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“Oh my stars, this bar sure could use a lick of paint, don’t you think?” I said with a forced smile.

Reynard sighed through his nose, then reached inside his jacket pocket and handed over Tom’s chip. “You should reinstall Tom for the time being, so you can open the bar again, or else Zodiac will go hungry.”

Reynard was considering Zodiac’s well-being? “That’s thoughtful. Thank you.”

“Your grin implies you’re assuming my thoughtfulness for the demon is more than a courtesy, when I am merely stating a fact.”

“Sure, yup. Why would you care if Zee goes hungry? It’s not as though you’ve recently experienced some complicated feelings regarding Zodiac, like you said at Razorsedge?” I left that one hanging, knelt, and plugged the chip back into its little black box.

“Those were extenuating circumstances.”

“Hello, and welcome to the Tom Collins Artificial Bartender Package, version two point one. To change my language, please state your preferred linguistic package now.”

I stood, and patted Basic Tom’s shoulder. “You’re going to be alright, Tom. We’ll find a way to break you again.”

“Adam Vex,” Basic Tom said. His head swiveled toward me. His eyes widened, unblinking. “Goodbye.”

“Eh?” That was weird.

Tom picked up a glass, and brought it down onto the side of the bar, smashing it into jagged pieces. “Goodbye.”

“Adam!” Reynard yelled.

“Goodbye,” Tom repeated again, and lunged.

Jagged glass slashed an inch from my face. I yelped, and danced backwards, away from the sharp parts. The wards hadn’t activated.

Reynard became a blur of darkness between me and Murder Tom. Broken glass flew, and Reynard tore off Tom’s arm, that was still holding the remains of the glass. Sparks danced and hissed.

I dropped, yanked the plug out, and blinked up at the now limp Tom Collins, and Reynard holding his floppy, mechanical arm.

“Adam, are you alright?” Reynard dumped the arm on the bar.

“I think so.” I straightened, then caught Reynard’s widening eyes, and how their swirl of silver grew.

“You’re bleeding.”

“Oh, am I? Uh.” I frantically patted my legs, chest, arms. Nothing felt hurt. “Are you—” As I looked up, Reynard moved in close, squishing me against the bar and all of his firm, powerful self. “Sure?” I squeaked.

“Most certain.” His voice had gotten all smooth and delicious, and as his fingers trailed down my right arm, tiny shivers danced through me too. He gathered my hand in his, and brought it up between us. There, on my fingertip, glistened a dribble of blood. Tom’s broken glass must have caught me when I’d jumped back.

Reynard brought my finger to his lips.

I gulped.

His tongue swept out, and licked up my finger—warm, and wet, and firm. His eyes held me transfixed. He angled my finger, sucked it between his fangs, and every single thought fell out of my head. Apart from one. I really wished my finger was my dick.

A tiny mew squeaked out of me. Oh-kay, daddy, do me now. Backward, forward, upside down. I didn’t care. Do me any way. I bit my lip to keep from blurting how much he’d set me ablaze.

Another step, and he was everywhere, pressed in, pulling me deeper into his orbit.

His free hand teased into my hair, and as he brought my finger from his mouth, he bowed his head and whispered, “Would this be an appropriate time for me to admit how I crave your closeness?”

So many words. “Now is good.”

Zee was a lot to take in up close, and so was Reynard, but in a very different way. Zee was loud, rambunctious, and physical. Reynard was restrained power. He could snap me in half, but at the same time, his touch was as delicate as butterfly wings. He could move faster than I could track, but right now, he barely moved at all.

That long-lashed gaze roamed my face, drinking in every nuance, savoring me, like a fine wine he’d yet to fully sample.