A satyr stumbles into us, half his drink sloshing across my sleeve. The sour stench of liquor clings to him like sweat.
“You looking for trouble or fun?” His pupils are blown wide, his grin sloppy.
“Information,” I snap before I can temper my tone.
He throws his head back and laughs like I just delivered the punchline of the century, then staggers off toward the bar. My hands itch to grab him and shake something useful out, but he’s already gone, making his way between bodies.
“Excuse me.” A dryad at the next table leans forward, eyes glazed, her chin barely staying upright in her palm. “I couldn’t help oversee…” She giggles. “I mean overhear. Oversee. Ha! I said oversee.” She says it to no one in particular before whispering conspiratorially, “The council’s behind everything, don’t you know?”
Finally. Something. I lean closer, but before I can press, a pair of half-naked dancers swoop in and drag her away. She squeals, legs kicking, drink splashing down her dress, and is gone, giggling like she never said a word.
Esmerelda exhales hard through her nose, a sharp, frustrated sound. “We’re drowning in gossip here.”
“Yeah.” I rake a hand down my face. “I know.”
Her gaze sweeps the room. “Elves,” she murmurs, tipping her chin toward a couple at the bar. “They gossip more than most, but usually there’s a grain of truth under it.”
I nod, though at this point I’m not sure this filth is worth wading through. Still, it won’t hurt to try.
Esmerelda straightens her shoulders and slides up to the female elf like she was born to own the room. “Hey, I’m areporter for the Thornwatch Journal,” she says, her voice sweet as honey. “I’m doing a piece on the recent wolf pack attacks. You wouldn’t perhaps know anything about it? Heard who’s been targeting packs in these parts?”
The elf leans in, her purple hair brushing Esmerelda’s arm. My stomach knots as her fingers trace an idle pattern over Esmerelda’s skin, deliberate, intimate. “Maybe,” she purrs. “But what’s it worth to you, pretty thing?”
Gods above. If she leans in any closer, she’ll be breathing Esmerelda’s air. My chest tightens, jaw locked so hard it aches.
Her boyfriend materializes, shoving his way between them, his glare sharp enough to cut. “Back off. She’s not your type.”
Esmerelda only laughs, flashing me a look that’s half-tease, half-challenge. “Apparently, I’m everyone’s type.”
Heat spikes through me, ugly and fast. “Not everyone’s.” The words grind out harsher than I mean them to, my jaw twitching with the effort to keep the rest back.
Her smile falters. She tilts her head, her eyes glinting with something I can’t quite read. “Don’t worry. Of course I wasn’t implying I was anywhere near your type.”
There’s a note in her voice. It’s almost brittle. Pain, maybe. Or maybe I’m imagining it. Either way, my stomach sinks. My remark was unnecessary, cheap, and now I feel like a complete bastard.
We push through the press of bodies, catching only scraps of conversations. Blood shipments, disappearances, don’t go near the river. Nothing that holds.
A nymph brushes my arm, nails dragging lightly down to my wrist and snagging on my leather glove. “Forget the questions. You should let me show you a good time.”
Esmerelda slides smoothly between us, her voice satin and steel. “He already has one.”
The nymph pouts and drifts away. Esmerelda doesn’t look at me, but my chest is tight all the same.
We pass the vampire couple again, and I part my lips to try one more angle, desperate to salvage something useful. But before I can get a word out, a drunk vamp stumbles into us, the sharp reek of bloodwine rolling off him as half his drink splashes down my sleeve.
“Less interrogation, more dancing,” he slurs, grinning with too many teeth. “Are you here for answers or a good time? ’Cause unless you start moving, I’m starting to think you don’t belong here at all.”
My jaw tightens. The words “don’t belong” grind against my temper. He’s too close, too loud, and for one dangerous second I want to shove him hard enough that he remembers who the fuck he’s talking to.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Esmerelda. Her lips part, hesitation flickering across her face. It twists something in my gut. But then her chin lifts, her eyes catching the strobe lights, glittering with mischief instead of fear. A new song thunders through the speakers, bass vibrating up through the soles of my boots.
“Perfect,” she squeals, bouncing on her toes as if she’s been waiting for this very cue. Before I can react, she snatches my hand, and fire rips through my arm again as though she’s burned right through the glove. Then the vampire’s there, dragging us both onto the dance floor. Her laughter rings bright over the music, and all I can do is follow, pulse hammering with the sudden, dangerous thought that she belongs here far more than I do.
Once we get to the center of the dance floor, she drops both our hands. The vampire stands off to the side, his arms crossed over his chest, watching. I guess it’s showtime.
She swings her hips, pressing her body against mine. I slide my hands to her waist as she backs into me, and the brush of her ass against my cock almost unravels me. How can one brief brush almost make me come undone? Her arms loop behind my neck, her gaze taunting over her shoulder, and it almost brings me to my knees.
She sways, trailing her hands down her own body. For the first time in my life, I feel a sting of jealousy. Not of a rival, but of her own hands, because I want it to be me. She drags her fingers higher, wrapping them around my neck again, tugging me down. I slide my palms down her sides, pulling her hard against me. The hiss of breath escaping her lips tells me she feels exactly how hard I am.
