“I brought stakes.” Ronan slid a protective arm over the back of my chair and leaned in, warm breath tickling my ear. “Say the word. I’ll save you the trouble of a messy divorce right now.”
I rolled my eyes and called over to Darius, who’d been watching us with the cool detachment I now realized he could turn on and off like a tap. “Bartender? This boy needs a drink before he hurts himself.”
Darius set a cocktail napkin and glass in front of Ronan and poured a shot from my bottle, nodding a brief acknowledgment. Something dark passed between them, but I knew better than to ask about it.
For reasons I couldn’t begin to understand, most vampires kept a safe distance from Ronan. Darius didn’t though. I wouldn’t call them friends—their relationship was antagonistic at best—but something in their shared past had bound them together, cementing their loyalty long before my time in the Bay.
Secrets? You bet. That was something weallhad in common.
Ronan picked up his glass, turning toward me as he downed the drink. His knees brushed against my leg, and that warm, soft spot between my thighs throbbed again.
I felt my body heating up under his gaze and finally turned to face him.
Mistake.
I’d forgotten about the state of my face and neck.
“Before you freak out,” I said, “I’m totally fine.”
Ronan didn’t say a word. His hazel-green eyes turned completely black.
I slid my hand over his knee. “It looks a lot worse than it is.”
With a gentle touch that belied the rage in his eyes, he traced his thumb along my eyebrow, down my temple, and across my cheek, ghosting over the cuts from the asphalt. My heart jackhammered in my chest, but Ronan’s face was grim, his jaw tight.
I shrugged away from his touch and turned back to my bottle, pouring myself another drink. “Ran into some trouble on a delivery last night, that’s all.”
His gaze cut to Darius. “Bloodsucker?”
I shifted my hand from his knee to his arm, reclaiming his attention. His muscles were tight with anger, warm and rock solid beneath my touch. “That one was human,” I said.“And it's handled, so please chill.”
“Thatone?” Ronan picked up the bottle, poured himself a double. "Explain."
“Last delivery on my morning shift, I let some asshole get the drop on me.”
“And then you beat his ass? Tell me you beat his ass.”
My stomach bottomed out at the memory, filling my mouth with the taste of bile. The booze wasn't helping—wasn’t giving me that familiar comfortable numbness I’d come to depend on.
Or maybe I just hadn't had enough of it.
“Yep.” I poured the rest of the bottle into my glass and downed it before Ronan could talk me out of it.
Not working. I can still feel.
I nodded for Darius to bring me another bottle, but Ronan shook his head. Darius looked at me once more, then turned his back and replaced the new bottle on the shelf.
To me, Ronan said, “What’s going on, Gray? Seriously.”
“It’s happy hour. I’m… getting happy.” I tipped my glass back, then remembered it was empty, and slammed it onto the counter. “Working on it, anyway.”
“What you’re working on is a hangover.” He slid off the chair and fished out his wallet, tossing a few twenties onto the bar. For now, he seemed to forget about my bloody clothes. His eyes returned to their normal shade—like dark green leaves turning brown in the fall. “Let’s go.”
I shook my head, even as I was getting up to follow him. I wanted to go with Ronan, but I didn’t want to go home yet. Sophie had still been asleep when I’d left, and by now she'd be at Norah’s, pissed that I’d blown her off. I couldn't explain it, but the idea of going back to the empty house made me feel even more shitty than the idea of going back and getting into another argument with her.
“Ronan, wait.” My feet hit the floor harder than I’d planned. The room tilted. Ronan grabbed my shoulders, steadying me.
“Yeah, you’re definitely cut off." He flashed me a devastating grin outlined in a weeks’ worth of sexy new facial hair—the kind of grin that would get me in serious trouble if I wasn't careful. “Damn, Desario. I leave you alone for two days, and you turn into a lightweight.”
