Page 8 of Try As I Smite
“Yes.” Dammit. “I just came from there.”
Hazah merely shrugged, almost appearing bored. “I guess I’ll have to send you right back.”
Before he knew what she was about, she whispered a series of words that sounded ominously like a magical spell, but in a dialect he only vaguely recognized. Then she pushed a single, manicured finger into his chest, directly over his heart.
The strangest sensation, like she’d tied a string to that beating organ and yanked hard on the other end, pulled at him, and suddenly he wasn’t standing in the gilded marble foyer in her home, but in the office he’d stalked out of not even fifteen minutes ago.
Delilah sat slumped in her chair, elbows propped on her knees and her head in her hands. As his arrival disturbed the papers scattered across her floor, she jerked her head up, pressing a hand over her breast.
Then whipped around to stare in his direction. “Alasdair? What—”
“Your useless helper sent me back here,” he snapped. “I don’t have time for this.”
She jerked to her feet and moved around the desk to stand in front of him, tipping her chin up. A glance showed him her shoes were off. Again.
Why am I noticing that right now?
She tracked his glance, spotted her bare feet as well, and went back around her desk to slip her shoes on.
“What is it with you and shoes?” The demand slipped from him. The fact that he asked annoyed him even more.
“Bare feet are more comfortable,” she said, coming back around to face him. “But not exactly professional.”
Shock skittered through him that she’d answered at all. “Professional is the last thing you need to worry about with me.”
“No. With you, I need the added height.”
Added height? “What?”
“You’re very tall.” Now she was speaking through stiff lips, as though reluctant to reveal this.
“And that bothers you? Are you a height-ist? Short people unite?”
“I need any advantage I can get around you.” The way she huffed as soon as the words were spoken told him she hadn’t meant to reveal that much.
The fact was that those words sent a buzz through him of—what? Not power. More like satisfaction. Which was bad, because his focus should be on his more immediate problem.
“I’m leaving now,” he said. “But next time, I promise not to intimidate you if you leave them off.”
Earning an annoyed little growl. “You don’t intimidate me, jackass.”
He struggled to shift with the roller coaster of emotions yanking him around. From protective, to frustrated, to turned-on as hell, to closed down, to pissed, to curious, to amused. “What do I do to you then?”
Damned if he didn’t suddenly want the answer to have nothing to do with intimidation. Blood surged south as he waited for the words.
Fuck. What was he doing? “Forget it,” he muttered. “Don’t answer that.”
Her eyebrows shot up, but he ignored her. With jerking motions, Alasdair pulled his cell phone from the inner pocket of his suit jacket and dialed.
“Aluron,” Micah answered after one ring.
“I hit a dead end here,” he jumped straight into it.
Delilah, meanwhile, was studying him with an impatient frown. Let her wait. She’d wasted his time today. See how she liked it.
He continued issuing his orders. “Convene the Syndicate. See if they can get the demon inside Agnes to talk. Also, have them bring in Rowan Masters. The woman was raised by a demon. Maybe she’ll have something. We need information and a plan quickly.”
“Understood,” Micah said in his ear. No hesitation in his guard’s voice. One of his better qualities. “What should I tell your sister?”
