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Croygen took us into a tavern, everyone stuffed into the community tables, which were jammed together. The place had no menu or choice; it was the same for everyone.

A bottle of alcohol was slammed down in front of us with two glasses, the server dropping two dishes of what smelled like tripe stew and a stale roll in front of us, barking off the price in Hungarian.

Croygen handed her some coins before she moved on to the next customers.

“What is that?”

“Palinka.” Croygen dispensed a heavy pour in each glass. “A fruit brandy.” He picked up the glass. “Cheers.”

I clicked my glass into his, taking a drink.

Coughing, it burned all the way down to my gut, my eyes watering like I had been slapped in the face. The drink tasted like rubbing alcohol with a hint of a fruit I couldn’t pick out. Too minimal to really tell.

Croygen’s head tipped back in a laugh, enjoying my pain far too much.

“Not funny,” I croaked, tears spilling from my eyes. “I wasn’t ready for that.”

“Then let’s try again.” He touched his glass to mine. “Cheers.” Croygen sipped his slower, his darkly intense eyes not leaving me. This time, I took a smaller swallow, though I still flinched as it burned down.

This was purely to get people drunk, fast and cheap.

Croygen, not even reacting to it, poured more into our glasses before looking down at his food. “Probably more sheep brains and duck intestines.” He spooned up some of the hot stew. “But you’veswalloweddown worse before, right?”

There it was. The teasing that was missing earlier, except it hit differently, the alcohol sending his implication straight between my legs. My mind recalled what I did to him in my dream while evoking every detail of us in the barn. The liquor was knocking down my walls, allowing desire to steamroll me.

Crossing my legs, I looked away from him, needing to cut the charge that always seemed like a hot wire between us, trying to find distraction in anything. Men played cards and dice at one table in the corner, betting their meager wages, hoping to walk home with a little more.

Everyone here wanted an escape, to find pleasure or peace for just a moment, to not face the truth. That life here was not going to get better; they were nowhere near rock bottom yet, and life wouldneverbe the same.

“Eat.” Croygen’s order drew me back to my bowl, scooping up a chunk of potato into my mouth, the bland, watery soup doing nothing to satisfy my hunger.

“Then what would satisfy yourhunger, kitten?”

My head jerked up, my eyes widening, desire and fear constricting my lungs. I knew I hadn’t said that out loud.

“Wh-what?” I croaked out.

He went still, blinking, before his attention darted to the side.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head. “I didn’t say anything.” He picked up his glass, not bothering to sip, downing it like a shot.

I did the same, the almost pure alcohol relaxing my muscles, my brain glazing with a hazy film, convincing myself I must have imagined it. All of it.

But truth was a funny thing, and with every drink, it grew louder, hovering around us. An acknowledgment neither of us wanted to face but could no longer ignore.

“Croygen…” I set my empty glass down, no longer hungry. “What is going o—?”

Slamming his cup down, he cut me off, standing up from the table, his head shaking like he couldn’t face the question I was about to ask. Needing to run from it. “Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?”

“To a bar that has whiskey.” He turned for the door.

Getting up, I trailed him out, leaving my hardly touched soup. The alcohol raced through my veins, making all the lights go blurry, taking away my hunger and numbing my emotions.

When we stepped outside, a fire burned in a pit, a dancer rolling her body to the music from the violinist and piano player. This place had the power to seduce, offering an invitation to let go and just experience your basic desires.