Page 7 of Darkest Valley
“Fascinating,” he repeats, his shoulders twitching three times before settling back to normal.
Internally, I wince. That’s my venom at work. He’s lucky he didn’t ingest more of it and earn himself a painful end. It would have served him right for tasting my blood without asking nicely first.
I slam his finished drink down on the counter too hard, the cherry tomato rolling off its toothpick and landing between us. Purple lights paint the bruised fruit a deep crimson instead of its normal, cheery red.
“That’s my bad, man,” I say, blinking at the tomato and refusing to meet Alistair’s eyes. I reach for my garnish tray. “Let me get you another one.”
“No need.” Alistair chuckles. “If you can keep a secret, Luca, I’ll come clean. I’m allergic to tomatoes.”
I frown at him. I’ve made Alistair this drink dozens of times since I started working at the club, and he’s never once mentioned a tomato allergy. It’s dark as fuck in here. What if he’d accidentally swallowed one of the seeds, then dropped dead in front of the bar?
“Are you crazy?” I sputter, annoyed that I might have accidentally killed him any number of times. That would have been a huge mess. Alistair gives off a quiet, watchful intensity, but I’ve never thought he was unbalanced before now.
He takes a sip of the cocktail and grins at me. “You make such a lovely drink, I didn’t have the heart to tell you. Plus, I enjoy a little danger.” His eyes dip to my mouth, then he pivots and heads back to his table before I can make sense of what happened.
If I didn’t know better, I would say he was flirting with me. Shaking my head, I flush the rest of the venom from my mouth and get back to work. Alistair lives and operates a business on the Fringes, so he can’t be completely sane. I’ll keep that in mind for the next time he shows up and pays a little too much attention.
“Enough of this shit, Luca. You’re coming home with me after work,” Celine says in a low, determined growl. I picture her creamy thighs wrapped around my head, then shudder, knocking over an entire pitcher of beer while I’m at it.
“Motherfucker,” I hiss, soaking up as much of the spill as I can with a towel I keep stashed back here for emergencies. It’s almost time for last call, and the crowd is thinning.
“Why are you so jumpy?” Celine ducks behind the bar with me, pulling another towel from the stack and mopping at the yeasty puddle. The downy feathers of her right wing graze my wrist and goosebumps spread like wildfire up my arm.
“I don’t know,” I snap. My voice sounds whiny even to me. I toss the damp towels into the bin beneath the bar and sigh heavily.
Celine’s face falls, and she glances at her feet. “Luca, I know I can be bitchy, but I thought you didn’t mind,” she whispers. “Is there something I need to apologize for? I’m happy to say sorry, you’ll just have to convince me I’m wrong first or it will get stuck on the way out.”
My lips twitch, but I hide my smile, not wanting to interrupt the most adorable ramble I’ve ever heard.
Celine looks up, lifting her chin to the stubborn tilt I’m used to. Her fingers curl around my bicep, brown eyes aggressive even while she’s being sincere. “You don’t even need to come up with a good argument,” she says. “If I focus hard on my intent, I’ll probably be genuinely sorry just because you’re upset with me. Say the word. I’ll apologize right now to get us back to normal.”
I shake my head, confused, the scream of the electric guitar in the background pulling my focus. I’m trying to understand what Celine is saying to me, but my head keeps repeating the partwhere she ordered me in no uncertain terms to come home with her.
“I’m sorry,” I sputter, grinning at her to distract from the fact that I’m a shit listener. “But I don’t have a fucking clue what you’re talking about.”
Celine squints up at my face, her eyebrows pulling together.Great.I’ve made her suspicious. “Are you on something?” she asks, scanning the bar like she’s expecting to find a bowl full of colorful, unlabeled pills in place of the limes.
I wave my hand at the stragglers scattered around the room. “No, just a busy night. Why am I coming home with you, and why are you trying to apologize?”
Celine plants her hands on her hips. “You’re coming home with me so we can kiss and make up. I’m not sure why I need to apologize; I was trying to cover my bases?—”
“—to get us back to normal,” I finish her thought, frustration churning in my belly. It feels a lot like the venom I flushed out of my mouth when Alistair was here.
“Exactly.” Celine nods, then opens the drawer between us and starts poking through the corkscrews and spare bottle openers. “Although, if you’re stoned or something, I take everything back. We can’t binge watch trash TV and drink our weight in boxed wine if there’s a chance I have to babysit you through a bad trip.”
I grip her hips in both hands, nudging her away from my stuff before she can do any more damage. Letting Celine organize is asking for trouble. “I’m not high but quit touching my shit! If you mess up my system, you will have something to apologize for.” My eye twitches as I see she’s already lined everything in the junk drawer up in order of size.
“Your system sucks,” Celine drawls, trying to sneak one hand back in the drawer.
I grab her wrist, pulling her away from the temptation. “That’s only because you don’t get it.”
“You can’t know how wrong you are,” she insists. “If I took a poll of everyone in the Naked Fang tonight, the only thing they would all agree on is that your system makes no sense.”
I shrug. “Then they’re idiots.”
“All of them?” Celine surveys the clientele, then sighs. “Okay, maybe most of them are, but your system inflicts actual trauma on me.”
“Sure it does.” I smirk, unable to stop my lips from twitching. “You know what happens when a fish is out of water?”