toward lying.
“My name is Sam.”
Rakell waited, but no further answered seemed to be forthcoming. “Care to volunteer more?” he asked dryly.
“No.” She glared up at him through long lashes, hands on her hips.
“Very well then. Hello Sam. Goodbye Sam.” He went to close the door again, not planning on letting this mystery woman anywhere near Laura. Not until he knew more firmly who she was.
“Wait.” A foot jammed itself between the door and the frame, preventing him from closing it entirely.
He sighed, pulled the door open, lifting his eyebrows in an ominous invitation to say more, while making it clear that she had better give him worthwhile information this time.
“Kristin sent me over here to check in on Laura, since she couldn’t do it herself. Apparently she hurt herself last night?”
Rakell rumbled suspiciously. Nobody had told him about that. Then again, if Kristin had done it, she probably hadn’t told Blede. Just a friend ensuring another friend was okay. Maybe. Or maybe that’s what they wanted him to think.
“Laura is fine,” he rumbled. “I will ensure it stays that way. Thank you Sam.”
He tried to close the door, but this time Sam inserted her entire self into the opening.
“Not good enough,” Sam told him, glaring way up. “I’m going to need to see and talk to her. Nobody told me about you, so for all I know, you’re one of the bad guys. So back off. If I don’t report back in ten minutes, others will be coming, so I wouldn’t try anything.”
Impressed by the little mite’s feistiness, Rakell did just that. He backed off.
“It’s fine,” Laura said, appearing at last, though Rakell noted she hung well back from the door, not actually approaching it. “I know Sam. I met her when Kristin first tried to sell her shop. We’re…well, I trust her, okay? So let her in.”
Rakell nodded, backing away from the door entirely, though he kept his eyes on Sam, just in case.
“Hey,” Sam said as he watched. “Kristin sent me to check in on you. Make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine,” Laura said. “Tired. Little shaken up I guess. But overall, fine. I got her voicemail too, so if you talk to her soon, let her know I’ll get on with the sale as soon as I’m back in the office.”
“Okay, can do.” Sam paused, looking at Rakell expectantly.
“Yes?” he rumbled.
“He’s fine,” Laura said, answering the unspoken question. “A little overbearing, perhaps. Terrible jokes. But overall, he’s fine. Not a threat.”
Sam nodded. “Right. Of course. Still, can we have some time to talk privately, Mr. Muscles?”
Rakell frowned. He still didn’t know if he trusted this woman entirely. To leave her alone with Laura seemed rather foolish. Yet he suspected that if he protested, Laura would raise a stink.
Have to stay in her good books, so I can find out who told her about dragons.
“Very well,” he said. “But you stay in the house. If you leave, I will come after you. It won’t be pretty.”
Sam rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say Macho-Man,” she said patronizingly, reaching up and patting him on the shoulder before sauntering past deeper into the house.
Rakell stood still, trying to process how he’d just been taken down several pegs, while Laura snickered and followed after, looking back with one last glance at him that hid more emotions than he could decipher.
“I feel somewhat emasculated,” he said to nobody in particular.
His phone buzzed.
Excellent, a distraction.
Rakell pulled it out, sighing when he saw who the sender was.
“What the heck do you want now Blede?” he muttered, unlocking his phone to read the entire message.
Blede: I know where Prate’s killer is. Can I count on you for justice?
Rakell stiffened at the mention. Prate had been one of them. A dragon shifter, and part of the Teres clan anti-Cado strike team.
Had been.
Past tense. The well-respected storm dragon had been killed on a raid a few weeks earlier, and the team had not taken it well. Rakell hadn’t