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Until I’d started to notice a few things.
Like how it let vamps spy on my thoughts. Or how it eroded my edge in combat, almost getting me killed a few times. Or how I was fast growing dependent on the stuff. I’d cut way back after seeing how, even after Claire returned and I didn’t really need it anymore, I’d still wanted it.
Like, really, really wanted it.
Like right now, in fact.
I pulled the stopper out of the bottle, which wasn’t cork because the stuff ate right through it, and slammed back a couple shots’ worth. I can chug straight whiskey and not bat an eye, but a swallow of this stuff was enough to have me tearing up, to leave me gasping. But I hit it again right after, anyway.
And it was good. Not the taste, but the feeling it spread down my torso, through my limbs, throughout my body was just a huge relief. Not because it took away the pain—it didn’t—but because it ensured that, at least for a little while, I wasn’t going to be inflicting some on anyone else.
I shoved the stopper back in, dragged myself up and went to the closet. My clothes had been returned by whoever had retrieved them after the cataclysm. Meaning that half had been carefully folded and hung back up (Claire) and half were piled in a colorful wad on the floor (the fey). I shoved the wad aside, popped the door over my weapons stash and dumped most of what I had on hand into the big duffel I used for missions. Then I stuffed some clothes on top, stuck the wine bottle in the side, grabbed a jacket on my way across the bedroom and flung open the door.
And almost ran into the angry person standing on the other side.
Chapter Nineteen
“Going somewhere?” Claire asked grimly.
“Damned right!” I tried to push past her, and got slammed into the wall for my trouble.
“I don’t think so.”
I stared at her over the thin, paisley-covered arm that had me pinned, because Claire didn’t do a lot of slamming. Of course, she didn’t usually glare daggers at me, either, so today was obviously about new experiences. Too bad I didn’t have time for them.
I threw off her hold and took a step toward the stairs.
And promptly ended up making the acquaintance of Mr. Wall again.
My eyes narrowed; hers narrowed back. I dropped the duffel, which had ended up in between us, giving me room to slip under her grasp. And that worked great—for about a second. Which was how long it took for a scale-covered gauntlet to grab my shoulder and for the slamming to recommence, this time with a little more gusto.
“That’s cheating,” I told my still mostly human-looking roommate.
Claire scowled at me, or possibly at the remains of the sleeve on her once nice wrap dress, which hadn’t been designed to accommodate a dragon’s forearm. “And what you were trying to do wasn’t?”
“I was trying to get out of here—”
“Yes, I got that!”
“You know it’s necessary,” I said, struggling—uselessly, because when one of the dragon-kind puts you somewhere, you stay there.
“Like hell it is! You have a crazed vampire after you—”
“Not anymore.” Probably.
“—and a bunch of smugglers or whoever kidnapped you all of two days ago! Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
“I’m trying to do what you should have last night!” I snapped, starting to get angry.
“And what was that?”
“Throw me out! Instead you leave me here, inside the damned wards, where I might easily have—”
“Done what? Hurt me?” She looked incredulous.
“You aren’t the only one here!”
“I think your boyfriend can take care of himself,” she said drily.
