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Fey was a fixer. The Crown employed her to fix problems. Well, tonight she had a serious fucking problem. And she intended to fix it.

Before she could question the wisdom behind her decision, before she could stop herself or second guess what she was doing, Fey got out of bed, grabbing a pair of pants and a top from her closet.

She threw the clean clothing on and left, heading to The Last Drop.

Chapter 22

This is a terrible fucking idea, Fey thought to herself, her steps loud on the cobblestone street as she made her way through the city. But she didn’t turn back.

It was nearly 1 am by the time she arrived at the club, and the line outside stretched around the block. She grimaced at the sight of it. There was no way she was desperate enough to stand in line just to see him. That was too much, even with the itch under her skin that drove her to come here in the first place. She was desperate, but not that desperate.

Absently, she walked past the people waiting, heading toward the door. She hadn’t brought her phone, so it wasn’t like she could message Alastair that she was downstairs. Maybe the bouncer would let her up to see him, maybe he could?—

“Hey, babe!” someone shouted at her as she walked by. “Line starts back there!”

It was just some piece of shit Fallen standing in line, drunk and belligerent, but the words made her heart stop in her chest.

Hey, babe. A different voice said in her memories. A gentle voice. A voice full of love and safety.

It was how Alice had always greeted her, a warm smirk on her face. She never knew why Alice called her that, but it had always made her feel special. Loved.

Hey, babe.

This was a mistake. Suddenly, everything around her was too much, too loud, too bright. The tight, sequined clothing worn by the people waiting to get into the club was overwhelming, the bass-heavy music she could hear from inside was jarring and out of sync with the pulse thudding in her ears. It was all too much. She needed to leave, she needed to go, she should run, run, run, get out of here as fast as she?—

A hand grabbed her arm, and Fey felt her power fill her like a tsunami, a maelstrom of fury and death, as she turned on the male holding her with a snarl.

But… she knew him. The Wolf Shifter who held her arm—not tight, not holding her in place, just a comforting touch—was someone she recognized.

“Evening Fey,” he greeted, in his low growl of a voice. It was the massive Wolf Shifter who had let her in before, the one who was waiting for her at the entrance the last time she’d seen Alastair. “That man bothering you?”

Her heartbeat calmed.

“Hey again, big guy,” she said. Her voice was a little breathless, and tense, but the world around her felt a little less overwhelming with his massive hand on her arm, grounding her. She took a shuddering breath, and the power she had drawn into herself started to fade.

He was looking past her at the people in line, his eyes focusing on the guy who’d yelled to her, who’d called her babe. Then his eyes flickered to another Shifter standing at the door, and suddenly the male was being pulled out of line, pulled away from the club.

It was such a small thing, and wildly unnecessary. But the gesture made Fey smile. It was almost chivalrous.

“Thanks,” she said.

“You can go in.” He nodded toward the door. Already another Shifter had appeared to let people in. They were remarkably well coordinated. “The staff knows your scent, and the boss says you’re welcome anywhere, at any time.”

“My… scent?” Fey asked, raising an eyebrow.

The massive Shifter nodded, clearly seeing nothing strange or unusual or even remotely creepy in that statement.

“Ok… thanks,” she said again. And, sure enough, when she approached the door to the club, the Wolf there nodded a greeting and stepped aside to let her pass without a word. No one from the line dared protest this time.

The club inside was even more overwhelming than she’d remembered, and Fey suddenly recalled why she’d hated this place the first time they’d come. The music was loud enough to shake her bones, and she could feel the bass in her teeth. People rubbed against one another on the dance floor, more sex than actual dancing, and it took more of Fey’s skill than she’d like to admit getting through the crowd without being groped. She made her way through mostly unclothed bodies to the bar in the back. Toward a familiar face.

“Hey, Jasper,” Fey called over the music. She leaned on the bar top. There were no open stools and barely enough room for her to squeeze herself up to the bar.

Jasper looked up from pouring a drink and nodded a greeting toward her. He set the drink on the bar, pushing it toward a customer and palming their coin before he waved her closer.

Ignoring the other patrons, Jasper flipped a latch under the bar top, and a portion of the bar opened like a door. Before Fey could protest, Jasper reached out, catching her by the waist of her pants and pulling her behind the bar, closing the swinging door behind her.

“The boss isn’t in,” he called over the music, leaning over her, his lips close enough to brush her skin. Fey’s breath hitched as his words tickled over her ear.