As she rights her head, she backs away. “That’s all. Eat. Good for you.”
“What’s in the food? Poison?”
“Poison?” she repeats, clearly confused, but then a moment later she shakes her head. “No. Safe. No harm. Not until the end.”
Well that ominous answer isn’t very comforting.
“Who is your boss? Why am I here? What is your name?”
The woman mumbles something again in her original language as she turns and walks toward the exit. “Eat,” she repeats before unlocking the door and slipping from the room, leaving me frustrated and confused.
That got me nowhere. What war is she talking about? There hasn’t been a supernatural war in ages, and certainly none I would be involved in. It’s always the wolves or the vampires causing trouble in a bid for dominance. Occasionally the fae folk get restless and stir up drama, but even they’ve been pretty calm. There was that whole dragon thing a few years back, but the two groups found a tenuous peace, and none of us would involve ourselves with human skirmishes or we’d never get anything done. What other war could there be?
All that aside, I honestly don’t care. My sole concern is finding a way out of here. Perhaps my magic is only temporarily disabled, and when it returns, I’ll rain down hell on my captors. They can fight their own war, thank you very much. If someone thinks they can hijack my magic for their ill gains, well, won’t they be surprised when it turns on them. One thing about being a Delaport, no one can take us down for good. Only another Delaport can destroy a Delaport, and I made sure that won’t happen. For now, I’ll bide my time, wait for my magic to return, then get the hell out of here.
My belly rumbles, so I reluctantly walk over to check out the offerings. There’s a bowl with a savory smelling soup in it, a small plate with buttered bread, and a glass of what smells like grape juice. Ironic that the ubiquitous food of prisoners happens to be my comfort meal.
I flick my fingers over it in an attempt to suss out any disagreeable ingredients, and even with my current handicap, I get the sense that there’s nothing dangerous about it. I pick up the tray, carry it to my cot, sit down, and tuck in. I might as well be full while I wait and hope for my magic to return.
One way or another, I’ll figure out a way out of here. It’s not the first time someone has tried to capture me, and the misguided fools are always sorry they fucked with me when it’s all over. This won’t be any different.
Mm. Good soup though.
TWO
ATLAS
As we walk down the damp street, I keep my eyes peeled for any sign of Rune. Roman led us here to New Haven based on the scent he picked up. The atmosphere around us is bustling, the street filled with people flowing in and out of restaurants and bars, and the mood is light. On any other evening, it looks like it would be a fun place to let off some steam, but there’s no way I can relax until I shake this anxious feeling inside me.
“That place looks cool,” Mac says, pointing to a nightclub with heavy, pulsing music filtering from the windows and doors. “Any chance Rune is in there?”
Roman shakes his head as quickly as I do. “No scent there,” he says.
We travel another block and my chest suddenly tightens, my feet carrying me down the sidewalk automatically. I look to my left, catching the club name, Full Moon, and get the strong sense that Rune is there. Or was there.
“This place again?” Drax says with a hint of excitement before it’s replaced with a wary look. “Could be a distraction.”
“He’s here,” I whisper. “Or was recently. Do you agree, Roman?”
Roman sniffs the air and nods. “Definitely. Let’s go inside.”
It being a weeknight, we’re able to enter the bar quickly and navigate through the small crowd. The deeper inside the bar we get, the stronger the sensation rippling through me. I still have no idea where such a strong connection with Rune originated, but I am sure that it’s beneficial right now. He needs help. I’m positive about that.
The scent of pheromones and sweat tickles my nose, but not enough to distract me from the mission. There’s a line at the bar with only one bartender making all the drinks, so we wait patiently while I glance around, looking for any sign of Rune.
“Dammit,” Roman mutters, twitching slightly. “I don’t need this right now.”
“Need what?”
He rubs his forehead, shaking his head. “Someone smells amazing in here. Like the best thing I’ve ever smelled.” He sniffs the air. “Fucking heaven.”
I sniff the air, but all I get is a mixture of alcohol, sweat, and old furniture. “You gonna be okay?”
Roman nods, clearing his throat. “I’m focused.”
“I mean, I can probably handle the bartender if you need a few minutes.”
He flashes me a strained smile. “I’m good.”
