37
Alaric
The bartender glared at me when I slammed my glass down on the counter. From his surly demeanor, he wasn’t a fan of mages. But that was okay because I wasn’t a fan of shifters. Especially not shifters who sneered every time I ordered a drink.
Was my money not good enough?
Apparently not.
Well, tough fucking shit. There was fuck-all else to do in this shithole of a settlement other than drink myself into a stupor.
I’d planned to leave the island as soon as the others disappeared, but by the time I reached the harbor, the boat had departed. When I returned to the inn, the bartender explained the boat had gone back to the mainland, so I was stuck here unless I felt like a long swim.
Thankfully he had a room available, so at least I had a bed.
Given the shit weather raging outside, that was a blessing.
My conscience prickled at the thought of the witch fighting her way through a blizzard. Then I reminded myself we hated each other, so I didn’t care what happened to her.
“Another glass of elkwine.” I waited for the bartender to reach for the bottle I knew he had stashed below, but he carried on glaring at me. “Is there a problem?” He sniffed as I slapped a few notes down.
“We don’t need your blood money, mage.”
My brain wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders after drinking two glasses of elkwine already, and if I squinted hard I saw two bartenders not one, but I could think of no reason why he needed to be such an asshole.
And what the fuck did he mean by blood money?
I looked around the place. Two hulking males wearing fur coats sat huddled in a corner nursing drinks and whispering to each other while an even bigger guy with a large wolf at his feet hogged the fire. The two other males who’d been here when I arrived had long since gone.
If this was how busy the inn got on a Saturday evening, fuck me, it must be dead mid-week.
“Look, I just want a fucking drink, yeah?” I pushed my cash across the bar. My head hurt, and if I stopped drinking now, I’d sober up.
Being sober wasn’t appealing.
Sober me would have to face my shit, and I hated facing anything.
My phone rang, which surprised me given I thought I’d switched it off.
“What?”
“Where the fuck are you, Alaric?”
“I told you the last time we spoke, I’m on vacation.” From my father’s angry growl, he didn’t appreciate my belligerent tone. “Exploring shit.”
“You sound drunk. Have you been drinking? If I see photos of you falling out of bars in the morning papers, I’m cutting off your allowance.”
I snorted. Was that the best threat he could come up with?
“Fine. Whatever. Do your worst, Father. I have females to fuck.” He’d made my life a misery and done his damnedest to kill my mother. I was at a loss to think of what else he could do that would hurt me more.
A small voice reminded me he hadn’t yet discovered I had found my soul-bonded mate, and once he knew about the witch, he’d use her to force me to do his bidding.
“Be back by New Year’s Eve, Alaric, or face the consequences.” With that ominous warning, he ended the call.
I stared at my phone for several minutes, wondering how on earth I was going to get off this island. It was an impossible task, even for someone as powerful as me. And unlike the damn incubus, I wasn’t goddess-blessed with teleportation magic.
By the time I looked up, I realized the two males wearing thick fur coats had stood. Both stared at me with fists clenched. I glanced over my shoulder in case some grumpy local had wandered in and attracted their attention, but no. I was the problem.
