As with everything else, he accepts my explanation as though it makes complete sense. Weirdo. But he asks, “But why your work?”
“Because we need a ride from the most skeptical human being in the worlds.” I’m feeling generous, so I clarify. “Ford.”
“The bartender?” Ethan’s eyes widen.
“After all the things I’ve told you, you’re surprised overthis?” I gape at him.
He gives an impatient shake of his head. “Why him?”
“Other than the reason I just gave you?” I shrug. “He’s trustworthy, and he owes me a favor.”
“And he’ll crawl over broken glass for you,” he grumbles, dropping my hand. I squash my disappointment at the loss of connection. “That guy’s got it bad for you.”
I laugh in his face. “I helped him out with something a couple of years ago. He’s grateful. That’s all.”
“Yeah, sure.” Ethan stares straight ahead, clenching his teeth.
I study him for a few seconds, then shrug. The past twenty-some hours have been a mother of a shitstorm. He has a right to be cranky. Feeling surprisingly uncranky, I grab his hand—I don’t want to risk losing him—and pick up my pace.
Even at night, the desert heat dries our clothes to a respectable sogginess as we near the end of our long trek down the Strip. I take us through a crowded casino to deposit us onto a side street. Keeping to the busiest sidewalks, we reach my place of employment. I pull Ethan toward the main entrance.
“Isn’t there a side entrance for employees?” He tugs on his shirt, separating it from his muscled torso. That’s a pity. “We aren’t exactly presentable.”
I wave a hand in the vicinity of my feet, then at the mass of people crowding the smoky casino.
“Ah, yes.” His lips curve into a teasing smile. “You need them to stomp on your pixie dust.”
I give him the finger without breaking my stride. He chuckles. My toes try to curl at the warm, rumbling sound but ... hells no. Keeping my toes straight and uncurled, I make a beeline for the main bar. I release a breath of relief when I spot a mop of curly red hair behind the busy bar.
“Hey, there.” I’m all smiles—happy to see a friendly face, happy to be alive.
“Sunny,” Ford wheezes, nearly dropping the tumbler he’s drying. He puts the glass down and stares at me with round eyes.
It takes me a good ten seconds to figure out what the hell has gotten into him. He’s shocked to see me smiling. I admit I don’t do it often, but this is getting ridiculous. With a roll of my eyes, I settle my face back into a grumpy scowl.
He finally blinks and clears his throat. “Your usual?”
“No, just a glass of milk for me.” My limbs feel weak. I think longingly of the steak I left unfinished at the roadside diner. Alcohol definitely isn’t a good idea in my state. “With a splash of Baileys.”
Good ideas are overrated, especially with the clock ticking on my certain demise. My scowl turns even grumpier.
“And you?” Ford’s nostrils flare as he glowers at a point just past my shoulder, plus a foot and change higher.
I didn’t realize Ethan was standing so close to me. I fight the urge to turn around and check how close.
“Club soda with lime.” Ethan’s voice is an octave lower than usual—dark and territorial. I ignore the shiver that courses down my spine.
“With a splash of vodka.” I climb onto a free barstool and turn to Ethan. “You’re understandably cranky after everything that’s happened. Sit and have a drink. You’ll feel better.”
“I think slowing down will make everything much, much worse.” Ethan swipes his hand down his face, then takes a seat next to me. Once Ford is out of earshot, he continues, “Let’s set one thing straight before I become overwhelmed with this new fucked-up reality. You and I? We’re sticking together. Period. End of discussion. Are we clear?”
He wants to stick with me. A one-hundred-thirty-two-year-old fox spirit with emotional baggage the size of Death Valley—plus the added bonus of having the most powerful dark mudang of all time on my tails. Only an idiot would want to stick with me.
“If you stay with me, you’ll die.” Anyone who wants to hurt Ethan will have to do it over my dead body. Unfortunately for us both, they’ll probably get the opportunity to do precisely that.
“I’ll die even if I don’t stay with you.” He holds my gaze. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
“But Ben—”
