Heather catches my gaze and does the rest for me. She throws a sharp look at Avilyna, making me grind my teeth. Hips swinging with practiced ease, then she turns back to me. Her lips come dangerously closer to mine. But I just have time to see something flickering in Vi’s eyes. Something that looks a lot like hurt guts me, pulling at a string in my chest.
The moment is ripped away when Heather reappears. Quickly turning my head away, enough for her lips to land on my cheek, her body blocking the room from view. It takeseverythingin me not to pull away or show my discomfort; her touch crawls across my skin like millions of insects. Unwelcome, unsettling, it is so jarring, so foreign, I push it out of my mind. Swallowing more liquor and ignoring the discomfort. My face stays unreadable, just as always. Letting the world believe I don’t feel a thing.
Vi’s already gone, my job is done, and I shove Heather off. And I leave the room without a word on the echoes of her complaints. Walking towards the kitchen, I catch a glimpse of Avilyna running up the stairs with her bag in hand, Nalaka on her toes. The guilt eases, just a little, knowing someone’s there for her. Even if it kills me, that it isn’t me.
It can’t be.
I step into the earth of the house, and a blur of pink hair slams into my shoulder, Sakura. She stumbles back, wide-eyed. The usual aloofness is gone, and there’s a flicker of something behind her eyes, something darker, sadder, and closer to fear.
“You good?” I ask, though I half expect her to answer with something that doesn’t make sense. Sakura tilts her head, eyes unfocused, as if listening to something only she can hear. Her gaze drifts past me, over my shoulder.
“I’m fine,” she says, voice soft, almost musical. “But the energy tonight... It’s off. Like walking through thunderclouds with your skin peeled open.” The words send a chill down my spine.
Before I can say anything, a low, ugly laugh cuts through the air. From the corner, a pack of guys, snickers like jackals, and I recognize them. Especially the one-handed, and he’s still breathing.
“I see you haven’t learned a thing,” I say, stepping forward, voice low and dangerous. “Eager to lose the other, too?” Michael stiffens when he sees me, eyes wide.
“This is none of your business, Brackwell.”
I chuckle, low and bitter. “That’s rich, you’re in my house.” I don’t give him a chance to explain; I’m not here for a conversation, just looking for something to hit. A way to burn off this damn frustration. One swing of the bottle, and he crashes into the countertop, out cold before he hits the floor.
Then a punch lands hard across my face. I stagger back, head snapping to the side, blood coating my teeth, and I grin. Pain’s just another way to feel alive. I drive my skull into the elf’s nose, feeling it crunch beneath the impact. Staggering back, Liam leaves an opening for the third one to be on my radar. He blinks, realizing too late he’s alone, and I slam my boot into his groin. He folds like a deck of cards.
“Too easy,” I mutter, brushing blood from my mouth. I head to the cupboard, slamming the door open, but my hand only finds a bottle of faerie wine.
“Where the hell is my fire whiskey?”
“Our. Fire. Whiskey,” Wyll deadpans, walking in. He punches the second guy, who started to regain consciousness.
“You left them right within arm’s reach, rookie mistake.”
“What did you do with them?”
“Had to get the party started. Besides, wine’s not exactly a lycan’s drink.” Wyll ruffles my hair, and I punch him in the stomach.
“Don’t.”
“Damn, someone’s moody.” He wheezes a little, then grins. “Thought you’d be in better spirits after some time with yourgirl.” Wyll winks on the last word.
I stay silent and take a hefty gulp, almost coughing on the sweetness.
Wyll watches me. “Didn’t go how you wanted, huh?”
“Nothing ever does.”
He nods. “Right on, Corporal.”
“Shut this party down.”
“One more hour?—”
“Shut. It. Down.” He groans, throwing his hands up like a toddler denied dessert.
“Fine. But you owe me pie!” Wyll stomps off, all drama, pulling at a small smile on the corner of my lips, dumbass.
Fuck,I need to stop drowning everything in alcohol. Maybe just stick to weed from now on. That thought barely settles before afresh pulse of pain slams behind my eyes. My head’s pounding, and I can’t focus on a single goddamn word coming out of the General’s mouth. The only thing keeping me tethered is the sharp burn of his stare, daggers cutting across the room. He’s disappointed, and worse, he wants me to know it.
Good.
