Irregulars - lanyon Josh - Страница 61

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“Well, thanks to his desire to save his little writing implement, that bastard is now back amongst the living.”

Deven was too tired to argue against criticism of Lord Jaguar. He clenched his jaw shut angrily.

August leaned forward. “If we have to fight Night Axe, we need to know how they weakened him.”

Deven shrugged. “He is mortal, although like any Aztaw his life span can stretch eons. Cut out his heart, cut off his head, stab him in the throat, like a human being. The only catch, of course, is that he can change his form.”

August drained the last of his beer. “We need a better way to see what he’s up to than your temperamental vision serpent.”

“You’re the one with all the technical gizmos pouring out of your pockets,” Deven said.

For some reason this was funny to August. “Gizmos,” he repeated. “Haven’t heard that word in a while.” He waved his credit card at the waiter.

Deven rose slowly from his chair, his body aching from the run and the blow to his arm. “I should cover my half,” he offered, but August shook his head.

“It’s all going on the agency credit card, don’t worry.” August flashed him a quick, magnificent grin. “Well, now that you’ve bared all, I’d prefer it if you whipped out your magic faster next time. My legs are killing me.”

Deven walked beside him out to the curb. “You run fast,” he complimented.

“It’s amazing what the threat of death can inspire.” August launched his arm into the air and flagged down a taxi.

Back at the Bristol Hotel Deven wanted nothing more than to collapse on his bed and sleep for an entire day. Instead, August started packing.

“Get your things together,” he ordered.

“Why?”

“Because your little Aztaw friend found us with no difficulty, I can’t imagine it will be any harder for Night Axe.”

Deven forced himself off the bed and did as he was told. It took less than a minute for him to finish packing. August was still carefully folding his shirts.

“You want help?” Deven offered.

“No.”

“You sure brought a lot of clothes.”

August’s cheeks turned a little pink. “How you dress says a lot about who you are.”

“Oh?” Deven sat on the edge of his bed, glancing down at his dirty cargo pants and dark T-shirt. “What do my clothes say about me?”

“That you don’t have any personal pride.” August turned and gave him a discerning look that unsettled Deven.

 Deven swallowed. “Yeah? And I suppose if you wear tailored suede suit jackets it says you have a lot of pride?”

“No. It says I’m worried about what people think about me.” The corner of August’s mouth lifted and he looked almost shy. “Actually, you can help. Pack my computer, would you?”

“Sure.” They worked in companionable silence for a moment. “One of these days, can I see your knife? The one you keep pulling out of your pocket?”

“Of course. It’s a generation eight magical utility blade, but mine’s down to its last refills. I need to buy another, I haven’t gotten around to it.”

“Doesn’t the agency provide your weapons?”

“We get an expense budget, but the new generation ten models are over that. Carlos and I were going to get new ones for each other on Christmas.” August frowned. He held the shirt in his hand limply.

Again, Deven was at a loss as to how to offer support. His therapist had once told him, when he felt out of his depth, to offer a person a polite pat on the back. It insinuated good intentions and oftentimes physical touch said more than words ever could. So Deven reached over and patted August’s arm, a stiff, awkward movement that didn’t look nearly as good as it had in his mind.

August seemed touched by it, however. His eyebrow quirked up and he smiled a little. “Read about patting people in a book or something?”

Deven laughed nervously. “Or something.”

August cocked his head, studying Deven. “You know, for someone who grew up in hell and returned to the real world only a year ago, you’re doing pretty good, Deven.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” August swallowed. “And thank you. For what you did in the tunnel.”

Deven frowned, trying to remember. He touched the pen behind his ear.

“You saved my life.” August sounded a little annoyed that he had to say it out loud. “Twice. The guy with the knife? And the baton?”

“Oh. Right.” Deven shrugged. “I wasn’t counting.”

August stared at him.

Deven felt conspicuous. “You’re welcome?” he offered, not sure if there was some sort of protocol he was supposed to engage in after saving someone’s life.

Whatever it was that August was trying to say, he gave up and turned back to his packing. It was well past midnight when they checked out of the Bristol and checked in to El Angel Hotel a few blocks away. This one had a modern lobby and the room, while smaller, was more tastefully furnished and less inundated with wicker. Deven didn’t bother unpacking. He shut the curtains, lay down on the top of the comforter, and was out before August even started to unpack.

Chapter Nine

The following morning, it was August who woke Deven up rather than the other way around.

August looked refreshed despite the activities of the previous day. He was fully dressed in yet another suit, this one a lighter color, with a cream-colored shirt, unbuttoned at the neck to reveal a glimpse of his pale skin. His hair was clean and impeccably styled. His pale blue eyes stared down at Deven with a look of amusement.

“Wake up, sunshine.”

Deven scowled and drew back under the bedsheet he’d wrapped around himself at some point that night. He felt tired and unenthusiastic about his mission now that he knew who was involved. It had been one thing to tackle Aztaw lords he had understood. But Night Axe was out of his league; even Lord Jaguar himself had failed to defeat the Trickster. What luck was Deven going to have with nothing but a few knives in his pocket?

“Come on. Murdering monsters wait on no man.” August ruffled Deven’s hair. It was a gesture Deven hadn’t felt since before his mother died as a little boy and it brought a surge of complicated emotions. He sank further under the sheet to hide his face, afraid what he was feeling would be obvious.

“Do I have time to shower?” Deven’s voice was cracked with sleep.

August sighed. “If you’re quick about it.”

Deven emerged from under the covers and hurried to the bathroom. He showered briskly, taking advantage of the free toiletries provided by the hotel. As he hunted through his bag for clean clothes, he felt August’s gaze on his bare back like a hot iron and he wondered if it was inappropriate for him to have come out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel.

He turned. August’s eyes were locked on Deven’s body as if he were memorizing every contour.

At first Deven felt embarrassed, thinking that August must be staring at the variety of ugly scars puncturing his torso. Stab wounds, burns, and bumps from badly healed broken bones aged him.

But August’s cheeks were flushed, his eyes dilated, and as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair, Deven belatedly realized the agent was aroused by the sight of Deven’s near nudity.

Christopher, the man Deven had hooked up with four months before, had told Deven that he was beautiful. Deven couldn’t confirm if this was true or not, since he was far from objective, but he liked that he had this effect on the agent. He wondered if he should act upon it.

Because it would have been nice to touch August. His body looked so warm and inviting and his heart-shaped lips seemed engineered for kissing. But Deven had never seduced anyone in his life. He had no experience, and for all he knew, this glance wasn’t personal. Maybe August watched all semiclothed men this way.

As if suddenly realizing he was flushed and staring, August coughed and stood. He yanked back the curtains. “Hot in here,” he mumbled, throwing open the window.

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