Page 2 of Forbidden (Dark Delights #3)

Familiar bass pounded through the club. Wolf hated this song, but the crowd ate it up, so their DJ continued to play it night after night. As expected, the crowd was loving it, bodies writhing and gyrating together out on the dance floor. Wolf braced his hands on the bar, his eyes trailing around the room.

Talon was in his usual booth tonight, looking gleefully at his partner, Alex, who was talking animatedly, waving his hands in the air. Their whole relationship was an enigma to Wolf. How did a demon like Talon wind up with a cheerful golden boy like Alex? Wolf never would’ve guessed they’d make it. There were whispers throughout the club about them, even six months after the drama had died down. Some of the halflings were disgusted. They claimed Talon had gone soft, but if they truly believed that, none of them were brave enough to say it anywhere Talon himself might overhear. Even more seemed intrigued. What was it about the ex-paladin that could capture a demon like Talon’s interest ?

And then there was Malachi and Luke. They were also present tonight, but Malachi had dragged Luke out onto the dance floor. Their arms were wrapped tightly around each other, their cheeks pressed together, talking softly to each other. They were softer, somehow, than Talon and Alex, which was also a surprise. Wolf never would’ve pegged Malachi for anything soft . But he was soft as silk for Luke, dutifully doing whatever the human wanted, like a puppy eager to please.

Xyra, his no-nonsense part-time bartender, swanned behind him, fetching a glass and a bottle and pouring a drink. “She wants to see you.”

“Who does?” He didn’t have to bother asking, but it amused him to pretend.

Xyra shot him a dry look, her crimson gaze half-hidden behind a curtain of midnight blue hair. “She’s pissed that they’re both here.”

“They’re customers,” Wolf said blankly. “The fuck does she want me to do about it?”

Xyra waved a hand. “Don’t tell me, tell the bitch. She’s waiting for you in her office.”

Wolf sighed. “Why is it always me?”

“Because she knows Talon likes you.”

“Talon doesn’t like anybody,” Wolf protested. “Except maybe Alex.”

She bobbed her head, sipping her drink. “We got the boy’s shipment of schnapps in, did you see?”

He smirked. “Yeah, I did. Gave them a bottle.” He nodded over at the booth, where a white bottle sat next to a crystal glass.

“He’s precious. ”

Wolf snorted. “Don’t let Talon hear you say that.”

“Talon’s possessive,” she dismissed. “I can like the human without liking him the way Talon likes him.”

Wolf sighed. He’d put it off long enough. Keeping Lilith waiting would just make this even more difficult. “Hold down the fort. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Pretty sure I can manage to pour drinks without you for a while.” She refilled her glass as though for example.

“Pour them for the customers ,” he said pointedly.

“I’m a customer!”

“Not tonight you’re not.”

She laughed. “Buzzkill.”

“Asshole,” Wolf rejoined good-naturedly as he walked away.

Dread coiled uneasily through him as he took the side door hidden behind the bar and went upstairs. For all their jokes, Lilith was dangerous. Wolf didn’t like that he’d somehow been put between her and Talon. He liked his job well enough, and if she decided, she could make his life a living hell. She’d made herself the de facto queen of the halflings in LA and had a legion of loyal followers who did her bidding. Like the head of the mafia—complete with loan sharking, drug- and arms-dealing—what she said was law as far as the halflings were concerned. She’d run In Extremis for two centuries and other bars before that, always the hub for demonic activity on the west coast. Crossing her would be no easy feat. If anyone could, it would be Talon, but he was largely uninterested in being any sort of leader to the demons.

The hallway was painted black, with pale fluorescent bars creating pockets of light and reflecting off the polished, dark surfaces. When he reached her office, he took a breath and knocked.

“Come in,” she called.

He swept the door open and stepped inside.

“Wolf,” Lilith crooned. Everything in her office was black. Black walls, black floor, black desk, black chairs, black rug. Her long black hair was straight as a board, and her lips were painted as red as her eyes. She gestured to the chair across from her desk. “Sit.”

He obeyed stiffly, unease slithering through him when she stood. She dressed not unlike the customers downstairs, in towering heels, skin-tight leather pants, and a leather corset.

“They’re here again, aren’t they?” she asked, rounding her desk slowly. “What are they doing?”

“Talon and his human were sitting in a booth. Malachi and his were dancing.”

She scoffed. “What do they think they’re playing at, bringing those holy men here?”

“They’re not holy anymore,” he pointed out, not for the first time. “The guild banished them both for?—”

“You think they’ve stopped carrying their faith with them just because they’re no longer working for those sanctimonious assholes?” She shook her head.

