Damon’s gaze rolled between storm-cloud gray and green-gold.
The cat inside warred with the man and I didn’t know which one was going to take control at the moment.
Magic rolled around Justin as he glared at the shifter standing in the door and for the first time, I noticed that the silver on his sleeves was sparking. Not sparkling, but sparking, like it was shooting off energy. It wasn’t just a trick of the light, either.
A growl trickled out of Damon’s throat as he stared at Justin.
Justin curled his lip at him. “You want to go a round or two, pussy cat?”
I reached for the gun at my thigh and drew it. It wouldn’t kill Damon. I knew that. It would probably do a hell of a lot of damage to Justin, but unless I had it loaded with pure iron bullets—and I didn’t—it would only slow the witch down. Still, I didn’t want to hurt them. Well, I didn’t think I wanted to.
So I aimed at the floor between them and pulled the trigger. It was concrete under the carpet and while it tore the carpet up to hell and back, the floor itself wasn’t torn up too bad. Maybe they had injuries from the shrapnel. That thought made me feel better.
And now I had their attention.
“I’m not doing this,” I said quietly as I lowered the Desert Eagle. A pang of regret rolled through me. The gun just wasn’t as…poetic as my blade. But nobody could hear a blade the way they heard a mean-ass bitch like a Desert Eagle.
Justin shot a look at the floor and then at my gun. Damon just stared at him, face impassive. I crossed over to my desk and settled down, keeping the Eagle in my right hand. “If the two of you wanted to have a go, you could have done it without me in the picture. It’s been months and I’m sure you two can figure out how to track each other down. Right now, I’ve got a job to do and I don’t give a flying fuck what your problems are with each other.”