Wild Tiger Chase | Book #2 (Complete)

8: who the hell is Count Cae

That meant she could be killed. They both could.

Lowering his eyes, Léon sighed. "Some guy named Master of Knives. It was a long time ago. Years."

There was a short silence between them. When Léon glanced at Cae, he saw the inflated ego in the way he smirked, satisfied with Léon's submission. Cae cleared his throat. "Huh. Never heard of him." He fished his phone from his front pocket, swiped left and right, and showed the screen to Léon. "This guy?"

Léon narrowed his eyes and stared at the photo. He didn't recognize the face on the screen, but it was easy to feel the tension building on Cae's shoulders. The man on the mugshot seemed to be around twenty and had a striking resemblance to Cae himself—the only difference was that the man in the photo had a missing half in his lower lip.

Wait. This guy did remind him of someone, but... who?

"So?" Cae insisted.

"Hum." Léon stuck his lower lip out and moved his head in a negative. His head hurt too much for him to remember anything right now. "I've never seen Master of Knives without his ID concealer. Can't say if it's the same person." Léon straightened his back. "Friend of yours?"

Cae was silent for a moment, his index finger poking the dry skin of his lower lip.

"Nah. He owes me money," Cae mumbled with a sharp sigh. He turned around in the front seat and leaned back. "On to the next topic. I want to know about your powers."

Something cold swirled in Léon's stomach. He hadn't told Modraniht about his cosmic trace, and he certainly wouldn't tell Count Cae about it, whoever he was. Cosmic trace was the most powerful among all the 76 derelict traces—and although Léon's powers weren't in their prime, it'd be dangerous for him to let a fucking bandit know about them. So, Léon lied. "There's nothing to say about them. Again. It's just dust trace."

Cae eyed Léon again. There was a fine line of mistrust laced in his words when he said, "Really?"

"Yep. Just the good, old, very-common dust trace."

Cae scoffed. "The day a dust tiger moves about when its master is clocked is the day I'll become Old Continent's queen."

Dammit. Think, Léon. Fast!

Creatures made with the dust trace didn't have free will. They didn't think or talk, and they only moved if their owner commanded them. Léon needed another lie.

"Well, your majesty, a tinge of oneiric trace can do wonders to dust tigers. I just have to build the right dream for me, so I can still command my tiger when I sleep. It works for basic functions, anyway—like protect me from any bastard who attacks my friends." Léon fiddled with the hem of his shirt. Cae didn't seem to believe him. Léon gulped and added, "She... can fight, track things, claw, you know. Things that tigers do. Cause I studied tigers. A lot."

Cae scoffed. He seemed entertained. "Oneiric trace, huh?"

"Just a tinge. I can only use it in my dreams." Léon gulped. The lies came in buckets now. Léon wasn't very comfortable with that.

"Huh. I see." Cae took a cred stick from Phillip's wallet and tossed it aside. "I'll believe you. Which means you're perfectly safe here."

Cae smiled, but the sight didn't make Léon's heart beat any slower. The gang leader left the NAV. Once outside, he bent to look at Léon through the open door, his lips curling in a smirk. "C'mon. Send your dust-pet home and follow me. I'll take you to your friends."

Léon looked at Bonee. She shook her head no. The movement was small and discreet, but Cae's eyes narrowed like a bird of prey before his lunch.

Shit. That guy wasn't as regular as he seemed to be, was he?