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Loren perked up at the question. She never would’ve guessed that Aspen had a thing for Malakai, but then again, she hadn’t been around her long enough to get a feel for her.
Aspen shifted on her feet, the legs of the barstool she was leaning against thumping on the floor. “I think you got your answer earlier.”
“If you told him how you felt, I’m sure he’d stop.”
Lace pointed and said, “That is exactly what I told her!”
Aspen waved them away. “Please. As if I’m going to risk losing my home, my circle, and one of my best friends.”
“Asp.” Darien’s tone was reproachful.
Her eyes flashed. “Dare-fucking-devil, get your nosy ass out of my business already. I don’t need you playing matchmaker.”
Jack tried to grab one of the crystal skulls off the bar, but Ivy smacked his hand away. “Ouch,” Jack hissed. But then he was grinning. “Darien thinks he’s an expert in relationships ever since he finally—”
“Don’t say it,” Darien warned.
“—decided to keep one of the girls he brought home,” Jack finished with a snicker, slapping his own thigh with amusement.
Max was shaking his head. “Jeez, Jacky. Do you want to get ex-communicated? Because it kinda seems like it.”
“Nah, I just like pissing him off.” He beamed at Darien, all of his teeth showing. “Am I good at it?”
“Ivy’s slackened your leash too much, you little shit.”
Ivy made a gesture that looked like she was pulling on an invisible rope. “Tightening it up as we speak,” she crooned.
Jack was still smiling. “I’ll take that as a resounding yes.”
“Get the hell out of my face,” Darien snarled.
“Gone, baby!” He gave a lazy wave and made for the front door with his head down.
Malakai came around the corner in jeans and a white t-shirt, his hair tied back in a low knot, the blood scrubbed off his face. “Alright, now that I’m not half-naked and covered in blood. How about that drink?”
—
“So, what do you think?” Malakai set down his glass with a wet thump.
Where he was seated at the bar between Malakai and Max, Loren balanced on his knee, Darien tossed back the dregs of his whiskey. The liquid burned his throat on the way down and made his body feel buoyant, which was just what he needed after tonight. His face was throbbing. If he could see himself in a mirror right now, he knew he would look just as awful as Malakai. “Wargs first,” he decided, setting down his glass. “Huntsmen second.”
“Or both,” Max offered, “if we get lucky.”
Malakai shook his head. “We’ll never catch them in the same place, they hate each other’s guts. Almost as much as I hate this guy’s guts.” He punched Darien in the shoulder—hard enough to cause the muscle to throb in pain.
Darien shot him an icy glare that made the tear in his right eyebrow sting. “You just hit me way harder than you needed to.”
“Because Blondie got in the way before I could get my winning hit in.” He winked.
“Winning?” Darien scoffed. “I was barely getting started.”
Loren cleared her throat. “My name’s not Blondie, it’s Loren.” A shiver of delight dripped down Darien’s spine as she ran her fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his face. Those nails of hers dug into his skin in the best way, the sensation reminding him of when she clawed his back while they were fucking. “If you get to call me Blondie, then I get to call you Tattoo Face.”
Malakai wheezed a laugh. “I like her. If you ever get sick of him, you know where to come, if you catch my drift.” If Loren didn’t catch it, then Darien sure as hell did, and he envisioned punching it down Malakai’s throat. Judging from the way she stiffened slightly in his lap, he figured she’d understood perfectly well.
“If we’re going to work together, I have a couple rules,” Darien said, tightening his grip on Loren’s waist. His words weren’t just for Malakai, but also the other Reapers who were lounging in the sitting room behind them. “Rule number one: no keeping secrets. We tell each other everything. Rule number two: no filthy jokes about my girl. Got it?”
Malakai waved him away. “You were more fun when you were single.” He stood, collected the glasses, and brought them to the sink.
