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The customer took it and left, head down. The door creaked and slammed shut with his departure.
Darien stepped up to the desk, his hand still wrapped around Loren’s.
The warlock looked him over. “You’re here for Venom,” he said, tucking the money into a cash box, a pair of yellow eyes peering from the shadows inside.
“As much as you can give me,” Darien confirmed.
But the warlock shook his head. “I got nothin’. I’m all out.”
“You’re out again?” Darien snapped.
“Who’s buying this shit?” Kylar chimed in.
The man merely said, “Bring me tar. I’ll get you your Venom.”
Darien cursed under his breath, but turned to face the others. “Let’s go.” He twisted to address the man again. “How long are you here till?”
“Four.”
“How quickly can you make it?”
“An hour. Two, tops.”
“Fine,” Darien bit out. His fierce blinking told Loren he was fighting a Surge. “I’ll be back within the hour.”
They left the dealer’s and moved onto the next stop on their list: Morsian darts.
“Do you need to go and get tar?” Loren asked him with a whisper.
“Right after this,” he confirmed, his words still taut with lingering anger.
“Am I coming?”
He glanced down at her. “I’d prefer if you didn’t, but I won’t stop you.” He tugged her slightly to the left, out of the path of a drunk werewolf who was fighting the Shift, tremors running through his body from head to toe. “The pits are infested with Hounds,” Darien explained. “We got attacked the last time we went there.”
“I’ll ride with Max back to Roman’s, then,” she decided. They’d brought two vehicles here—Max’s new mammoth of an SUV and Darien’s truck. Malakai was currently in the latter, keeping an eye on the vehicles, this market crawling with criminals. Darien had told her carjacking was a big problem in these parts.
She stuck close to Darien as Kylar once again led the way through the squalid, overcrowded market. This place was a giant puzzle, the abundance of meandering paths enough to muddle anyone’s bearings. Compared to the Umbra Forum, this market was densely packed, which meant more threats to watch out for, more reasons to watch your back. But the many vampires, veneficae, werewolves, and hellsehers crowding the space were wise to clear a path for the Darkslayers, who hid their identities with hoods yet still managed to demand respect with presence and vibe alone.
When they reached an outdoor fighting ring, Kylar pushed deep into the crowds surrounding the roped-in square. Darien followed, Loren’s hand still in his, Dallas and Max coming in close behind. Loren kept her head down as they walked, careful not to look at the many faces picking apart their group, most of the stares lingering on her and Dallas. She knew that if she gave them the satisfaction of looking up, they’d take it as an invitation. A challenge.
Wild cheering and the ear-splitting squall of a bullhorn tore through the night, the ring announcer declaring a victor. All around them, the crowd erupted with excitement, jumping and clapping and stamping their feet.
Someone slammed into Loren hard enough to bruise, the force of the collision nearly ripping her hand out of Darien’s grasp.
But Darien did not let go, and he was quick to shove aside the man who’d bumped into her, the look on Darien’s face so lethal, it could pass for a weapon all on its own. “Come near her again, I’ll cut your goddamn heart out,” Darien snarled through bared teeth. Black eyes that were truly terrifying shone in the shadows beneath his hood.
The man backed up, hands shooting into the air. The few people in the immediate vicinity retreated too, murmuring to one another in fearful tones.
Darien tugged Loren closer and kept walking, wrapping a strong arm around her waist this time, putting her partially in front of him. No one could bump into her now unless they hit Darien too, and no one in their right mind would want to do that. “You okay?” he asked her, that razor-edged tone still present in the question. The crowd was so loud, she could hardly hear him.
“I’m fine.”
“Anyone else touches you, I’ll slit their throat.” The threat sent a shiver up her spine.
She peeked up at him, tracing his scarred knuckles with her thumb. “Are you okay?” she whispered, noting the black lingering in his eyes.
Darien took a second to answer. “No one can touch you, sweetheart, or I lose my shit.” Loren knew that was true, but there was something in that deadly stare he used to pick apart the crowds—daring people to come too close—that told her something else was going on here.
