Apollo smiled and tapped his glass to Jean's. "Excellent. Just the kind of length I like my relationships."
Jean laughed. "You are too beautiful to be tied down. A night with you would be honor enough."
"Ahh, the French. You always know just how to say the right thing," Apollo said and patted the guy's cheek.
They drank, and they danced, Apollo feeling like he was floating out of his body as Jean whispered filthy things to him in French.
Apollo tried not to flinch every time the other man held him a little too tightly, and he managed to avoid his mouth every time he went in for a kiss.
Apollo wanted to cry in frustration. The guy was hot enough. He was available for one night only. It was perfect. Why did his stupid body not want to get in on that?
A face flashed through the dimly lit club. Dark hair and blue eyes were vibrant even in the darkness. Apollo blinked, and the phantom was gone. His heart was racing, and his palms were slick with sweat. He was too wasted to know if what he had seen was real or not.
Great. Now, he was hallucinating Lachlan Ironwood.
No. No. No. Not tonight.
Apollo pulled Jean close and whispered in his ear, "Let's get out of here."
"Read my mind,mon cheri," Jean replied and nibbled on his ear lobe.
Apollo didn't feel anything. Maybe he was too drunk for sex? Oh, well, he would find out soon enough.
It had been raining outside, and a damp chill had settled over Dublin's streets. Apollo linked arms with Jean so he wouldn't slip up on the footpath. He didn't know where they were going and didn't care.
Suddenly, Jean pushed him up against a parked van and kissed him. It had been a while since Apollo had been kissed, andhis mouth was startled by the sudden invasion. Not as startled as his leg was when Apollo felt a sharp stab in his thigh.
Apollo looked down at the slim needle that Jean was pulling out of his leg. A strange taste bloomed on Apollo's tongue, and he opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to swallow.
"Ohh, what's that? Morphine…and something else," Apollo said, his brain not working as it should as he smacked his lips a bit more.
"Don't worry,mon cheri. I am going to take good care of you," Jean said sweetly. He opened the van door, gently helped Apollo inside, and clipped his seatbelt on.
"Thank you. I don't think my hands are working. You really have to give me the recipe of what you just injected me with. It feels like my head is full of rainbows," Apollo said cheerily.
Jean shut the door before he climbed into the driver's seat.
Apollo's inner dragon was trying to tell him something, clawing at his awareness, but his inner voice was no longer working. Apollo smiled wonkily, enjoying the peace and quiet he hadn't had since magic had been restored.
"Relax, Monsieur Greatdrakes. Enjoy the rainbows. I will keep you safe," Jean said and started the van.
"So nice," Apollo murmured. He was relaxing back into the chair when he realized he had never told Jean his name. Ah, well, at least the drugs were nice.
2
Most of the time, Lachlan Ironwood thought he was an easygoing, reasonable adult. Tonight was not one of those times.
Lachlan knew Apollo was in a self-destructive mood the moment he left Bas's party. He just had a look in his eyes that made Lachlan worry. The one that said he was spiraling, and he was going to do something dumb or dangerous. Knowing Apollo, it would be both.
Lachlan couldn't leave Apollo alone when he was in a mood like that, or fuck knows what would happen to him.
He told himself he wouldn't interfere or be seen. He would just…keep an eye on Apollo in case he got in trouble.
After a few hours, he was getting more and more interested in interfering. Apollo was more wasted than Lachlan had ever seen him—staggering, laughing too loud, far too vulnerable. And vulnerability on Apollo made Lachlan's skin itch.
Lachlan couldn't leave Apollo until he knew he was home safe again. It was 3:00 a.m., and Apollo didn't appear to be interested in going home to his own bed. No, he was allowingsome random guy to whisper in his ears and grind against him on the dance floor.
Apollo was a terrible dancer, but he knew it and didn't care. That was always what made Lachlan smile. He wasn't smiling now. He was chewing cupfuls of ice to try and soothe his temper. The cold, crunching jolt in his teeth usually helped on a stakeout. Tonight, nothing was going to help the burning possessiveness in his gut.
