Hot demon with big horns and no shirt? Definitely sexy, but demons are usually so bossy in bed. I don’t think I’m in the mood to play any dominance-submission games tonight.
Another group of what look like wolf shifters? All gorgeous in a feral way. But I think I’ve decided it’s a no to the knot tonight.
A vamp shoots me a toothy smile, flashing full fang in my direction. Now there’s a definite option. Assuming he’s willing to let me borrow some of his energy in exchange for a taste of my blood. I sigh inwardly. I’m more interested in an energy exchange than sex with him. Probably not ideal.
Ugh, why isn’t anyone here getting my blood pumping? It’s been months since I’ve been ridden hard and put away wet. I should be panting to go home with a literal troll at this point, and they have someserioushygiene issues.
I can feel whatever was in that drink burning its way through my veins now, making me even looser and more relaxed. My brain isn’t just fuzzy now, it’s mushy. Each thought feels like slogging through knee-high mud.
I giggle to myself at that analogy and wobble in my seat.
Wobble. That’s a funny word. Wobble,wobble.I laugh again. And then my eyes land on a man.
Helloooo.
He’s bald, which totally doesn’t make me think about Atlas.Nope. His shoulders are broad and his jaw is chiseled like he’smade of stone, and when he meets my gaze across the bar, a tingle snakes down my spine. For a second, my sluggish, drunk brain interprets the feeling as a warning, some primal part of me signaling danger. Pathetic that I haven’t gotten laid in so long that my body is mistaking attraction for fear.
He stares at me blankly, and it takes me several seconds to send the signal from my fuzzy brain to my face to smile at him. I hope I’m giving him “do me” eyes and not “I might be sick” eyes. He stands up from his chair, his movements a little rigid, and heads in my direction. Score, I definitely nailed the “do me” eyes.
As he gets closer, there’s something about him that reminds me of the bartender. Where did she go, anyway? I could really use another drink. I can’t put my finger on it though. Maybe it’s just that I can’t tell what he is, like I couldn’t with her. There’s no shimmer of a glamour or any hint of magic, none of the telltale signs I’ve learned to distinguish other supes with. But this place is invisible to anyone who isn’t one of us, so he must be something I’m not as familiar with.
“Hey,” I say as he gets close, standing up from my stool and immediately stumbling into him. I laugh and brace my hands against his large, firm chest. “You got a name, sexy?”
“Come,” he grunts, wrapping his hand around my bicep roughly.
I giggle again and stumble after him. “Ooookay.”
That’s fine, I wasn’t really looking for a deep conversation anyway. His grip is a little hard though. I try to tug my arm out of his grasp, but he tightens his hold, digging his fingers into my skin until I can feel bruises starting to bloom.
“Ouch,” I yelp, instinctively reaching for the magic in the air so I can scorch this motherfucker’s hand right off me. But nothing happens. “What the fuck?” I mutter, yanking my arm again and trying to dig my heels into the ground.
He’s too strong though, and he’s dragging me right out the door before I even have the chance to scream. As soon as we’re out the door, the bar vanishes behind a glamour, leaving us standing in the pitch darkness all alone. Ishouldhave absorbed enough energy and magic inside to be able to use it, but when I try to gather it again, I come up empty.
This can’t be happening.
What thefuckwas in that drink?
“Okay, okay. Chill, dude. I’m powerful. Like,reallypowerful. I know it doesn’t seem like it right now, but that bartender bitch must have slipped me something. My point is you don’t want to hurt me. My magic will be back soon, and then I can give you anything you want. I can conjure shit like you’ve never seen. And I have connections. You want rare objects? Money? A sit-down with a powerful demon? Anything you want, I can make it happen, just don’t…”
He reaches into his pocket, and I flail against his hold again, damn near ripping my arm out of its socket trying to get loose. I’m not drunk anymore, I just feel sick and fucking powerless.
This can’t be happening.
It has to be a dream. Anightmare. But it can’t be real.
This Frankenstein’s Monster motherfucker pulls a handful of purple powder out of his pocket, and I recognize it instantly.
“No, no, no!”
The last thing I see is a cloud of purple dust before it all goes black.
ONE
ATLAS
“Rune!”
Sitting up abruptly, I blink groggily, desperate to orient myself, but my heart races with unknown panic.
