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Fuck.
Another glance at the bar tells me that Ronan—still brooding over Kari—won’t be any more receptive to my recruitment speech tonight.
So much for my agenda.
Fuck.
Since surrogates aren’t my thing—a bit too impersonal—I can at least seduce a willing bedmate for the night and charge up for the hard days of training ahead. There are plenty of women here—witches and humans alike. This shouldn’t be difficult.
Sighing, I head to the bar where Marrok has my pint waiting. I stop short when I spot Ice sidling up to Sabelle.
She shoots him a nervous glance. He looks ready to devour her.
This isn’t the first time I’ve seen the sod look that way at my sister.
Fuck.
Thankfully, a glower is all it takes to “encourage” Sabelle to back away from the bastard. With a murmur, she makes her way to Olivia, who’s quickly becoming both a gifted witch and her good friend.
Ice glares at me across the pub.
He doesn’t appreciate my interference? I don’t fucking care. He’s damn good in training. He’s damn good in battle.
But he’s trash, and if he wants to live, he will never touch my sister.
Before I can cross the room to stand between them, Duke swaggers in my direction, clearly more than one drink in. “Can’t thank you enough for including me in all this. You could have passed me over, I know. I’m young.”
Forty-three. Quite young. His age gave me pause, but… “You’re good at navigating the human world. We may have need of that skill.”
Especially if Mathias comes back stronger.
Duke grins cynically. “My money doesn’t hurt, either.”
Despite the shitshow the night has become, I smile back. “I won’t lie and say otherwise. But if you’re enjoying all the torment Marrok is heaping on you, then I’m happy to provide it.”
He swallows back the rest of his scotch, wincing at the sting. “Indeed. Far better than being in the middle in my half brother’s wedding.”
“Too much pomp?”
“Most of my life is pomp. I can live with that. I can smile urbanely and act like I give a shit about the latest charity dinner or gala. What I can’t seem to deal with is this damn wedding.” He turns pensive. “Mason’s fiancée is too good for him. I have to stop thinking about her. Bugger, I shouldn’t have admitted that out loud. I need another scotch.”
With that, he leaves.
I’ve never seen Duke plastered. He’s usually controlled and polite, but I’m sensing another side of him…
Clearly, he needs a night away from family, duty, and her. Tomorrow, the drudgery and grind of preparing for coming bloodshed resumes.
Sighing, I finally make my way to the bar so I can celebrate with the Doomsday Brethren. They’ve been dedicated to the cause, giving up hours, sweat, and all semblance of a personal life to make sure that when Mathias materializes again, we’ll have a fighting force ready to keep him at bay.
And if I can find a willing female, I’ll call tonight a success. Drafting the Wolvsey twins will have to wait.
Suddenly, the door whips open again. In walks a petite redhead. Human. Fair. Eyes not quite blue or green. Stubborn chin. Pillowy mouth. Gorgeous tits. Freckles splash across her nose. Confidence envelops her like the sexiest dress.
Our stares meet. Her cheeks turn pink.
Fire sears down my spine. My fingers itch. I need to peel off her clothes. I need to touch her skin.
Her.
