Slate made a grumbling sound and followed me. His hand took mine. “Not so fast, Spellsinger. I haven't finished with you.”
Slate's mouth came down on mine. Hard. Demanding. His arms became a cage; one that moved me closer to him. I groaned into the feel of his lips on mine; his tongue slashing like a whip. One of his hands slid down to my ass and grabbed me there. Kneaded. With a careless movement, he tossed me backward, onto the bed. I sprawled with the graceless landing, but Slate was upon me before I could straighten.
“Slate, I—”
“You are mine now, Elaria,” Slate growled, his hand going to my throat again. It tightened just enough to hold me in place. “Here, in this palace, you are all mine. Give yourself to me. I want to see you lying beneath me; open and yielding. Desiring me alone.”
Well someone was feeling a little possessive.
“Slate, we can't spend all day—”
A ringing interrupted us; Slate's cellphone. He cursed, rolled off me, and prowled in naked, muscle-twitching glory to a dresser near the door. Slate scooped up his phone and answered.
“Yeah?” Slate glanced at me and frowned. “All right. On my way.” He hung up. “Get dressed; we need to meet Binx.”
“Where? What's happened?”
“Daha is dead.”
Chapter Nineteen
It wasn't Binx who waited for us outside Daha and Achira's home but Aaro, looking grim and worried.
“Binx is inside with Achira,” Aaro said as we stepped up. “She's taking it badly.”
“What happened?” Slate demanded.
“Someone came into their home and broke Daha's neck while he slept.”
“Great gems,” I whispered in horror. “Why?”
“I suspect it had something to do with him talking to us,” Aaro glanced at me before focusing on Slate again.
“But he already told us all he could.” I shook my head. “This makes no sense.”
“Did you have any intention of visiting him again?” Aaro asked.
Slate looked at me sharply.
“Well, Torin suggested it,” I admitted, “but after seeing how effective Darc's blood was, I figured it was unnecessary. The catastrophe had been averted.”
“Who else was there when Torin suggested another visit?” Aaro's eyes narrowed.
“Only my men.”
“You were there?” Aaro asked Slate.
Slate frowned. “I don't recall him saying that.”
“It was after Declan put you to sleep,” I explained.
“So, the only ones who knew that you might visit the seer again are men we can trust,” Aaro concluded with a scowl.
“Which means that this can't be related to Elaria,” Slate added. Then he demanded, “Show me the body.”
Aaro led us inside, past Gargoyle guards at the front door and within the house, and took us upstairs to a bedroom on the third floor. Achira's soft crying drifted into the hallway from the room next door. I glanced in that direction sympathetically but didn't want to disturb her. I was probably the last person she wanted to see.
Aaro, Slate, and I stepped into the bedroom; a space of muted turquoise and burnt orange. The furniture was set low, all of it; from the simple bed to the couches sprawling before it. Light came in through parted curtains, shining on the man in the bed. The corpse.
Daha looked peaceful if you disregarded the garish red splotches on his neck. His eyes were closed and his hands folded. He looked posed; as if he were already in his coffin. It sent a shiver down my spine.
“He was like this when you arrived?” Slate asked as he went to the bed and peered down at Daha.
The blankets were tucked under Daha's arms and smoothed around him. No one slept like that. Slate bent over the seer and sniffed deeply.
“Yes; just like this,” Aaro said, joining his brother. “Achira says she only touched him to check his pulse.”
“I smell nothing on his breath to indicate drugs but I want his blood tested anyway,” Slate ordered.
Aaro nodded.
“This print,” Slate went on, waving at the red marks on Daha's neck. “That's a large hand.”
“Several races come to mind,” Aaro noted.
I went to the other side of the bed, the one closest to the window. Daha's head was turned toward the light. I frowned. There wouldn't have been sunlight streaming in when he was killed. Or, rather, the Zone's version of sunlight. It would have been a softer light; a mimicry of the Moon. But even those pale beams could keep a person awake. Why turn toward them if you wanted to sleep? I swiveled to look at the window. The glass pane was lifted. I stepped up to it and searched the entire area. It wasn't until I leaned out that I saw them; scratches in the stone ledge.
“The murderer came in through the window,” I concluded.
“Yes, we assumed so,” Aaro confirmed. “You saw the marks?”
I nodded.
“Marks?” Slate stalked around the bed and joined me.
I waved outside, and he leaned out to have a look.
“Those are deep,” he murmured. “Something with claws climbed three stories to get to Daha.”
“So, that rules out Beneathers with wings; they could have simply flown,” Aaro said. “But many Beneathers have claws.”
“Why scale the wall instead of breaking in on the ground floor?” I asked.
Slate's expression flashed with fury so sudden and so sharp that I took a step back.
“Slate?” I asked warily.
“I am tired of my zone being fucked with!” Slate snarled as he turned toward Aaro. “I want this killer found! Whoever they are, they are planning something far worse than a single murder.” He waved a hand at Daha.
“I think you're right,” Aaro agreed. “The only reason to kill a seer is to prevent him from sharing what he saw. And if that's the case, it means that we either missed something during the incident with Gargo's blood or something else is coming.”
“Oh, fuck,” I whispered.
“What?” Slate growled.
“When I asked Daha what was happening in the Zone, he said many things were happening; more than I thought or could expect.”
“I will not allow anything else to hurt my zone!” Slate snapped. “If we fail to make the Zone safe again, all of the people
