5

Another roar rent the air and shook the boards at my feet, making my legs wobble. I wiped the water from my eyes and then tilted my head back.

Well, no wonder he was the Druid King.

Torchlight glistened against black reptilian skin. The underside of his wings shimmered with blues and greens, like an abalone shell. My mouth had gone completely dry despite much of my top half being drenched with lake water. At least the treated suede of my jacket kept the wetness from sinking all the way through. I wanted to take another step back, but held my ground, really hoping this wasn’t going to be a case of “kill the messenger.”

Hank, on the other hand, seemed unfazed by the show. He swiped a hand down his face, readjusted his shirt, and then dragged his fingers through his wet hair, looking part bored and part annoyed. Business as usual.

The dragon lifted its head to the sky once more and let out a sad moan that reminded me of a whale call, before sinking down into the lake.

Once he was gone, I wiped my forehead with the sleeve of my jacket and then rested my hand back on the hilt of my weapon. “You could’ve warned me.”

Hank shrugged, his gaze on the lake. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Ten seconds later, Pendaran slapped his big hands on the edge of the dock, pulled his hulking body out of the water, straightened, and strode past us buck-ass naked. “Follow me.”

What was left of my breath whooshed from my lungs as I turned slowly on my heel, watching him go, his tanned, wet skin practically glowing from the reflection of the torchlights. The entire left side of his body was covered in swirling black tattoos. The ends of his black hair stuck to his neck. Water dripped down his back.

“Close your mouth, Charlie.” Hank’s unamused tone barely registered over my sudden state of distraction as he brushed passed me and followed the Druid King down the dock and into his private sanctuary.

I’d seen a lot of things in my time, but this … A dragon and a naked god all in the span of five minutes. File this one under: unforgettable. I shook off the daze and hurried after them, falling in step with Hank and eventually entering what appeared to be private quarters.

The far wall opened to the lake via accordion doors. Sheer white curtains billowed in the faint breeze. Pendaran grabbed a towel from the back of a white couch, turned to us, and began drying his hair. His pecs bulged with the movement, leading my gaze to the black ink curling around the muscle. The lines and spirals and animal heads all interconnected from the top of his left foot, up his leg, hip, torso, shoulder, down his arm, up his neck, over his left ear, and finally disappearing into the hairline at his temple.

Looking at him was like standing in some natural history museum, staring at a larger-than-life exhibit on Celtic gods and warriors. His face was both beautiful and brutal, a visage that spoke of strength beyond measure, intensity I could not begin to fathom, and a lethalness that could fell a rhino.

And, obviously, like most Elysians, the guy didn’t have a problem with modesty. But then, why would he?

His cool, measured gaze fixed on Hank. “Long way from home, aren’t you, siren?”

Hank went noticeably stiff. “Could say the same for you … Druid.”

“Ah, but no one is missing me.”

I frowned, obviously not getting the innuendo. My mouth opened as I turned to my partner, but he cut me off before I could speak, his unreadable gaze still on the Druid. “Maybe you should go put some clothes on. My partner can get pretty sensitive to guy parts.”

I did a double take, sucking in an astonished draft of air. Heat stung my cheeks. My fingernails dug into my palms.

Count. Count to three and breathe.

I swallowed down the hot, dry lump in my throat and gave a careless shrug to Pendaran. “Seen one, you’ve seen them all,” I said. “Makes no difference to me how you want to conduct this interview.”

A glimmer passed through the Druid’s irises, revealing the same brilliant abalone color that had shimmered along the underside of his wings. He kept his thoughts to himself, tossed the towel on the glass coffee table, and then disappeared into another room. At least one guy around here knew when to keep his mouth shut.

The second he was gone, I whirled on Hank, trying to keep my voice to a low, infuriated whisper instead of the scream that pushed at my throat. “What the hell was that?! I have a job to do, same as you—” I stopped and closed my eyes. Showing any kind of weakness, especially feminine weakness, would completely diminish me in the eyes of the Druid, and Hank knew that.

I opened my eyes to see my partner’s lips pressed tightly together, and something like regret passed so quickly through his dark expression that I wondered if I had imagined it. A hard, unreadable mask slid over his features. The only sign that he felt anything at all was the repeated flex of his jaw.

I couldn’t read his face, but I sure as hell could read his aura, and the tense energy coming off of him was unmistakable. But whatever was going on with him, or had prompted him to act like a first-rate asshole, was no excuse to say what he had.

“If you ever put me down or diminish my abilities again when we’re working,” I hissed, “I swear to God I’ll lay you flat on the floor right then and there, or die trying.”

His only response was a curt nod.

I gave him another astounded look, shaking my head, because as bad as Hank got sometimes, he’d never done anything like this before. Ever.

I didn’t have time to speculate more because Pendaran returned, barefoot, but dressed in black drawstring pants and a white T-shirt. And yeah, I wasn’t going to lie—him being dressed was going to make this a hell of a lot easier.

He went behind the granite countertop in the kitchen area, opened the fridge, and grabbed a beer, sticking the end in his mouth, biting off the cap, and then spitting the cap into the trash can. After a long drink, he set it on the counter, one hand wrapped around the bottom of the bottle and the other flat on the countertop.

“I see it hasn’t taken you long to acclimate,” Hank noted.

He pierced us with a hard stare, black eyebrows furrowing together, and ignored Hank’s comment. “Daya is dead.” Another drink. “How?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out, Pendaran,” I said. “When was the last time you saw her?”

“Most call me sire.” A flash of arrogance tilted the corners of his mouth. “Last time I saw Daya was yesterday morning in the temple.”

I kept quiet, letting Hank take the next round. “She work in the city?”

“At the Fernbank Museum, yes. Daya restores art.” I saw it the moment he realized he’d spoken in the present tense, as though she was still alive. His jaw clenched and he took another swig. “Daya just received her Magnus level in crafting. She was three hundred and eighty-nine years old, never mated, has one sibling, and no children. Anything else?”

“Was she in a relationship?” Hank asked. “Have any friends outside of the Kinfolk that she hung out with?”

Pendaran shook his head, straightened, and leaned back against the counter behind him. “No.”

Completely absolute. His response was like saying grass is green, so sure he was in his knowledge. But then, he wasn’t the Druid King for nothing. Nymphs in general didn’t exactly make a big attempt to foster any ties outside of the Kinfolk, and they rarely mated outside of their own race. Their pack-like mentality meant that whatever happened within their circle, Pendaran would know about, even something as mundane as who liked who.

Fine. Moving along. “And the sibling?”

“A brother. Orin. He moved here from Elysia last year.”

“Did she keep an apartment in the city?” Hank asked. The only thing we had to go on was the apartment from Daya’s final memories. I wanted to cross my fingers that he’d say yes.