Drothiker

26.

Syrene returned to the apartment, disposed to speak with Starflame and acquaint her with Syrene's trip to Olkfield tomorrow.

Azryle went straight to the kitchen to make dinner, snarling at her to go bathe before eating or sleep with grumbling stomach tonight. She'd just stuck out her tongue at him and stridden into her bedroom.

"Starflame?" whispered Syrene, conscious of the ripper ears in the apartment.

The faerie was not on the dressing table today, neither in bed. Starflame was half a millennium old, could obscure herself too well, having lived in secrecy ever since the Tiny Moons went extinct with hemvae.

Syrene walked over to the drapes and shook the silk. "Starflame."

Nofstin was swallowed by moonlight behind the drapes, tall buildings echoing the glimmering stars atop them.

She ambled to the bedside tables, searched the drawers just in case.

But the faerie was nowhere to be found; Syrene swallowed down her noxious thoughts. She was fine—Starflame was fine, just hiding somewhere—

The thought did not settle, and her heart snitched to her throat as Syrene's eyes arranged on the window's glass again.

A drop of blood smeared its corner.

Agitation took a hold of Syrene as she rushed out of the bedroom. "Azryle!" Her voice came out shaky, loud.

The ripper emerged from the kitchen in a heartbeat. "What is it?"

She opened her mouth but words did not arise. Syrene clutched his forearm and tugged him to the bedroom, all the while willing her body to not begin shaking again. "Do you scent anyone else here?" she asked instantly as they entered.

He sniffed. Syrene waited.

Azryle went rigid, alert, and then he was prowling to the windows. She shadowed after him, her heart hammering. It took him a heartbeat to capture the drop of blood.

A muscle feathered at his jaw and Azryle reached into his sweats' pocket, bringing out a square glass. He began tapping on it—the glass quivered with his touches. Syrene hadn't grasped she had been digging her nails in his arm until blood marred her hand.

Azryle didn't seem to notice, but Syrene released him.

A moment later, he bent double and positioned the glass piece on tiles. When he straightened and stepped beside her, it began blinking myriad colors.

Syrene almost staggered a step back when a milky-figured man stuck out atop the device like a blooming flower.

He was breathtakingly beautiful. A lock of chocolate hair was dancing at his forehead with the wind, amber eyes twinkling in the moonlight. He was scratching at his light stubble, pointed chin.

The man was reclined somewhere, his arm poised atop the knee of his folded leg, a key in hand. The other arm's elbow was pressing in ground, holding him up.

He was whistling, looking everywhere but to Azryle.

The ripper inclined against the wall beside him and drawled, "I don't remember you always being this shitty at sneaking in and out, Maycusen." Azryle ran a finger over his own chin, indicating the other man's stubble. "Did that quality slip out thanks to too many days roaming in the wilds?"

Maycusen turned his amber eyes to Azryle and crooned, "Shitty as my sneaking is, you still couldn't catch me." A smirk playing at his lips.

"You chose to intrude when I wasn't home." Azryle angled his head. "That says something, doesn't it?"