I Am the Wild (The Night Firm #1)- Karpov Kinrade Page 0,65
up with subtle shifts of weight, frowning as pins and needles overtake the numbness.
Elijah smirks at me like he knows what's going on and finds it amusing.
When she finally brings us the letters back, she looks tired. "They were written over the last year. They do not match any of the handwriting samples you brought me. The author is old. Powerful. Ancient. And dangerous."
She hands Elijah the letters. "I cannot give you a name but I know that this isn't a person to trifle with or to take lightly."
"What other man could she have been in contact with?" I ask, looking at Elijah.
He shrugs. "She was fairly isolated. I can't imagine many people had access to her."
"I should clarify," Kana says. "The writer of the letters wasn't male."
We turn and look at her, surprise on both of our faces. "So the writer was female?" I ask.
"Yes. A powerful female."
"Is there anything else you can tell us?" I ask.
"Like what?" she asks with a wry grin.
I shrug. "I don't know. Like, who might have read them?"
She cocks her head. "Curious question. The emotional imprints are few. The writer of the letter, clearly. Several from your firm. And…a woman. A pregnant human woman."
"Can you tell if Dracula read them?" I ask. "Earlier. Not recently."
"He hasn't, no," she says. "Will there be anything else?"
Elijah and I stand and bow. "Thank you," he says.
As we leave, she slips something into my hand. I look down and see a crystal pendant with a fox carved into. "For protection. You are going to need it, one thought to be mundane. Watch yourself," she says, then closes the door behind us.
When we step outside, the cold slaps me in the face. The office, or den, was so warm, that I'd forgotten about the impending winter awaiting us. My nose burns with the cold as we walk quickly through the streets. It's snowing more harshly outside, and neither of us speak right away as we bundle against the cold. I slip the pendant around my neck, studying the craftsmanship.
We walk in silence for a few moments before I turn to Elijah. "If the writer was female, maybe Mary wasn't the intended recipient. Or she had a female lover."
"Those were my thoughts as well,” he says. “But I do have a suspicion. The letters are signed with an L. Written by a powerful, ancient woman. Who do we know who is involved with this case and fits those criteria?"
And then it all clicks. "Lilith."
Elijah isn't expecting it when I suggest that I go see Lilith alone.
To be honest, I'm a bit surprised by it myself. I'd nearly succumbed to her entreaty once before, and here I am volunteering to put myself back into harm's way without one of the Nights to protect me this time?
My companion must have been thinking the same thing.
"Not a chance," he tells me, without even a glance.
But I'm not content to leave it at that. I reach out, grab his arm, and pull him to a stop.
"It is our best option and you know it. She'll have her guard up if you or one of your brothers shows up on her doorstep full of questions and we won't get anything out of her. But if I go alone, she'll be too intrigued to worry about what I'm actually doing there. She's underestimated me – everyone does – and that will give us out best chance to get the information we need from her."
"Eve..." Elijah begins, but I cut him off.
"You know I'm right. There's no sense in arguing about it."
He looks off into the distance, an expression of exasperation on his face, and I know in that moment that I've got him.
Which is how I ended up sitting in Lilith's living room a few hours later, waiting for her to join me, my hands sweating from budding anxiety. My nerves are a bit rattled, and I'm starting to regret volunteering myself like this, but it's too late to turn back now.
I stand as she glides into the room, resplendent in her gown—today a blood red floor-length design that hugs her body like she's been dipped into it, with matching lips, and long hair shimmering down her back like an inky waterfall. She raises an eyebrow when she sees that I'm alone.
"No Night brother to guard you against my dangerous appetites?" she asks, with a mischievous spark in her eyes.
"Should I be scared?" I ask in reply, in what I hope is a confident-totally-not-scared-at-all attitude.