Everything has been so blisteringly clear … until now.
When I reach the building on the corner of Main and Vine, the bass from some shitty dance music rips through the air, trying to reset my heartbeat, while the buzz of human voices assaults my eardrums.
The Cardinal, I’ve been told, is a dive bar. Having a fully stocked bar at home, I’ve never had the urge to come here. And clearly, my instincts were correct. It’s disgusting in ways language can’t quite capture.
In the shadows of a nearby alley, I shift into my Umbraeth and float toward the rundown building, pulled by some unknown force.
I know she’s in there, and I need to see her again. Although I’m still unsure if I want to fuck her, kill her, or worship her.
A dark, frustrated growl rumbles from the shadows, answering the ache twisting through me as I defy every ancient instinct screaming at me to turn back.
I float to the front door, her presence tugging at something buried inside me, something that makes my Umbraeth shimmer and shudder with need.
Sure, I could make a grand entrance in my well-recognized Løkkda, get the whole town talking, but the only attention I want is hers.
I slip between humans smoking and laughing, hanging off each other like they know how little time they have, and pass unseen through the door.
Maybe the little goddess would like my Løkkda. Eve implied earlier that I’m handsome. “Sexy as fuck” were her exact words, and I’ve seen humans react to my face—and my body. I know I’m not ugly.
Would the little human like the sharp features of the face I modeled after a Celtic warrior I fought alongside thousands of years ago? Would she be drawn in, or undone, by the stormygrey eyes I modeled after the tempestuous Irminger Sea? Would she like the jet-black hair I borrowed from an Egyptian goddess who tried to trick me into killing her son?
As I wonder what the little lupine might think of my appearance, the full effect of the bar hits me.
It’s hot, loud, and reeks of alcohol and sweat. If I were fully flesh, I’d be salivating.
Jesus Christ.
I need to focus.
As I float deeper into the chaos, I observe humanity not at its finest, but at its most primal. They rut and stumble and consume like they’ve forgotten they’re prey.
But I haven’t.
I slide beneath the tables, careful to avoid the bar’s back corner. The owners are camped there—Boone Lovelace, Lorewood’s patron saint of combat-related PTSD and barely repressed rage, and his golden-eyed god-husband, Vael, who could end the world but mostly just wants to cuddle.
Vael spots me and gives me that little fingers-only wave, like we’re old friends.
Boone drags a hand down his face, clearly rethinking every choice that led him here.
Which, honestly, only improves my mood.
Drifting toward the back of the bar, I find exactly what I’m looking for. Silky, coppery hair sitting next to a vibrant shock of electric blue, with Thane’s familiar mop of brown curls thrown into the mix.
The three of them sit around a high-top table. Eve and Thane laugh wildly, lost in a shared joke, while the woman I’m here for stares off into the distance, lost in her mind. It’s obvious she’s somewhere far away. Her dreamy expression—her complete lack of attention—gives me the opportunity to study her more closely.
Through the dim lighting, I take in her sharp, dainty nose, eyes so dark green they might as well be black, long, beautiful copper-colored hair, a dusting of freckles across her cheeks and nose, and full, delicious lips.
Christ, those lips would look stunning wrapped around my cock. Her mouth tight and wet, her lips bruising as she fights to take more.
I want to fuck her throat raw, then kiss her chapped, cracked lips like they’re hallowed.
The thought makes my Umbraeth waver.
Shit.
I can’t let myself get distracted. This isn’t me. I should leave. I should go home, find someone to take this aggression out on, and then move on with my fucking life.
Except I can’t.
