by Skye Malone
Great. Now I know his name.
“You don’t look so good,” he continues.
A scoff leaves me. Not the greatest pickup line in history.
Like I need one?
My insides roll and I shudder, clamping my lips shut on a whimper.
“Hey.” He starts toward me again.
“No.” I hold up a hand, backpedaling. My legs bump into a chair.
He stops a second time. “You’re hungry, aren’t you?”
A string of insults present themselves, laden with desperation. Dammit, is that written across my face or something?
“And, um…” Rafael continues, “I’m guessing they didn’t tell you about me?”
I look up at him in confusion.
“You can’t feed on me,” he says. “And you can’t hurt me. It’s not going to happen. But, uh…” He glances to the bar. “I could probably help you.”
I eye him warily. “How?”
A brief smile flashes over his face. “Come have a seat.” He nods toward the stools and then walks around the bar again, watching me as he goes.
Cautiously, I make my way back to the bar and sink unsteadily onto a barstool. Rafael turns to the array of liquor bottles.
I shake my head fast. “I don’t want—”
“It’s not that,” he assures me. “This is just something I’ve made for Brett when he’s ended up desperate.”
My brow furrows.
He draws out a bottle from behind the others. It appears positively ordinary compared to the ones nearby; a plain, crystal box holding something that looks like water. He tugs the stopper from it and then snags a glass from underneath the bar.
Clear liquid pours into the glass. With quick, efficient motions, he twists the bottle to keep any of the liquid from dripping down the sides, stops it up again, and sets it on the bar. Taking the glass in his hand, he regards the liquid for a moment and then whispers something. I can’t make out the words.
But I can see the result. Light flares in the glass, glittering and bright like a million pieces of iridescent stardust are suddenly trapped in the liquid. I gasp.
He extends the glass to me. I don’t move.
“It’s okay,” he promises.
I still don’t move. “What are you?”
He shrugs like I’ve asked a complicated question. “Someone who doesn’t want to hurt you either.”
My gaze darts from him to the glowing liquid.
“Come on,” he urges. “I told you, I’ve made this for Brett. It’ll take the edge off. Trust me.”
Gingerly, I take the glass. For a moment, I study its glittering contents and then cautiously raise it to my lips. Cool liquid slips into my mouth. I make myself swallow.
And it feels good.
I blink. It only takes a heartbeat before my shakiness begins to fade. My hunger too. My mind starts to clear, like the liquid is washing away the craving that’s been steadily trying to overwhelm me all day.
Swiftly, I gulp down the rest and then lower the glass almost reluctantly when the last drop is gone. But a fog of desperation seems to be melting from around me. My ragged breathing is gradually easing.
Rafael grins. “Better?”
I don’t know what to say. I feel practically normal, whatever that is anymore. “What was that?”
He shrugs again—the same motion, like it’s complicated. “Small potion. It won’t last, but it’ll get you through till tonight when the club opens.”
Some of my elation dims. “Could I have more later?”
He hesitates. “It’s not really meant for that. Too much and there start to be… other effects. Bad ones.”
I let out a breath, looking away. Of course it can’t be simple. Some potion thing and my problems are gone.
“You don’t want to feed on anybody?” Rafael asks.
I don’t respond. I still don’t know who this guy is or how he fits into this crazy demon world.
“What are you?” I ask again. “Really?”
He pauses. “Lot of things. But mostly, uh…” He grimaces. “Brett really didn’t mention anything?”
I shake my head. I think I remember Brett and Amar talking about someone named Rafael the other day. But that’s it.
He nods slowly. “Alright, well. Mostly… I’m dead.”
I don’t move.
“A ghost,” he elaborates.
I blink.
“Yeah, okay,” Rafael says, a touch uncomfortably. “Well, I’m not going to hurt you and—”
“What?” I choke.
He hesitates.
“You’re…” I swallow hard. “You don’t look—”
He chuckles. “Oh, I can ghoul it up when I want to.”
