He shot her his best death-glare, but he wasn’t about to let the witch—or her mouthwatering curves—scare him off.
Grip firm on the icy glass, he lowered his gaze again. If he was going to die at her hand, he’d be leaving this world with a damn good view of her tits.
“Cheers, then.” He brought the glass to his lips and tipped it back, hoping for the best, expecting the worst.
Icy liquid slid down his throat, carrying the cool flavors of mint and licorice with just a hint of citrus. There were other flavors too—crisp and complex. He was still trying to identify them when the explosion hit.
Without warning, fire seemed to crackle in his mouth.
His head spun, then righted, a pleasant warmth spreading down his throat and across his chest.
The witch’s brew was no ordinary cocktail. It was a fuckingexperience. A damned good one at that. And it hadn’t killed him—not yet, anyways.
Gabriel took another sip, this one even better than the first. His whole body tingled with a pleasant buzz. Before he could stop himself, he was smiling.
“Told you,” Jacinda said, her laughter like a symphony.
Beautiful. Sassy. Brilliant with the bottle. For fuck’s sake, if he’d had a bartender like Jacinda in Vegas, he could’ve tripled his already impressive profits.
“It’s… decent,” he said evenly, forcing a casual shrug. “I’m sure thehellspawnwill love it.”
Her face paled, and something dark flickered behind her eyes, but she kept that smart little grin in place. “Too strong for you? I figured a big bad vampire prince could handle the heat, but if you need me to water it down—”
“I said it’s decent.” He curled his hand protectively around the glass and took another sip, trying to ignore the fissure of guilt in his gut. Her laughter had been here and gone in a flash, and now he missed it. Missed the heat in her eyes when she teased him.
Now, that heat turned to fire.
“Take it or leave it, Prince,” she snapped. “You say we’re not partners? Fine. But I’m not some little apprentice either. I’ll work for you—sure. I’m your prisoner, so it’s not like I can say no, and believe it or not—I actuallydoregret my role in hurting Dorian and—”
“Andin aiding and abetting demons in a planned takeover of the city? Resurrecting grays and turning them loose on innocent humans? Come now, little moonflower. Don’t be modest.”
“—and,” she said, yanking the towel from her shoulder, “I’m willing to do what I can to make amends and earn my keep.”
“Then we’re in agreement. You’ll continue working for—”
“You haven’t heard my terms.”
She wiped her hands on the towel, then tossed it onto the bar as if she’d worked a hundred jobs in a hundred places just like this one. Maybe she had, and for a moment, Gabriel wondered what her life was like before she’d gotten mixed up with House Duchanes. Did she have a family? Parents? A mage and witch back home in Buffalo or Cleveland or Los Angeles, wondering what had become of their vivacious young daughter? Some poor sap of a boyfriend waiting for her to return to his bed? To give him a soft, warm place to stick his shriveled excuse for a cock?
Jealousy simmered in his blood.
He finished the drink. Let the warmth of it calm him.
“Well?” she prodded.
Gabriel sighed. He couldn’t believe he was even entertaining this. “Terms, right. Let’s have it, then.”
“You don’t have to like me. You don’t even have to be particularly nice. But youwilltreat me with respect. No more reminding me of all my mistakes, no more reminding me I’m your property. I get it, okay? And another thing—I’m keeping all my tips, which will be substantial, believe me.”
He had no doubt about that.
“Those are your terms, then?” he pushed the empty glass back to her, nodding for another one. “Respect and tips?”
“Yes. Oh!” She grinned, the teasing spark returning to her eyes. “And I drink free. Whenever and whatever I want—on the clock and off. It’s all part of the gig.”
“How do you figure?”
“You want leverage from these people? They need to trust me. So if they’re drinking, I’m drinking. When in Rome, right?”
