"I cannot say." He turned around, but didn't immediately release my hand. "I suspect the only people who would know are the two people you've already noted."
Stanford and Uncle Quinn. I rubbed my free hand across my eyes wearily. "What the hell are we going to do, Azriel? Stanford is right about one thing—whatever she is, she's not sane."
"Actually, I would suggest the opposite. However, she is a being without emotion, someone whose soul lost contact with all that is humanity a very long time ago. She is incapable now of seeing beyond her own needs, desires, and plans."
I frowned. "You can't say she's without feeling given she had us chasing the Jorõgumo for revenge."
"That did not come from either the heart or the soul, but rather a far darker place. Someone took something of hers, and she could not let the matter slip unchallenged."
"So if I ever did?"
His smile was somewhat wry. "You challenge her every time you speak to her."
I grimaced. "I meant seriously challenged. As in, agree to work with Stanford."
"Then you'd better hope I am still around to defend you."
Fear swirled through me. I knew I wasn't any sort of match for Hunter, even with Amaya at my back, but still, hearing Azriel basically confirm it was as scary as hell.
"Well, it's not actually something I'm planning, however much I'd like to see the bitch dead."
"Which is the first sensible statement you've made for quite a while."
"I am capable of sensible on occasion." I rose up on my toes and quickly kissed him. "I'm going for a shower. If you want to be useful, you could make me something to eat."
His eyebrows rose. "I am not adept at human domestic duties."
"Now, that," I said, voice wry, "is a comment echoed by men the world over. All you need to do is slap some of the lamb that's in the fridge between a couple slices of bread, squeeze on some tomato sauce, and I'll be one happy lady."