“So, Izzy-Pop,” Felix said, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “Tell us about this stalker of yours. Who is it?”
“Idiot,” Thorne scoffed. “If we knew that, would we need you?”
Felix laughed, baring his canines. “Yes. Obviously. You’re hopeless, and we all know it. I can only imagine your friend here is too, considering she chose to partner with you. That doesn’t speak highly of her intelligence.”
Thorne growled and swatted her brother’s chest. Felix didn’t so much as flinch. He simply grinned at her like she was a cute and fluffy squirrel punching a brick wall. Chuckling, he swept us both under his arms, then noogied our heads.
Strangely, I was no longer envious and quite grateful, in fact, that I didn’t have brothers. This was…exhausting.
Ricky blew past us and vaulted over my ruined bar like some kind of Olympic athlete and began rifling through my pitiful liquor stock. One by one, he yanked out what few bottles remained, sniffed them, then arranged them in some mysterious order. By potency, maybe? It certainly wasn’t by flavor.
I opened my mouth to question his process when he snapped his head toward me like a bloodhound who had suddenly caught a scent.
“Do you have a shotgun?”
I stared, baffled. “Pardon?”
“A shotgun,” he repeated. “You’re a single woman living in a haunted bar with no security system?—”
Well, I had Rue.
“—so, you should absolutely have a gun,” Ricky finished.
I blinked. A vampire with a gun sounded somewhat redundant. Why arm myself with external weapons when I was born with two perfectly efficient ones capable of shredding through skin and arteries?
“I have fangs,” I said coolly.
Ricky grinned, flashing me his own pearly whites. “Yeah, so do we. Doesn’t mean we walk around unarmed.”
I gave him a pointed once-over, but I didn’t spot a single suspicious bulge—other than the oversized one cupped by his denim jeans.
“Are you all armed?” I asked.
“I’m not,” Thorne said with a shrug.
“She’s the family disappointment,” Felix retorted, patting her head like a misbehaving spaniel.
Without a word, Cassian appeared right next to me. I didn’t see him cross the room. He was just suddenly there, holding a blade the length of his forearm in hand. I let out a squeak-adjacent noise and jumped. God only knew where he’d pulled that weapon from, but he began twirling it with the casual confidence of someone who had definitely used it on a live target.
My gaze flicked to Thorne. “Do I want to know where he pulled that from?”
“No,” she said flatly.
Cassian angled the blade at the bar, then back to me, flourishing it with a lazy kind of menace. The movements were elegant, almost hypnotic, like he was showing off for the sheer enjoyment of it. But given how closely the blade strayed to my throat, it was time for me to say something.
I opened my mouth, intending to do exactly that, when the bar door suddenly crashed open, and Lucien stormed inside, his coat billowing behind him like some avenging hero.
His gaze first landed on me before snapping to Cassian, then finally, the blade resting uncomfortably close to my throat.
And just like that, Lucien’s expression iced over. His eyes, which were usually dark and mysterious, now glowed with what I recognized as the promise of murder.
“Step. Away. From. Her,” Lucien uttered, his voice low and lethal.
“Oh, Lordt,” Thorne muttered, clearly piecing things together as quickly as me.
Except she didn’t know that I’d texted him for help. And in hindsight, texting him a “help me” without any follow-up afterward wasn’t the smartest thing I’d ever done. Considering my developing situation, Lucien had likely thought the worst.
Amusement flickered across Cassian’s face—a twitch of his lips, and the faint narrowing of his eyes—right before he pivoted his body and placed himself squarely between me and Lucien. Then he lifted that damn blade again. Except this time, he pointed it right at Lucien. A casual, deliberate, come-at-me show of steel.
