Two of Grievan’s mercs stood at the doorway. They were Trogs, the same species as Mervok, and their yellow eyes fastened on her.
Aria glared at them. Her alluring strut—a supple, seductive roll of the hip and sway to her full breasts—was a constant issue with these oversexed idiots. Her walk was as natural to her as breathing. She sharding well wasn’t going to suppress it just to make their lives easier.
She flexed her fingers, which had grown razor-sharp talons. Many of her fellow mercs knew better than to stare. The one striding closest to them—another Trog—sported half-healed slices across his bicep, and his friend currently recovered in the infirmary.
In contrast to a look-but-don’t-touch philosophy, Aria insisted that even a glance might result in stitches. Mervok and Danao had trained her well; it had been a very long time since they’d had to step up to defend her.
But slicing up Grievan’s two idiot mercs wouldn’t get their negotiations off to a good start. So she contented herself with a piercing glare as their group approached the stairwell.
The mercs weren’t as intimidated as they should be, but their gazes drifted over Mervok and Danao’s looming forms before scanning the others encircling Petro’s impressive bulk. The underlord liked his delicacies—his roll had less to do with seduction and more to do with voluminous fat.
Aria’s mind tracked numbers and positions. Four mercs at the front entrance. Four on the roof. Petro’s overseer gestured for two to stay at the stairwell.
That took them down to five going into the lower level. The overseer, their group of three, and the Trog with the scars. Danao shot her another look; his remarkable metallic eyes—almost solid iris—gleamed purple. He didn’t like this, either.
Seemingly unperturbed, Petro lumbered through the doorway and down the stairs. His overseer and the other Trog took the lead, while Aria’s group fell in behind.
The stairwell door shutting resonated through her, and the sense of being trapped escalated. By the stiff set to Mervok’s shoulders ahead of her, he shared her sentiments. Danao fell in behind, but his breath hissed between his teeth.
Two more guards stood at the base of the stairs. Aria’s skin prickled as she walked past them. The overseer turned and gestured to each side of the door; Mervok and Danao split to flank Grievan’s mercs. He beckoned Aria to accompany Petro and the scarred Trog forward.
Aria had studied the blueprints, and knew that the two mercs across the room from the stairwell guarded another entrance that led to a tunnel beyond. Grievan stood in the center of the room, flanked by three more. Beside him was a man bound to a chair.
Petro stopped, staring at the man. “What is this?” he demanded.
Grievan was the same species as Petro and the overseer, but his blue-skinned form was neither fat nor lean. He was, in fact, muscular and held himself like someone who knew how to use their body. The gleam in his eye indicated he might know how to use his brain, too.
Now, he smiled at Petro, but Aria didn’t think there was one ounce of true cheer behind it.
“Just a little sideline project,” he said. “Something to do while I waited.”
Aria scanned the prisoner. He lacked the beast scent of a shifter, which meant he might be simply human, but some Cryptids blended so well with them that it was hard to tell. He was an outsider to this realm—and why bring him here?
The man was covered in cuts and bruises, as though he’d been tortured. Her instincts prickled. The injuries were all minor. If they’d really wanted something from this guy, they hadn’t tried very hard. Aria traded a glance with Danao, and he gave a slight shake of his head.
Aria took a subtle step to put herself between Grievan’s mercs and the creature she’d been hired to guard.
Petro’s eyes narrowed at the other underlord. “Our business is private. We don’t need, and I won’t tolerate, distractions.”
Nothing like adding to an already tense situation. Aria’s fingers tightened on her sword hilt.
“That is unfortunate. Because I have a lovely distraction planned,” Grievan said, just as the door on the far side of the room opened, and a large group of mercs poured through it.
The betrayal of the advanced scouts pissed Aria off, but didn’t surprise her. She used the anger to fuel her adrenaline, grabbing Petro by the arm and yanking him toward the stairway. But shouts had erupted from the warehouse above, followed by the clang of metal on metal.
The scarred Trog went down in a barrage of thrashing blades, and Aria lost track of the overseer as a sword flashed by her shoulder. She let go of Petro, dodging and spinning to slash with her own weapon.
As traps went, it was a good one. Both exits blocked, and no other way out. Grievan had vanished. The man who was tied to the chair now stood along a wall, out of the fighting. But his eyes gleamed oddly...
Danao swung his weapon, taking a merc’s head clear off at the shoulders. He met Aria’s eye and gestured with a swift stab of his chin toward the tunnel door. Then, swinging again, he engaged those between them, and it. Mervok moved up beside him, and shoulder to shoulder, the two old soldiers sliced a path through Grievan’s mercs.
Aria shoved a panicked Petro behind them and focused on protecting the rear. She drew her long knife, wielding it in one hand, her sword in the other, as she spun and ducked and dodged, her weapons whirling as they kept the lethal edges away from her employer. But even as her blades sang, she acknowledged the odds were not in their favor.
She wasn’t sure they were getting out of this.
As if the room full of slashing mercenaries wasn’t enough, the ground started to shake. The air thickened, and her throat spasmed, desperately trying to rake in oxygen.
The mercs in the room hesitated, as though they, too, were unsure. Danao’s mighty weapon sliced another almost in two. As the soldier dropped, Aria saw a path to the door.