He lowered his gaze. “Perhaps you’re right.”

She stopped in front of him. “I want to know every move they make, Wolf, understand? The minute something about their situation changes, you come to me. And if I find out you’ve been keeping things from me…” She leaned in, curling narrow fingers around his throat. Her sharp nails dug into the tendons of his neck, and he fought to contain his snarl. “It’ll be your head I take next. Understand? ”

“Yes, Lilith,” he growled, keeping his gaze averted.

“Good boy.”

He wanted to pop her head like a grape, but the minute he made a move on her, all of her followers would retaliate. He couldn’t afford to make enemies of his own people.

As quickly as she’d begun, she released him, turning away and flouncing back around her desk. “You can go. Get back to work. Make me more money.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He wasted no time escaping her office, rubbing his hands over the already healed cuts her nails had left behind on his throat.

There was a crowd around the bar, and Xyra was pouring as fast as she was able. Wolf wordlessly went to work, pouring drinks and popping caps from bottles, taking cash and swiping cards and adding prices to tabs. It was monotonous but comfortingly familiar. He ignored Xyra’s questioning looks, ignored everything but the ebb and flow of tending the bar.

That is, until someone slid onto the barstool in front of him.

“There’s blood on your neck,” Talon said by way of greeting.

Wolf turned—and Xyra was there, holding out a wet wipe. He snatched it from her and wiped at his neck.

“What’d she want?”

“To know what you’re up to,” Wolf said, aggressively throwing the wipe in the garbage under the bar. “She thinks you’re planning something, thinks that’s why you’ve allied yourself with the human.”

Talon rolled his eyes.

“She doesn’t exactly listen to reason,” Wolf added. “She wants me to report on you and Malachi, let her know if your ‘situation’ changes.” His face twisted. He didn’t want to be in the middle of this. Why couldn’t they just let him mind his own business?

“Tell her whatever she wants to hear,” Talon said easily. “Don’t keep any secrets from her. I’ve got nothing to hide. Tell her whatever keeps her off your back.”

Wolf sighed. “You’re not even doing anything. There’s nothing to tell.”

“I know. Even better. That makes your job easier.”

It didn’t seem he had much of a choice. “Right.”

As the night wore on, the crowd began to disperse. Talon paid his tab with a sleepy Alex under his arm, left Wolf a generous tip, and disappeared. Malachi and Luke had already wandered off hours ago. When there were no more customers inside, Storm came inside to help Wolf and Xyra clean up.

They were a well-oiled machine by now. Storm put the chairs on the tables while Xyra swept and Wolf mopped. They were finished in half an hour, and Wolf sent them home. Storm took the garbage out when he left. Wolf stayed behind to check some of the bottles and make sure they weren’t running too low on any crowd favorites before he called it a night, but that shouldn’t take long. He grabbed a couple of new bottles from the storage room behind the bar to have in preparation for tomorrow night’s rush.

He liked the club like this the best, when it was cleaned up and eerily quiet. He locked all the doors and shut off the lights, weaving through the tables in the dark to the front door. Locking it, he breathed in the cool night air and turned away from the warehouse. Dawn would be coming soon, and he’d like to be home before the sun rose .

When he passed in front of the alley at the edge of the building, there was a faint scraping sound. He turned his head toward it?—

Two figures lunged toward him, their blades shining in the moonlight. Wolf dropped his keys, throwing himself away from their arcing swings.

Paladins.

He went out of his way to make sure none of the others were caught alone. How could he have been so stupid as to forget to follow his own rule? The humans were fast, well-trained. He couldn’t get close enough to either of them without catching a blade, and those blades were designed to kill.

Finally, one of them swung in a way that allowed him to catch his wrist. Wrenching his arm down, Wolf twisted until something in the human’s arm snapped . He screamed, and his partner rushed him. Wolf didn’t have time to turn, and he braced himself for pain.

A third figure barreled into the second paladin, taking them both off their feet. Wide-eyed, Wolf stole the blade from the paladin in front of him and cut his throat with it while the two figures found their footing. The newcomer was unarmed, and he raised his hands in surrender with a panicked expression, skipping backward.

“Ira, what the fuck?” the remaining paladin said, fumbling with his sword.

Wolf struck, ignoring the unarmed one’s hasty, “No, no, wait!” His stolen sword pierced the paladin’s stomach—a wound not unlike the one they’d given Luke, from Malachi’s retelling.

