Cutting across a thoroughfare, he made his way to Club Anarchy. Bypassing the long line of people leading to the entrance of the club and the two demon bouncers there, he entered the popular nightspot. Heavy metal music vibrated around him. He tuned it out, but could do little about the multicolored laser lights whipping his retinas. A group of inebriated humans stumbled toward him. He skirted them and took the stairs to the upper level, nodded to a waitress, and raised three fingers. “Whiskey—neat.”
Hands braced on the gallery railing, he watched the feverish, gyrating bodies on the ground floor. Seconds later, a musky feminine scent surrounded him. A reed-thin female clad in a short, skin-tight black dress settled against the balustrade.
“Hey there, big guy.” Her smile amped up as she studied him beneath lowered lashes.
Taking his silence as an invitation, she trailed her fingers down his arm. He cut her an impassive stare. She dropped her hand.
“We could have so much fun,” she murmured.
He didn’t respond. Sidestepping her, he headed for his usual table. The drunken fools occupying it should be running. Instead, they glared at him, looking for a fight.
Oh, he wanted one, all right, but not with these sotted idiots. A draft of air would doubtless knock them on their arses. He willed them to leave and dropped into his seat
The waitress appeared with his whiskeys.
“Keep the tab running.” He slugged two back in rapid succession. Fire blazed down his throat, giving him a transient sensation of warmth. Right then, he wished for oblivion.
Go get her. You need her.
He stared at his empty glass. No, she’d be safe this way. And Maloch would never know about her.
A stir in the air had him looking up. Detachedly, he watched the female dressed in a long, dark green skirt and lace-up leather vest approach him and debated leaving. That icy, untouchable aura surrounding her like a cloak rapidly cleared a path through the gawking humans.
The Morrigan pulled out the chair opposite his and sat down. Resting her arms on the scarred wooden table, she laced her fingers. Her stunning, pale features remained calm, but her gaze held a hint of wariness. “Blaéz—”
He ignored her, picked up his third whiskey, and sucked back the rest of his liquor. He didn’t care for the great queen—the all-powerful Goddess of War and Death and her maternal guilt visits. He just wished she’d forget he ever existed.
The waitress reappeared with his refills. He downed another.
“Blaéz, stop,” The Morrigan pleaded. “That liquor will not help you. Pay heed to me—”
“Why? I remember doing so once, and look where it got me, thrown in that hellhole.”
She didn’t flinch at his cold words. “I could do nothing, you know this.”
“Indeed.”
“It was too dangerous. Blaéz…” She reached out to stroke his hand.
He picked up his drink and took another swallow.
Her fingers balled at his avoidance of her touch. “The pantheons were at each other’s throats, and asking only foryourpardon would have been disastrous.Allthe protectors were held responsible for Inara’s abduction. But you survived that place. You are strong. You are mine,a mhac—”
“Enough.”Nowshe would call him son when she never had before. He set his empty glass on the table. “I care little that you chose me to do a minimal job as protector to some goddess. It’s the why. And, Your Highness”—her mouth tightened at his deliberate use of her title—“don’t seek me out again.”
Yes, he was a cold-hearted bastard. She’d made him into one when she’d given him away the moment he’d taken his first breath. He would never call hermy goddess, or worse,Mother.
He pushed up from his seat, threw several dollars on the table and walked out, taking the stairs two at a time. People hurried out of his way as he headed for the door.
Outside, the humid stench of decay and garbage barely made an impact as he headed deeper into the alley. At the sudden flutter of wings, he glanced up. Ravens and crows moved along with him. He wasn’t surprised at the entourage. The Morrigan’s shape-shifting warriors never left her alone.
“Blaéz, wait—”
He pivoted. “You want to talk? Let’s do so, by all means, let me tell you all about it. The Jaedas, indeed, you are familiar with those amorphous entities,” he said when she stared at him in shock, “they held me trapped in that shifting hell of Tartarus for centuries, took over my body, and did things—well, you get the picture. Or did you want to know about the sick motherfucker who found me in the last century of my confinement and now owns my soul?”
Her deep blue eyes widened in distress before morphing into determination. “Blaéz, listen to me. I can help—”
“No. Every time you do, I land in a pile of shit and pay with blood.”
