As he got to his feet and headed back to the human woman in that poodle skirt, he said, Nope. All kids liked chocolate. With chips. In waffle cones.

There was not some kind of destiny at work here.

Really.

Totally.

There wasn’t.

THIRTY-EIGHT

The chilly wind swept over the rolling hill, teasing fallen leaves and carrying them over Assail’s Bally loafers. Down below, the Hudson appeared static in the night, as if its current had turned in for the evening upon the sun’s departure, and the water was relieved to be off the clock. Over to the north, the moon rose, a bright and clean slice of illumination in the deep velvet blackness of the sky.

The cold air bothered his masticated nose, so he breathed in through his mouth. Yet even without full benefit of his sense of smell, he knew when he was approached.

He did not turn about, but addressed the view. “Quite a romantic spot.”

Throe’s voice was low. “I’m going to kill you.”

Assail rolled his eyes and looked over his shoulder. “A gun? Really.”

The male was standing directly behind him, an autoloader in his hand, his finger on the trigger. “You think I won’t use it.”

“Because I kissed you—or because you liked it?” Assail faced the river again. “How weak of you.”

“You are a—”

“Your body didn’t lie. As much as your brain has a counter-opinion, we both are fully aware of your arousal. If you have conflict over this reality, that is your issue, not mine.”

“You had no right!”

“And you have a very traditional view of sex, don’t you.”

“I don’t want you anywhere near me again.”

“Weren’t you going to pull that trigger? Or have we moved on from that already? Perhaps because you’ve realized how incredibly cowardly it is to put a bullet in the back of an otherwise innocent man.”

“There is nothing innocent about you. And I do not trust your presence in Naasha’s house.”

“And meanwhile, you are merely a guest of hers, correct? One who just happens to keep the mistress of the manor warm during these increasingly cold days—whilst her hellren sleeps down the hall. Yes, there is nothing unscrupulous about that. So laudable.”

“My relationship with her is none of your concern.”

“Well, it is and it isn’t. You’re obviously not satisfying her very well—or I wouldn’t have been invited back last night.”

“She wanted to show you her toys. Next week, it shall be someone else.”

“Does she require you to sleep in the basement? In a darkened room? Or are you upstairs with the grown-ups? By the way, are you going to shoot me? If not, perhaps you’ll come over here and address me face-to-face. Or don’t you trust yourself.”

The sound of crushed leaves circled around. And then Throe appeared on the left, his long black wool coat waving in the wind.

“Is this not a dog park, by the way?” Assail glanced around the rolling earth and then pointed across the river. “That is where I live, as you are aware. I see the humans and their animals on this hillside on warmer nights—”

“Watch yourself.”

“Or what?” Assail tilted his head to the side. “What are you going to do to me?”

“Fuck you.”

“Yes, please. Or the other way around, should you prefer.”

The flush that ran up Throe’s throat to his cheeks was visible in the moonlight. And the male opened his mouth as if he were about to offer a staunch rebuke. But then his gleaming eyes dipped down . . . and lingered on Assail’s mouth.

“So what will it be,” Assail drawled. “Bottom . . . or top.”

Throe let out a curse.

And then he up and disappeared into thin air, dematerializing away from the hill—said departure open to only one interpretation: He was more curious than he wanted to admit, hungrier than he could stomach, more desperate than he could bear. The male had come with one agenda, but had not been able to follow through on it because of another.

As Assail stood upon the hill alone, he was surprised at how little he cared about whether or not that trigger had been pulled.

Down below on the water, a vessel floated upstream, propelled by some manner of engine. Its taillight was white, and the red half of its bow lantern was showing. Both bobbed in a lazy way.

It was not his importer contacts. No lights on their craft.

Which reminded him . . . Vishous had come forth with an order for armaments. Nothing exotic, and in a relatively small number.

The Brotherhood was trying him out as a source first—and Assail respected that. His suppliers were not going to be content to provide such small-time numbers for long, however. There was a cost-benefit analysis that was required when one skirted human law, and his contacts were already displeased that his heroin and cocaine orders had dried up so abruptly.

Well, almost all of his cocaine ordering. He still had his own needs to consider.

The pick-up for the guns wasn’t scheduled until the following evening, and he found that disappointing.

So much time he had available now. And in truth, although he was committed to doing this job for Wrath, and was looking forward to making Throe compromise all that rigid sexual convention of his, he could not say there was aught that excited or engaged him.

Putting his hands into the pockets of his cashmere coat, he leaned back and regarded the sky, seeing not some version of heaven, but merely vacant, cold space.