Why did he seem familiar? Did he resemble a former lover? No, this man, Wycke would remember. Hadn’t someone mentioned icy blue eyes to him recently? He tried to recall, only to have his mind drift away in one hundred different directions. What had he been thinking about?
The man gave a barely perceptible jolt, then placed both hands on the bar, his face not lighting with lust. Strange. Humans always lusted for Wycke. “What can I get you?” Were his hands trembling?
Wycke lowered his voice to a seductive purr. “You?”
The bartender scrunched his face. “What?”
“I want you.”
The bartender gave a nervous laugh, flashing white teeth in a strained smile. “Not on the menu. How about a beer?”
No? The man said no? Wycke squinted hard. Nonmagical. Human. How could he resist? “As a second choice? Sure. Pick one you like.” He’d never known a human to not at least flirt, especially in a place designed for meeting tomorrow morning’s bad idea. Instead, the man seemed—stressed, shoulders tensed.
The bartender offered another practiced smile, sliding a frosty glass across the bar. Wycke used one of the few magical abilities he’d mastered from necessity, conjuring the correct amount of currency, plus a healthy tip. He slid his palm against the bartender’s, depositing the money while keeping eye contact. Lightning struck his palm, racing up his arm.
The bartender paused, wide-eyed, then abruptly turned and stalked off to help someone else.
A young woman with a fuzzy turquoise halo leaned over on her barstool. “Twenty or thirty men a night hit on him, you know. I think he’s been home with maybe two in the past year if that.” She held up three fingers, eyes crossing as she studied the wickedly sharp, blood-red talons on the ends.
“What?”Wycke shouted over the club's noise.
“I’m saying, if you want him, you gotta offer more than everyone else. He can have anyone in here he wants. So why should he choose you? Which, upon consideration, is a pretty low blow to a few egos if he turns down a hookup to watch reruns of 80s shows and cuddle with Kitty.” The woman managed the whole tirade without stopping to take a breath. She frowned at her still-extended fingers, a wrinkle forming between her eyebrows, then shrugged, dropping her hand.
Wycke had heard the saying,“Lights are on, but nobody’s home”before. In this woman’s case, the lights were on, with a party taking place indoors.
The woman wore a white T-shirt and faded blue jeans, sort of. More holes than material, with a curly-hair-meets-high-humidity hairstyle.
“Might I ask your name and how you know so much about him?”
“His cockblocking bestie.” The woman held out her hand. Fantastical inked creatures from Wycke’s own realm trailed from her wrist to disappear under the sleeve of her shirt. What were those called again? Tattoos? She wore silver rings in her eyebrow, nose, lower lip, and every finger. “Jessica. But you can call me Jess if you promise you’re not an asshole.”
Was Wycke an asshole? Depended on who one asked, he supposed. “I’m not an asshole.” At least, Wycke hadn’t yet acquired the title in this realm.
The woman—Jess—dropped her hand and regarded Wycke with unfocused eyes. “Do you have a job?”
Did the assignment from Saris count? More of a mission than a job, but… “Yes.”
“Pay your own bills?” Jess abandoned her perusal of Wycke’s body to study his face.
What bills? No need to say his brother-by-bonding’s clerk handled the financial aspects of Wycke’s life. “Yes.”
“Do you like pets?”
“I have a cat.” Sort of.
Jess narrowed her eyes. “Understand that if you hurt him, they’ll never find your body?”
Was she a sorceress who could make Wycke disappear? He scanned Jess’s aura. Nope. Not a bit of magic. Perhaps one too many of whatever she drank, judging by her impromptu dance while trying to stay upright on her barstool.
She turned her attention to Wycke’s hair. “Cool hair. Is the color natural?” Her bright demeanor fell in favor of a scowl fit to make banshees shrink back in fear. “I’ll yank you bald-headed if you so much as make him frown.”
Wycke’s hair? What kind of barbarian threatened hair? Of course, the color was natural. People repeatedly telling him to dye it brown left him too stubborn to glamour it another shade.
“Yo! Piers!” Jess shrieked, easily overcoming any background noise.
The bartender returned. “Yes, Your Highness?”
What? How did he… Oh.