I blanch.
Rafael spots my expression. “Not going to hurt you,” he repeats firmly.
I start breathing again.
He watches me for a moment and then reaches under the counter and takes out another glass. With that same well-practiced efficiency, he fills it from a nearby spigot and then extends it to me.
I hesitate, my gaze darting to his hand.
“Just water, I swear. You look like you could use it.” A hint of his grin returns. “Or something stronger.”
I take the glass. “How can you…” My hand twitches toward his. I’m not sure how to explain. “I mean, you’re…”
“Holding stuff?”
I nod.
He seems to consider his words. “I’ve been this way for a while. Practice comes with its perks.”
My gaze flicks to the plastic bin of glasses that he’s left on the counter. “And you used to be the bartender?”
He laughs. “I am the bartender.”
I stare at him.
“I work with Brett,” he explains. “He and I started the club together about six years ago.”
My brow climbs.
Rafael shakes his head. “God, I am going to kick his ass for not explaining this.” There’s no rancor in his voice, just amusement.
“He started the club with a ghost.”
“Oh, I wasn’t dead then. That happened about four years back. Before that, I was a witch. It’s sort of a prerequisite to becoming a ghost. Another perk, really.” He pauses at my expression. “And you’ve never heard of witches like me either. Right. Damn.”
I’m back to staring. I can’t quite stop.
“Okay, well, a witch – my kind of witch – is a human who learns how to use magic. Not the same as a Touched; they’re addicted to specifically what you guys give off. Witches like me learn to handle the essence of the energy that all demons use, and we do it slowly. Carefully. Safely. Which is how I could do that.” He nods to the glass that had held the glowing liquid. “But, at the same time, magic changes us. We don’t become like you. We’re not demons, but we’re not quite human either. And when we die, the energy we’ve taken in holds us here. Helps to keep us alive—minus a body, anyway.”
I don’t know what to say.
“It’s not a bad deal, all things considered. I’m still here. I still run the bar and keep an eye on the place, same as I did before I died.”
I bite back the obvious question. He seems to see it anyway.
“Kind of personal,” he says.
I nod quickly. I can imagine how you died would be.
His lip twitches at my response. “You’re taking this pretty well.”
My brow knits. I don’t know about that. Maybe my threshold for crazy is just topping out.
Again.
“Why don’t you want to feed on anyone?” Rafael asks.
I’m still not sure I want to answer. “Kind of personal.”
He pauses, studying me. I look away. I don’t know how to explain—or even if I should. Who knows how anyone here would treat me if they knew the truth.
“It’s not a bad thing, you know,” he tries. “Being fed from. In case that, I don’t know, bothers you or something.”
He says it like he’s not sure that’s my problem. Like the idea is a
little strange.
But that’s not what catches me.
I look back at him, a question on the tip of my tongue.
“Brett,” he acknowledges, nodding. “More than a few times, back before I died.”
I blink. Rafael’s lip twitches.
“Incubi and succubi are all pretty much pansexual,” he explains with another shrug. “For that matter, so am I. And come on, Brett’s hot.”
He watches me, that grin still hovering around his lips like he’s offering me the chance to join him in the expression.
I try for a smile, but my thoughts are too tangled up in what he said before. Brett, feeding from him. What that was like. I haven’t really thought about this from the other side. Being a not-quite-monster who nearly killed two people has been enough to process.
“You can’t make anyone do anything they don’t want to,” Rafael says. “The others told you that, right? Magic can’t force something that isn’t already there.”
My skin crawls. I hadn’t really thought of that either.
It definitely should have occurred to me.
I feel nauseated.
“You heighten the experience for humans,” Rafael continues. “You make it feel amazing. But you don’t force them into it. You’re not like a magical rufie or something.”
I can’t stop myself from fidgeting.
“Is that what bothers you?” From the corner of my eye, I see him studying me like he’s still trying to determine what the problem could be. “The idea that you’d be forcing someone to sleep with you?”
