Speak No Evil

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

If the ceremony was going to happen tonight, time was running out. Asher Ellison checked his watch and found that it was 11:43. Seventeen minutes to midnight, on the night with the month’s fullest moon. Seventeen minutes to decide his fate for the foreseeable future, whether he would be bound to the paranormal protectorate of New Orleans. Or not, perhaps.

“We know nothing about Asher. No knowledge, no control. That’s not how I like to run my operation here.” Rhys Macaulay crossed his arms and planted his feet, a typical display of dominance. Rhys was the textbook definition of a bear shifter, tall, muscle-bound and more than a little aggressive when he felt it necessary. Asher didn’t envy Rhys’s companion the battle.

“We can’t wait for Aeric anymore. It’s been three months. We don’t know when he’ll come back, if ever… and I, for one, do not relish the idea of trying to force a dragon to do something against his will,” Mere Marie shot back, staring up at the massive ginger warrior who stood before her in a defiant stance. Brilliant moonlight splashed across the yard, illuminating the scene. It was nearly the witching hour, nearly time for the ceremony to begin.

Asher was over a hundred yards away, watching the feisty little Voodoo queen argue with head Guardian Rhys Macaulay, but he still picked up nearly every word of their conversation. In his former line of work, reading lips was a vital skill; it was nice to know he hadn’t lost his touch since giving up military intelligence.

Well, less given up and more shot dozens of times. Enough that he’d been forced to fake his death lest the Marines realize just what manner of wicked blade they had on their hands. The idea of the military finding out about shifters and then weaponizing them somehow… Even Asher shivered at that, and nothing in the world made him break a sweat.

He was stone inside and out, through and through, just as his training had made him. His old bosses should be so, so proud.

He stood just inside the wall of windows and French doors that led from the Manor’s communal ground floor living area out into the yard, waiting. Waiting for Rhys and Mere Marie to come to a consensus, waiting for Gabriel to arrive.

Asher did a lot of waiting. He’d trained himself to turn within during lulls in action or conversation, to spend his down time analyzing and planning. This little shouting match between Mere Marie and Rhys had gone on for over twenty minutes, and nothing could be done without Gabriel.

As Asher watched the argument outside, he ran all the potential outcomes of it through his mind. Duverjay, the Manor’s butler, turned on a light in the kitchen. Suddenly Asher’s view of the argument outside disappeared, replaced by his own image. Dark, close-cropped hair starting to silver at the temples, dark brows slashing over near-black eyes, a broad full-lipped mouth and thickly corded muscle from head to toe. His body was a well-honed weapon, his mind sharper than the deadliest knife, and yet…

His reflection showed something that worried him. A hint of exhaustion, that much was normal. But there was something darker, too, some bit of shadow that should have been more surprising. It wasn’t a specific thing, more a lack of something… Asher had to admit that whatever it was, it had been growing for years. Ever since-

“Still having a row, are they?” Gabriel’s voice startled Asher from his brooding. The tall, dark-haired Brit appeared next to Asher, squinting as he peered outside. He still wore his patrol uniform, black pants and a black tee under a heavy bulletproof vest. His sword and firearms were missing, though he carried a black duffel bag.

“Yeah. It looks like Rhys has backed down, though,” Asher said.

“Great. Now that that’s sorted,” Gabriel said, reaching into his duffel bag and pulling out a wad of shimmering black velvet. He thrust the bundle at Asher’s chest. “Don’t touch the dagger until I tell you to, unless you relish the idea of missing fingers.”

Asher accepted the cloth-wrapped weapon gingerly, following Gabriel as he strode out into the yard. Asher hesitated for the barest moment, pushing down the tiny voice that protested against making such a long-lasting promise to the Guardians. His phobia of commitment was nothing new, and he’d already decided on this path.

Once Asher Ellison made a decision, he followed through. It was a tenet of his personality, part of what kept him going through some of the most difficult moments in his life. He didn’t revisit or rethink or dither, he picked a course and followed it through to the bitter end. No exceptions.

Setting his jaw, Asher stalked out into the back yard, letting the moonlight wash away his apprehensions.