He let the body fall with the sword and turned toward the third one. Lanky, with chocolate curls that reached his shoulders, his deep brown eyes were wide with horror as he stared at the bodies. Perspiration dotted his brow, gleaming in the moonlight. Wolf drank in the sight, wondering if his hair was as soft as it looked. Something inside his chest expanded, like it was making room for something bigger and better than Wolf could imagine.

What the fuck?

Shaking himself, Wolf stalked forward, and the human backed away, right into the warehouse wall. Wolf pinned him there. Up close, he smelled like lavender and tea leaves, calming and sweet. It took real effort to focus on intimidating questions out of him and not leaning in to drag that scent into his lungs.

“Who the fuck are you?” he demanded, pressing the human’s upper arms to the wall. He wasn’t short, but Wolf was exceptionally tall, and the top of his head was level with Wolf’s mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut rather than raise his gaze.

“I’m—I’m—uh…”

Wolf shook him. “Answer me!”

“Ira, my name is Ira! I’m… a prophet of the… y’know.” He pointed up at the starlit sky. Wolf’s eyes lingered on the silver ring on his left ring finger. A guild ring.

“You’re a paladin.”

“No! Well, not technically. Paladins are the field agents. I’m just a prophet.”

Just a prophet? Just someone who received visions from God and, what? Chose to come to Wolf’s rescue? If this guy wasn’t a field agent, why would he be out here?

His confusion must’ve been evident, because Ira said, “Look, I don’t have any idea what I’m doing, okay? I think I just helped you kill two people and I feel really bad about it but they were going to kill you and I’ve been seeing you for months and I couldn’t just let you die so I came here and did a stupid thing and now they’re probably going to kill me for?—”

Wolf covered the human’s mouth with a hand. If he didn’t, he thought the prophet might talk until he ran out of air. Ira sighed through his nose, the air gusting over Wolf’s knuckles. His skin was warm, his facial hair like sandpaper on Wolf’s palm. It was a nicer sensation than it probably should be, given the bodies still bleeding right behind him.

A prophet of the Lord had been seeing visions of him and came to save him. He didn’t know what to do with that information, but something warm bloomed within him at the thought. Someone thought he was worth saving.

“I’m going to call somebody to deal with this.” He gestured to the bodies over his shoulder. “And then you and I are going to talk. Nod if you understand.”

Ira tried to tug his hand away from his mouth, but Wolf refused to budge. He shook his head, and Ira sighed again, then nodded.

Wolf took his phone out of his pocket without removing the hand covering Ira’s mouth, fighting back a smile when Ira huffed in annoyance. He dialed Storm’s number.

“ Hey, everything okay ?” Storm asked.

“Not so much. Got attacked by some paladins. Need a clean-up.”

“ Ugh, do it yourself .”

“Can’t. Got something else to take care of. Just stow the weapons in the club and get rid of the bodies. I’ll buy your drinks tomorrow night.”

“ Fine. ”

Wolf hung up and moved his hand from Ira’s mouth to his wrist, latching on and dragging him away.

“Whoa, wait! Where are you taking me?”

“Away.” He didn’t know where. Somewhere they could talk privately. Somewhere Wolf could make sense of why a prophet was having visions of him.

“I really think you should just let me leave.”

“Why? Did your visions tell you that?”

“No.” It sounded pouty, and Wolf wanted to know why . Wanted to push until Ira spilled everything to him.

They stopped beside his car, a sleek black Charger. He keyed open the passenger seat and pushed Ira inside.

When he swooped down into the driver’s seat, Ira said, “Seriously, you could just drop me off at my car over there.” He pointed at a nondescript gray sedan across the parking lot.

A growl answered before Wolf could, and it took him a moment to realize it came from Ira’s stomach.

He arched a brow. “Hungry?”

To his surprise, Ira hesitated.

Wolf started the car. “It’s not supposed to be a difficult question. When’s the last time you ate?”

Ira squirmed, turning to look out the window. Wolf narrowed his eyes at the back of his head, took out his phone and placed a quick order to the pizza place near his apartment.

They drove in silence, and when they arrived, Ira got out before Wolf did, walking into the high-rise and into the elevator like he’d done it a thousand times. When he pushed the button for the fifth floor— his floor—Wolf gaped.

“Why are you seeing visions of me?” he asked as the elevator rose.

Ira hugged his elbows loosely. “I don’t know.” But he said it in a way that implied he really did .

He took a breath as the doors opened, but Ira stepped out before he could ask any more questions or tell him where to go. Of course he knew where Wolf’s apartment was. He was a fucking prophet, wasn’t he?

But what did that mean ? Why would a prophet care about him ?