Then vomited up the meager contents of her stomach.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The icy-eyed female Deathstalker manning the door at World’s End was a stone-cold bitch.
Ronin only managed a single glance into the thumping tavern before she slammed the door shut and shoved him away.
It made Ronin miss Charlie, the woolly mammoth bi-form from the Frosted Crystal in Kheimos. A friendly giant with a soft-spot for the ballet—and one very specific ballerina.
Ronin’s single, stolen glance revealed barely-clothed females serving groups of drinking, shouting, leering Brethren. There looked to be another female dancing on a stage at the far end of the room, but he wasn’t able to confirm.
He doubted he’d find Selene in there anyway. Or at least, he hoped and prayed he wouldn’t.
He turned and ran straight into Wormwood, grasping the male’s shoulder to keep him from falling backward.
“Challenger Matakos,” the weasel bi-form crooned, dragging his beady eyes across Ronin’s muscled arms. “How are you enjoying Harvest Night so far?”
“It’s been riveting.”
“Please,” Wormwood chuckled through his nose, an invitation glinting in his dull brown eyes. “Call me, Remy.” An odd request, since Ronin hadn’t called him anything at all. “Care to join me for a drink?”
Though Ronin preferred females, he did harbor a few yet-to-be-indulged curiosities. But if everwereinclined, a devious, oil-slick male like Wormwood would be at the absolute bottom of his list.
Despite all that, he was tempted. Perhaps he could get Wormwood rip-roaring drunk then askhimabout Selene. But Ronin didn’t want to reveal such a weakness to the Koenig’s steward.
Ronin frowned. “Not sure the challenger would appreciate me fraternizing with the enemy.”
Wormwood’s smile grew larger. “No, I don’t suspect she would. Whereischallenger Fortin? Thought I saw her run off shortly after the fight. I hope she wasn’t too disturbed.”
Ronin clenched his jaw. “She’s fine. Rushed home to strategize since the Koenig was foolish enough to reveal his moves.”
Wormwood’s whiskers twitched. “Clever girl.” He nodded toward the Deathstalker bouncer, who pushed open the door. “My invite stands should you ever change your mind, Butcher.”
Wormwood crooned Ronin’s nickname with far too much familiarity before entering the tavern to hoots and hollers from the Brethren.
Ronin stole another peek, spying the Koenig himself seated before the stage and surrounded by three beautiful Fae females. He lifted a mug toward his steward and?—
The door slammed in Ronin’s face and the Deathstalker angled her body before it, her popped fangs hanging below her chin in warning.
Messaged received.
So, Ronin ambled across the square to The Other Place and was welcomed by a far more subdued—and much shabbier—atmosphere.
The high wooden tabletops were cracked, chairs were missing legs, and steins were chipped. Even the bard warbling in the corner was off-key.
Despite the run-down digs, the patrons gave off a relieved energy—whether it was because their food stores had been replenished or because Wormwood hadn’t called their names, Ronin couldn’t say.
He sidled up to the bar, then leaned across the polished, pockmarked wood to signal the bartender.
An older Beastrunner with a flowing mane of gray-streaked blond hair and a missing canine ambled over. “What can I get ya?”
Ronin patted his pockets, realizing he had nothing to barter.
The bartender laughed, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it. First drink’s on the house.”
“Don’t suppose you have any Delirium?”
“’Fraid not. You’ll only find fresh feedings in Tartarus. And I can assure you, you won’t get them in this establishment.” The bartender cocked his head and eyed Ronin suspiciously.
