A sense, a knowing, before it was smelt—cinnamon, sweet at first inhale, savage once it settled.
I followed it.Huntedit. But right as I had felt it take its next breath, it had disappeared.
I pulled my hood down, the rusted sign swinging into view on its chains, groaning against the wind. The name has long since worn to nothing, but everyone in Csolenia know’s it.
The Lion’s Den.
Where mortals and Fae alike come to trade their shame for ale, their virtue for sweat and sex.
The air inside hit like a fist, thick and sour with stale drink as bodies pressed close and Callum and I slipped into the dim.
A man sat high atop the oak bar, shirt plastered to his sunburnt chest, drenched in ale and sweat both. His tuneless voice carried over the clamor, pint after pint already sloshing down his throat. His rounded ears gave him away as mortal.
If not that, then the tales of his voyages did—the sorts of stories sung only by those too stupid to keep their lives.
My boots stuck to the warped boards with every step, each one tugging me down as we wound through the staggering crowd, past crooked tables and drunken limbs, until we found space at the bar.
Behind it, shelves of glass bottles climbed the wall. Some empty, some brimming, waiting to spill secrets.
The barkeep filled two glasses with a dark liquor, its amber burn catching the lantern’s glow from above. He slid them toward us, some of it already splashing down the sides.
Callum flicked two coins forward, but the man waved him off, already moving on. He tucked them beneath an empty glass, leaving them there anyway.
“That was generous.” My lips pursed as the drink burned down my throat. I hated ale. But no one survived a place like this sober.
“He owed me a favor,” Callum said, just as a girl drifted toward him.
She was petite, wearing a dress that was more a suggestion than fabric. It dipped low around her chest, clinging high at the apex of her thighs. Lace framed both the edges like a prayer holding it together. Another strip crowned her tawny knotted hair as she twirled it, flirtation wrapping between her fingers.
“Hey, handsome.” She slid her hand up Callum’s arm like it already belonged to her. “Want some company?” Brown eyes skimmed to me, narrowing and edged with challenge while her lips curled into a smirk. “Better company, at least?”
I choked.
A full, humiliating cough clawed at my chest until my ribs ached.
Wiping the foam from my chin, I set the mug down with a little too much calm. “Careful now—”
Callum held out his arm, likely expecting me to snap. I couldn’t blame him. Though, I wasn’t going to hurt her. I knew what she was, just a girl surviving, snatching coin with what men would pay for. Still, that didn’t mean she got to insult me.
His mouth brushed the rim of his cup, eyes tracking down the length of her before he swallowed half of it. “Appreciate the offer, but I’m unavailable.” He angled his head toward a corner, where a cluster of men stood, pretending not to stare. “They seem...unwise. You’ll have a much better evening if you try your hand there, I’m sure of it.”
She blinked, then huffed a little laugh. “You’re loss, flame-boy.” Then she bounced away, hips swaying to the music, already smiling at someone else.
I lost it.
A laugh ripped out of me before I could bite it down. I doubled slightly, hand pressed to my ribs, wheezing.
“Flame-boy,” I repeated, tears gathering. “I’m stitching it onto a banner and framing it. Then I’m tellingeveryone.”
His jaw ticked so hard I thought his teeth might crack. “Don’t.”
Which, of course, only made it worse.
He dragged a hand down his face, lifting his chin at the barkeep, who had finally spotted the coins he’d left behind.
“Verena—" He cleared his throat. “If you embroider that slander onanything, I will personally set it on fire. And then,” he finished off his ale, motioning for a second, “I will tell everyone you hissed at a tree once.”
I froze; he smirked. Damn. Why had he storedthatmemory?
