Thank god I wasn't alone.
Her gaze went to Azriel. "You're allowing me to see your true form. Why?"
"Those I hunt always see my true form," he replied evenly.
A comment that briefly made me wonder if he was, in some way, hunting me, despite his assurances to the contrary. It would certainly explain why I saw his real form when generally I only saw whatever form the reapers took on.
Hunter raised dark eyebrows, amusement glowing in her green eyes but not actually altering her otherwise remote expression. "Are you suggesting my mortal soul is in danger?"
"What you do not possess cannot be in danger."
She laughed. It was a rich, warm sound that nevertheless sent another round of chills down my spine. "I like you, reaper. Very much."
With that, she turned and walked back into the nook, becoming one with the shadows. I hesitated, glancing up and down the street to see if anyone was paying any attention. No one was—unfortunately. As Azriel's fingers touched my spine and urged me forward, I took a deep breath and followed the bitch inside.
The dual fire of the swords peeled back the darkness and provided glimpses of Hunter ahead. Amaya was hissing again, the sound a constant static in the background of my mind. She didn't like this place any more than I did.
The heavy door at the end of the corridor swung open as we approached—Hunter and Azriel silently, me with more of a clatter—and Brett Marshall himself appeared to greet us. Or rather, to greet Hunter.
"Mistress," he said softly, kneeling before her, head bowed. "All is ready."
I blinked. Mistress? Was Marshall one of Hunter's fledglings? It would certainly explain their similar mannerisms. And why he'd been trusted to run an establishment like this.
Then the rest of his words registered. All is ready? What the hell did that mean?
I didn't know, and I suddenly had a bad feeling that I didn't want to find out.
Hunter touched Marshall's head lightly as she swept past him, and he shuddered in what almost looked like orgasmic pleasure. Then he was up and following her, not even bothering to look at us. In the scheme of things, I guess we were not that important.