The scrutiny is terrible. “No.” I grimace at my too-fast response. “I mean, yes. Of course. It’s just—”
“What?” he asks when I cut off.
It’s just I think I’m in love with Amar, I answer silently.
A pained feeling tries to claw its way up through my chest. I shift on the seat a second time, struggling to give no sign. “I don’t know,” I lie.
He nods, but I can tell he doesn’t believe the words.
I fix my attention on anything but him. The dark wood of the bar. The way the lights glisten from its surface. And I beg whatever gods listen to demons that Rafael will drop the subject.
“Okay…” he allows after a moment. “Well, we’ve got a place set up for you to stay, so if you want to see that…? Maybe hang out there till the club opens and—”
I shift position all over again.
“Right,” he finishes carefully. He pauses again, and then steps forward, passing straight through the bar. “Follow me?”
I stare.
He walks toward the hall.
I falter, but there isn’t another option besides doing what he said. Watching him warily, I slide off the stool and start after him.
Sorcha is waiting in the shadows of the hallway, nearly invisible till I’m right on top of her. I stop, alarmed. “You—”
“Oh, she’s been there the whole time,” Rafael offers.
Sorcha meets the words with a flat stare. “I thought you should know—” She turns deliberately to me. “Ulric sent the man who was watching your friend after her. He’ll keep an eye on her in Arizona.”
A breath leaves me, almost physically painful relief pressing the air from my chest.
“We were hired to protect you both,” Sorcha continues, her voice becoming ever-so-slightly gentler. “No one specified that the job was to be limited by distance or location.”
I choke back an incredulous laugh. I want to hug her, except that she probably won’t like it. “Thank you,” I manage. “All of you. Thank you.”
The shadows are thick, but I’d swear the hint of a smile touches her face. “It’s what we were paid to do,” she says, repeating Ulric’s words from a day ago, though nowhere near as coldly as he’d spoken.
I nod, at a loss for how else to respond. Struggling to regroup, I glance to Rafael, who is most certainly grinning.
And I grin right back. I can’t help it. I barely know this guy, but right now, I’d smile at Alistair Linden.
“So, show you the room?” Rafael offers.
I nod.
He echoes the motion. “This way.”
Rafael starts off down the hall. Shaking—but this time with relief—I follow him while Sorcha trails me as silently as another ghost.
He slips from the bed and the girl doesn’t stir. She won’t wake for hours, he knows. The ones he feeds from never do.
In silence, he pulls on his pants and then crosses to the window. Evening light teases at the edges of the thick curtains. He pushes aside the fabric and looks down at the manor grounds three floors below. The grass is painted with gold and long shadows stretch from the trees. Over the hills, the sun hovers on the verge of setting. The sky is a swath of pinks and yellows more vivid than any picture could capture.
He wishes Cait could see it.
A grimace twists his face. This should have been easier. He’s been doing this since he was twelve and, after all the energy he’d output over the past few days, he hadn’t had any choice but to feed. It shouldn’t have been a problem.
Except it was.
Except he couldn’t stop thinking about Cait. Her body, moving with his. Her face, overcome by what he was doing to her. Her skin, slicked with sweat and softer than silk beneath his hands. Autopilot alone had gotten him through feeding on this girl whose name he doesn’t even know, but the entire time…
Damn, he wishes it’d been Cait in that bed.
His forearm braces him against the window frame. Sex has never mattered. He’s never seen it the way humans do; never had the chance. It’s energy he takes in because he has to. Desire has little to do with it beyond what he can elicit in others. And sure, he never wants to hurt anyone, never tries to lead anybody on, and it’s in his best interest to make sure the people he’s with have a good time. But ultimately, for him it’s empty.
Until Cait.
