Because of course he was. Why hang back for the guy who was not just your assigned partner in the field, but your fuckingahstrux nohtrum?
Shuli started hauling ass. “Like a… fucking two-year-old… gunning for a light… socket.”
Keeping his eye on that shadow, he got out a gun for his right hand, switching the steel dagger that was dripping black blood to his left palm. He was determined to catch up, but L.W. moved like a Ferrari even though he was built like a tank. So ground was lost over a couple of yards—
Right before the king’s only heir engaged with the enemy—fuckingsolo—the figure disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. One second there, the other not, and L.W. skidded to a halt in the snow as he reached the curb.
Shuli’s heart stopped even though he was running like his life depended on it: Classic ambush setup. Set the bait, draw the predator, close the trap.
L.W. was about to get riddled with bullets—or at the very least brown-bagged and shoved into a murder van.
He ran even faster through the frozen ice and—
When he arrived beside the male, he had both his weapons up and his head going owl, even though his cervical vertebrae weren’t meant to function on that kind of swivel.
Nothing.
Just more decaying buildings across the street. Steam rising from a manhole. A distant horn and a siren even farther off.
“What the hell was that,” L.W. muttered.
“Theworstfucking idea”—Shuli blew out his breath in a cloud—“you’ve had lately.”
He put his weaponed hands up on his head and walked around, panting into the cold air. “Which considering you also tried to ditch me last night is really saying something, you goddamn maniac. We’re supposed to stick together. I’m yourahstrux nohtrum—”
“That was my father’s idea, not mine,” L.W. said as he scanned the deserted streetscape. “Keep up—or don’t. Either way, it’s not my problem.”
With that, the male just turned away and started walking.
“Excuse me, motherfucker,” Shuli called out.
When there was no response, he jumped forward and caught the male’s arm. “FYI, the pink slip that comes with this job I didn’t want is my own coffin. So will you work with me here?”
“No one needs to know,” the heir to the throne tossed back.
For no good reason, the big dumbass came into sharp focus. L.W. was a chip off the ol’ block for sure, tall, broad, and black-haired, with a center braid keeping his long-and-straight out of his harsh face, and a set of pale green eyes that gossip said were just like his sire’s. He was also highly impatient, very autocratic, and about as fun to be around as a bag of Tannerite two seconds before the bullet hits.
Shuli poked the guy in the chest. “Youneed to stay with me.”
“No,you”—L.W. returned the favor twice as hard—“need to be better at your job if you’re not keeping up.”
Don’t do this, Shuli told himself. Not here, at least. Later, when they were home—
His body stepped forward on its own, closing the distance so they were chest to chest. Too bad he had to look up to meet that nasty stare.
“What the fuck is your problem,” L.W. gritted.
“I’ll spell it out. Most of the time I’d like to kill you, but if I do, I’m committing suicide. So I’m dealing with a really fucked-up conflict of interest—”
The vibration in Shuli’s pocket was a welcome distraction. At least until L.W. shoved his hand into his own jacket and pulled out his phone, too.
Group texts werenevergood news—
“Holy… shit,” Shuli breathed as he hit play on the video they’d been texted.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught L.W. staring down at his screen with the same surprise. Which was saying something. Usually the guy didn’t give two craps about anything other than hunting and killing. Then again, when was the last time either of them had seen a billboard go flying off a building and nearly crush somebody they knew?
And… maybe, on Shuli’s side… loved.
