“Interesting?” She raises an eyebrow, feigning exasperation. “You’re lucky I didn’t go for the family jewels instead.”
“Ah,” I snark back, “but then, who would you have to beat up in your fiery brand of affection? Certainly not the vampire; he’s used to giving the blows, not receiving.”
“Khol, maybe?” She smirks, but the warmth in her gaze tells a different story—one of shared secrets and the kind of bond that not even a prince can command. The snake wriggled in at the same time as me, but his lack of attachments helps him best me every time.
Plus, he’s easily as flexible about sex and pain and fun as I am, but much more bloodthirsty.
“Cheers to giving him the punches for a while,” I say, lifting an imaginary glass. “May the odds be ever in his favor with his balls.”
The basilisk in question finally reaches us, setting down the drinks with a knowing look. “You two done sparring?”
“Only because she agreed to save all the violence for you,” I reply with a smirk.
He tilts his head, shrugs, and licks one fang as it descends. “Okay by me. Now let’s get hammered.”
I can do that.
My head is a drum line, each beat a stab of pain. The culprit? A phone that won’t stop dinging its obnoxious tune.
I groan, the noise echoing in my skull, and start pawing through the tangle of limbs sprawled across the bus’s bed. My fingers finally latch onto the shrill device, and through squinted eyes, I recognize it’s Rev’s. Messages cascade down the screen like an endless waterfall on every app known to the digital world. I can’t fathom being responsible for this much internet horseshit when I’m awake and not hungover, much less how I am this morning.
“Ugh,” I exhale, tossing myself onto my back as a wave of nausea hits. I can practically hear the gnomes inside my head, hammering away in a mock parade to John Philip Sousa’s most punishing march.
There’s no way I’m going to unlock this thing and see what’s going on; that much is obvious.
“Fi, give me that.” Tier’s voice cuts through the fog of my hangover as he reaches over us, his gigantic frame causing the bed to dip and sway. He grabs the blasted thing and unlocks it with ease, making me flop back into my spot in relief.
“Watch it, you big oaf. My stomach is on a tilt-a whirl,” I protest. But he’s already engrossed in the phone, urgency etching his features as he reads the mountainof bullshit silently.
“Fiadh, we need to wake up the others,now,” he whispers with a severity that jolts me despite my agony. “Especially Rev.”
Rolling over, I jab an elbow into Khol, who responds with a venomous hiss. I’m not in the mood for his theatrics. Next, I nudge Revelin, who only burrows further into the pile, seeking refuge from reality in the tangle of limbs.
Tier is much less patient, so he shakes the Fae prince roughly. “Rev, get your royal ass up. This is serious.”
Revelin merely grumbles, swatting at Tiernan’s hand like an annoyed cat. It takes Dezi, rising like an ancient vampire lord disturbed from his crypt, to command attention. His voice booms, “Revelin, wake upimmediately.”
That does it, and I know he had to put a little vamp stank on the words.
The Prince’s eyes snap open, annoyance flickering to alertness under Dezi’s red-eyed glare. “What the fuck, man?”
There’s a storm brewing, and somehow, that incessant dinging phone is the lightning rod.
“Tier, kitchen. For the love of glittery wings,please,” Revelin mutters, his voice rough with sleep and irritation as he finally props himself up on one elbow. His fingers scrub at his eyes, trying to erase the vestiges of last night’s debauchery. “I can’t focus without the cure-all.”
Dezi’s smirk is sharp enough to slice through the tension in the air. “I don’t need your mortal concoctions,” he says with a self-satisfied tilt of his head.
Khol disagrees with a swift sock to Dezi’s gut, a growl rumbling from his throat. The two square off, the bus suddenly too small for their clashing egos. I’m in no mood for male garbage, so I put myself between them quickly.
“Knock it off, you two.” My voice is a growl, low and dangerous, vibrating with a hangover-induced wrath. They freeze, and I takeadvantage of the lull to snatch the phone from Tiernan’s grasp and shove it into Revelin’s hands. “And you,” I say, pointing at the snow leopard, my finger unsteady, “please… get moving on that cure.”
Tier’s answering smile is soft, almost apologetic, as he hauls himself to his feet and stumbles toward the tiny kitchenette. I flop back against my pillow, closing my eyes for a moment. I need some time to get myself together, but peace is a luxury we can’t afford right now.
“Alright, Rev, what’s the fucking emergency?” I demand, forcing my eyelids open again. Revelin’s thumbs fly over the screen, his frown deepening with every swipe.
To bother him, it must be bad. But none of us got arrested or naked in public, so what’s the problem?
He turns the phone our way, and the sight on the screen makes my blood boil—a collage of images from last night splattered across social media like a Jackson Pollock painting gone rogue. There we are, drinks in hand, laughter frozen mid-escape, surrounded by adoring fans and envious onlookers. Commentary spews from every corner of the internet, branding us new groupies to the Fae prince’s rock and roll court.