His eyes close. He misses her. The simple act of feeding brought that home more intensely than he could have dreamed. It’s hardly been more than a day since last he saw her, but for some reason, that makes no difference. This strange, alien ache inside him has grown stronger by the hour, till it’s as powerful as any hunger he’s ever felt. He’s craving her, but in this way where he knows sex with her is only part of what he’s longing for. In this way where it’s almost excruciating not to know when he’ll get to hold her in his arms again.
Or if she’ll still be okay when he does.
His brow furrows tightly. He called Brett hours ago. He hadn’t hinted that he’d made another deal with Lucretia, or that his concern was anything more than the simple practicality of avoiding a possible attack in the middle of a campus neighborhood, but he’d still managed to get the guy to agree to find Cait and Ruby and let them stay at Temptation. Between Brett, Rafael, the mercenaries, and all the defenses around that place, he’d done everything short of putting her and Ruby in a fortress. Lucretia wouldn’t be able to double-cross him while Cait and her friend were there.
But Cait would be hungry too. She’d used a fair amount of energy on the guys chasing her and she hasn’t fed enough in the entire time she’s known she’s a Legacy. By now, she’s probably starving. And he’d wanted to be there for her about that. He’d wanted to help make certain she found someone to feed from who would treat her with the care she deserved.
A breath leaves him and with effort he pushes the fears away. Brett might be a full-blood, and thus have the nearly nonexistent concern for others that that entailed, but he also wouldn’t want trouble at his club. He’d make sure she found someone safe.
On the far side of the room, a click sounds. He pushes away from the window frame and looks toward the noise, any hint of expression disappearing from his face. The pale maid peeks past the door, and then freezes when she sees him.
“Oh.” Her bright red gaze darts to the girl in the bed. “Did you have enough, Master Okoro?”
“Yes, thank you. What is it?”
“M
istress Volgert would like you to know that her people are ready to leave for the nearest storage of Touched. They await your presence in the main hall whenever you are ready.”
“I’ll be there in a moment.”
She flashes him an anxious smile and then retreats from the room, shutting the door behind her.
He sighs. It won’t be much longer, he promises himself. He’ll find this Touched, undo what was done to them if he can, and then leave.
It’s only one job. He’ll see Cait again soon.
My room at the club turns out to be a converted storage closet. It’s only for tonight; Brett promises an actual room in his apartment upstairs once he gets some boxes moved out. But until then, I’m here, waiting. A metal shelving unit stands to my left, devoid of bottles or whatever else it might have once held. There’s an old calendar on the wall, two years out of date, and vents in the concrete ceiling that rattle every time the air conditioning turns on. Brett and Rafael set up a bed in here too; a rickety, camp-style thing with a green blanket. I’m sitting on the edge of it. I don’t want to think about the other reason it’s here.
A knock comes at the metal door, barely audible past the music pounding through the walls. I rise and cross the two steps to the door, trying to ignore the shrink wrap that is the black dress Brett somehow found for me. It’s low-cut and ends scarcely below my hips. I figure it probably belongs to Bianca.
I pull the door open. Sorcha and Ulric are on the other side.
“The club has filled sufficiently with people,” Ulric states without preamble. “Your activities should go unnoticed.”
I struggle to keep my nauseated reaction to the words from my face. I’m channeling Amar with everything I’ve got right now. His calm. His poise. The way nothing—not demons, not humans, probably not even nuclear bombs—upsets him. Because I’m going to get through this. It has to happen.
The last several hours have made that more than clear.
I walk past Ulric and Sorcha, not looking at either of them. It’s the truth, really. I have to face this. It doesn’t make me a monster. I’m not going to lose control and kill someone; I don’t even think that’s a possibility anymore.
Because nobody is going to make me feel like Amar.
Sorcha slips past me to take the lead. I know this result wasn’t what Bianca had in mind when she talked about me having sex with Amar, ‘getting my first time over with’ or whatever. But through all these hours where I’ve been doing nothing but think, I’ve realized it’s the truth. No amount of mist or magic is going to come close to what I feel when I’m with him.