Vincent remained silent, arms folded and jaw clenched. Even as they brandished clubs and rods. Even as they broke vases, smashed furniture, and made a complete mess of the lounge.
Seven of ‘em. Stay calm. Don’t get provoked... Where the hell is Georgiana?
In the hallway where
Lailah hid, a deep chill would bite at her bones. Not a physical chill, but the chill that prey in the wilderness would feel as they sensed danger. The feeling that a trained warrior would feel when their life was in danger. Though, of course, the little dove was anything but endangered as the seething maelstrom that was the bordello’s proprietor passed by her, not even sparing so much as a glance her way.
The candles that lit the hall flickered and waned as Georgiana passed, her violet eyes ablaze with fury. Dark footprints remained in her wake, a faint dark haze rising from the shapes of her footfalls.
“
Gentlemen,” the presence of her voice betrayed her five-foot-nine, lithe frame. The chandelier that hung over the room rattled and the lights dimmed as her skinny fingers tightly grasped the balcony’s rail. “I have many girls here, as you should very well be aware. The
little dove,” she spat, “you are in search of is not here.”
Perhaps it was the low light, but Georgiana had the appearance as if a shadow coiled around her, a thin haze rising from her skin. Even the ends of her raven hair seemed enraged as they lightly floated behind her.
Vincent was always curious about her past; he had heard rumors that she was once a fearsome sorceress, but he would never be certain of it. He couldn’t even see the haze that shrouded her. Couldn’t feel her terrifying presence.
“
Now,” she hissed at the goons, “
LEAVE. While I still
permit it.”
