“Do we have anything planned tonight?” “Yes.” “Has someone else made a deal with Pride?” He nodded. “Isabella Crisci.” “When do we leave?” “Dusk.” I tugged the pillow out from behind him, stuffed it under my head, and closed my eyes. A solid thirty seconds of blessed silence passed before he poked me in the ribs. I cracked an eye. “Do that again, and I’ll slap you with a containment spell.” “What are you doing?” “Preparing for war. Now go away.”
