Page 53

Unlike Last Drop, this bar serves drinks that contain blood. There’s a menu, and AB- drinks are the most expensive. There’sa few high-top tables nearby, and upon seeing the line at the bar, I swipe an unattended glass from an empty table on my way to the dance floor.

For a moment, my old instincts direct me, and I almost don’t drink it. But the only thing I know of that can spike a vampire’s drink is already coursing through my veins. And if there’s more of this feeling waiting for me, I don’t care.

The song changes once more, and this time there’s a man murmuring in French over the track.

“God dammit,” I mutter, closing my eyes and bringing the glass to my lips. But when I take a sip, I nearly spit it out. The drink is layered with the blood in the middle, suspended by two clear liquids. The top is vodka, I’m certain, and I think the bottom might be simple syrup based on the taste, and I wonder why the fuck they didn’t mix it all together.

Turning to discard it back onto the table I found it on, I crash into a body. A very tall and warm body. I can’t breathe, waiting for violence. Just because Roman has stayed away doesn’t mean he’s changed his mind. I thrust my chin upward, daring him to kill me as he’s threatened so many times before.

But the man is someone I don’t recognize.

“Oh,” I say, involuntarily pouting. My eyes trace over his jawline and his very human pulse throbbing on his neck. It beats in time with the music, and I fear I’m being pulled into a trance. He’s not as tall as Roman, so I’m only a few inches shorter than him. He’d be a perfect height for me to drink from.

“Oh?” the man asks, laughing. He runs his hand through short hair, and I smile. “Is your disappointment for me or is it thanks to the taste of my friend’s drink?”

He has a dimple. Only babies and movie stars have dimples, I’m pretty sure. He’s handsome in the 2010s Hollister model kind of way. Handsome in the ‘will fuck a fat but won’t ever date one’ kind of way.

That’s rarely a deal-breaker when I’m in one of these moods.

By the time I can finally form a response, I’m swaying to the music. “Both?”

“Rotten luck,” he says, stepping forward. “Maybe I can convince you otherwise?”

I lick my lips, staring at his throbbing pulse. There’s a familiarity in the broad set of his shoulders and his thick thighs, in the trimmed beard and the large hands. But there’s comfort in the blue eyes and the lack of tattoos, and I decide if Roman can hook up with random girls to fuck me out of his system, then I should consider doing the same.

“Yeah. Maybe,” I say, giving him an expectant look.

“Adam.” He responds to the unasked question with a lopsided smile.

I laugh, imagining the inked serpent twining up Roman’s arm. I think of every sin we’ve committed since Roman drank my blood and tasted apple memories. But this had never been Eden, so I’ll let a handsome man named Adam drag me straight to hell.

20

ROMAN

All things considered,Remy is doing surprisingly well. It’s only been a few days since Asmodeus informed us of Kayla’s fate, and while that first night had been the hardest, Remy seems to be taking it better than I expected, and I have Margot to thank for that. At first, he’d been inconsolable, but he’d opened up to Margot in the days since. He’s still sad, but it feels like a manageable level, average and ordinary. I don’t think his grief is more than he can bear. At least I hope not.

He probably holds onto more guilt than he should, but thankfully Margot seems to be convincing him otherwise. She’s even absolved Gwyn and Sasha of blame, which is a choice I certainly wouldn’t have fucking made, and has placed the fault solely on the demons. The demons who supposedly would have thrown Kayla’s body into a dumpster. In private, she’s even blamed Rose for making a deal for her soul without telling Remy about it. She won’t say that to him though, and I agree that it’s not exactly helpful to make him come to terms with his dead fiancée’s imperfections.

But it feels like Margot has managed to coax some of his despair into a box that gets opened more rarely each day. Remyhas always been more emotional, even from childhood, but it doesn’t seem insurmountable.

I have to wonder if Kayla’s absence in his life over the years is helping him distance from the emotional turmoil. It’s probably shitty of me to hope for that, but he hadn’t seen her since she was a kid. Perhaps between Margot’s kindness and whatever vengeance I can give him, he’ll be alright. Margot has been there for him and offered tenderness I don’t know how to give anymore. I’ve never been particularly soft-hearted, and the last of my reserves was wasted on Gwyn.

It’s another thing I begrudge her for. Because with her, that tenderness almost came too easy. And now, I don’t know how to give it to my brother when he needs it most.

“You’re sure you’re good here?” I ask Margot as I’m walking out the back door. She stands to follow, and I hear Remy hot on her heels. I’m halfway across the lawn, cupping my hand around the cigarette I’m lighting, and I turn when she doesn’t answer.

“I’m not a fucking child, Roman!” My brother yells from inside the house. He looms over her, a step or two behind my friend, with both hands braced on the doorframe. “Let me come!”

Margot only tilts her head to the side with a sad smile, ignoring my brother. “You know you can’t fix this, right?”

“I changed the code on the safe. I commanded him not to touch anything silver or to fuck with my guns or to leave the house or to attempt suicide. You shouldn’t have any issues,” I say, turning toward the alleyway behind my home.

“I’m right here, Ro,” Remy mutters.

“And you’re going to stay right there,” I say, waving my hand at him without turning back.

Asmodeus has answers I’ve paid a pretty fucking penny for. But Petra has to work since it’s New Year’s Eve, so if I want themnow, I have to find the demon-possessed woman at the bar she works at.