Page 8 of Ballad of Nightmares

Her palms pressed into the bar top, that claw scratching into the wood and leaving a mark behind. “Down, boy,” she drawled to him, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips when she looked him up and down.

His hair fell over his eyes when he smiled at the ground, and then he glanced back up to the bar, where he caught the bartender’s eyes. He gave him an upwards nod and circled his finger in the air, signaling he wanted another round.

“And whatever the temptress likes,” Sam added when the bartender stepped in front of them.

Her gaze wandered deliberately over him when he stood, a slight widening of her orbs as though she had not anticipated him being so tall.

“Temptress?” she repeated. “Should I be taking that as an insult or compliment?”

Sam resisted a smile, but he didn’t reply. His gaze washed out to the bonfire again, and he watched the people dancing around the great blaze directly in front of his gates. He was vaguely aware of her ordering the signature vodka drink of the night when he caught a glimpse of Millie making out with one of the female cemetery groundskeepers.

Dirt was Millie’s favorite poison. He’d never seen her with any of the suits from uptown, no matter how much they seemed to flirt with her.

“You know—” came the woman’s voice as Sam continued to ignore her, “—most men introduce themselves after they’ve bought a lady a drink,” she finished.

Sam took a sip of his whiskey and let it swim in his mouth a moment, eyes darting to her as she leaned against the bar.

“I don’t need your name,” he replied, giving her another once over. “Wicked girls like you don’t get to have names.”

Her lashes lifted, a playing smile on her lips. “Wicked?” She looked like she would laugh as she picked up her drink from the bar top and wrapped her lips around the straw, doe eyes lifting to his.

“Thanks for the drink,” she leered before turning on her heel.

And without another word, she left him standing there.

Sam slumped onto the barstool, elbow leaned back on the wood behind him as he watched her saunter away, hips swinging in a show, impressed that she’d given him a single look and walked away like the siren he knew she was.

Son of a bitch.

The mere presence of her was more powerful than he’d thought it would be.

A smile involuntarily tugged at his mouth, sending him almost in delighted laughter, satisfied that she’d surprised even him.

He kicked back the rest of his whiskey as he watched her twirl under the hand of a random man as she walked by the bonfire, and her eyes knitted back over her shoulder in his direction.

Laughter that he’d not felt in a century threatened to leave him as a delirious challenge rose in his chest. He slammed his glass into the counter and paid the bartender for their drinks, then pushed off the stool, predator instincts kicking in like a slap to his face.

Let the games begin.

CHAPTER FOUR

MY STALKER WANTS to play…

Deianira glanced back his way over her shoulder as another man took her hand upon her passing and gave her a twirl. Her stalker continued to watch her, a smile spreading over his lips and causing his skull makeup to crease in the dimple of his right cheek. There was an air of danger in those dark brown eyes, in the way he watched her like a predator awaiting his prey. The snake tattoo wrapped around his neck moved as his throat bobbed with the swallow of his drink. She noted the tattoos on his hands then, and even through the haze, she could tell they were depictions of roses and vines stretched along his skin. His hair fell into his eye when he looked down at the ground and pushed off the stool, making her realize she’d been staring at him a little longer than perhaps she should have.

Gods, he was pretty.

And she hated him for it.

It wasn’t even the typical kind of pretty.

It was the kind of pretty that onehadto stare at. The kind of pretty that hurt the heart and skipped a breath at the first look. She glanced back at him one last time as she continued to make her way through the crowd, finding him still watching her through downcast eyes. Eyes that were meant to mark her soul and devour her flesh.

Maybe she’d have a little fun later. But for now…

For now, she had work to do.

She sipped her drink as she strode around the outsides of various groups, some huddled together and laughing, a few around great trash bins of fire. All of whom were dressed in some sort of skull makeup or mask. It was her first time venturing into the old town despite her being in Shadowmyer for three days. She’d used what money she had to get a hotel room uptown, but the celebrations in that part of the city felt… forced—more party-like. Here in the town square… that was where she knew the old magik would be.