Demon Lord 5: Silver Crown King by Morgan Blayde Page B

anywhere without them, but I don’t need help taking care of business.”  I drew out my phone under her watchful eyes and pulled up a picture I’d taken of William’s remains.  I held the display out, letting her get a good look.  “That was an alpha wolf that betrayed me.”
    I moved the picture so Drake could see it, too.  He nodded, and crunched down on a spoon of ice cream, no emotion on his face.  The guy had to be a damn good poker player.
    Kinsey’s eyes kindled with warm golden fire.  “Good job,” she conceded.  Her eyes flicked to my ring.  Dragons always notice other people’s jewelry.  “Not a particularly impressive stone.”  She meant, it wasn’t something she’d bother to steal: just a black opal stone with red and gray star-points in it.
    I shrugged and put away my phone.  “The ring is a demon clan thing, identifies my ranking as heir.  Those that serve directly under me wear one of these.”
    “Makes sense,” Drake said.  “Who’d go around giving expensive stones to underlings?”
    Kinsey caused my Dragon Sight to post her with little tags labeling her many offensive charms and defensive wards.  She’d come loaded with killing magic, all of it color-coded royal gold—the strongest type of dragon magic.  She also wore a black lacquered sheath, hanging on gold chains from a thin leather belt with a silver and garnet buckle.  I’d seen this weapon before, and knew she favored it.  Her left hand occasionally fondled the jeweled, basket-style hilt before returning to the cone in her right.  A tag on the sheath said the weapon was spell-shielded so normal human eyes wouldn’t notice it.
    That didn’t really need magic.  Her natural beauty was distraction enough.  Looking hot as hell, she wore a sin-black mini-dress with poufy, black-lace sleeves.  Her straw colored hair was braided so it looked like she wore a crown.  Her eyes were antique gold, like her bracelets.  They were the wide kind some kung-fu fighters wear to block swords and knives.  They chinked a little as she moved her arms. 
    “I’d like to invite you two to my coronation.  It’s going to be a hell of a party.  Good booze, free food, and—since I’m expecting to be hit with a major military campaign while distracted—there will be plenty of blood-sport going around.  You can bring the whole family.”
    “Nice of you to offer.  Send me the details.  I’ll pass them along.”  Ice cream gone, Drake crunched into his eatable bowl.
    “Well, Kinsey?”
    “Don’t soil my name with its use,” she said.  “If I go, it’s just on the off chance I might see you painfully executed by your enemies.  I’d kill you myself, but you are family, just barely.”
    I smiled.  “Kinsey, you were born a fucking bitch, you’re still a fucking bitch, and you will die one day—stabbed by my dick—a well fucked bitch.”
    Drake shot us both quelling looks, and said, “Not helpful.”
    Kinsey glared at me.  “In your impossible dreams.”
    I glared back.  “So, you only came today to insult me?”
    Her eyes were bright yellow stars, her passions engaged.  “You stole it, didn’t you?”
    Yes, I certainly did .  I’d been wondering how long it would take for the conversation to touch on what they wanted to know.  I feigned confusion.  “Something got stolen?  Nothing important, I hope.”
    “You’re not fooling me, Deathwalker.”  Gripping her cone too tightly caused it to audibly crack.  The half-eaten scoop on top plopped onto the table.  Kinsey glowered at the fallen ice cream like it had done something wrong.
    Drake said, “We went looking for your mother’s diary, aware that we had promised to let you read it—under our supervision, as long as the book never left our possession.”
    “Actually,” I said, “None of those terms were part of our original deal.  You were supposed to hand the book over.”
    “That’s not how I choose to remember it,” Drake said, “but