Page 35

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. Remy has 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 them now, I have to find the demon-possessed woman at the bar she works at.

But it’s worth it. I might not be able to bring Kayla back, but I can try to give Remy retribution.

I have Caitriona Graham on speed dial, ready to help me trap the demons who killed my brother’s step-daughter.

I might not be able to permanently entrap them in hell once I kill their host bodies, but I can torture them here for as long as I see fit.

For as long as it takes to make Remy feel better.

I think finally knowing the answer to a question he’d had for over a year has given him some peace.

There’s no more worry and fear to contend with, only acceptance.

And while it’s a bitter truth to come to terms with, I’m just glad I’m here for him now.

Unlike with Rose, this time, he won’t have a chance to run off and get hooked on demon blood.

He’s here, sober and alive, and I intend to keep him that way.

And so I’m prepared to dodge drunken idiots driving those fucking rentable scooters on one of the busiest nights of the year. If I can find the demons who killed Kayla, maybe I can help turn his sadness into something else. And even if it doesn’t work, doing something is better than doing nothing.

“Here’s one of them,” Petra says, sliding a business card across the bar toward me.

“The other one has already been sent back to hell. I’m not sure how or why, but you missed out on that one.

” She taps the name on the back. “If it’s who I’m thinking of, he was a regular at Last Drop. He likes to people-watch.”

“Thanks,” I say, not sure if I’m thanking the demon or the girl he inhabits.

It’s strange. I’ve watched them work together inside one body for the last fifteen minutes as she takes care of customers.

When one of the waiting patrons starts getting aggressive, I can tell by the shift in her posture that the demon inside her has taken over.

It’s almost seamless, and as far as I can tell, there’s no verbal command or exchange between them.

They must have some sort of remarkable arrangement because no demon would do this willingly.

They are all or nothing creatures, and I’m not sure what the fuck has made Petra so interesting to a Prince of Hell.

“Do you want a drink, Roman?” Petra asks, and this time I can tell it's her because of the nervous giggle. She’s a cute girl, and I’d enjoyed her blood before on occasion at Last Drop. But after what happened with her tainted blood, I don’t know if I can forgive her.

Without the high of her blood, would I have sworn myself to Gwyn?

I swallow, silencing the whispers inside my mind. Because if I would have done it either way, what the fuck does that make me?

“What do you recommend?” I ask, clinging to the free drink for a distraction.

This bar is different than Last Drop. Since only vampires or humans who are willing to be blood bags are allowed inside, everyone knows everything and there is no hiding.

The drinks have a silver garnish to tear at the esophagus and stomach lining to allow vampiric intoxication.

Most of the drinks contain blood, but nothing sounds good to me right now.

“I have no idea what you like. Are you an IPA guy ? You look like an IPA guy.”

I grimace before swiping the mixed drink menu off the bar. Since it’s a free drink, I’m tempted to pick the most expensive thing off the menu, but considering I have my father’s bank accounts, that’s not exactly necessary.

I breathe deep. For a split second, I can smell Gwyn’s rich apple scent, and my mouth starts to water.

Fucking cockroach.

Scanning the menu, I look for anything that could replicate the taste of her, even if it’s not the same at all.

“This one,” I say, pointing at the warm, apple cider cocktail.

Petra raises an eyebrow, and I fix her with a glare that dares her to ask me a single goddamn question about my choice.

“Do you want the cinnamon stir stick?” she asks, all wide-eyed innocence.

“No,” I grunt. I pull up my phone while I wait, sending Margot a text to check in on Remy. She replies with a picture that shows him passed out on the couch beside her.

I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

He doesn’t look any worse for wear than when I left him a few hours ago, but I still don’t like leaving him alone right now. Thankfully, I have a friend like Margot who is more than willing to look after him. I know he finds it infantilizing, but I don’t know what the fuck else I’m supposed to do.

I sit back in my seat, a little confused about the bar I’ve found myself in.

I’ve only ever gone to Last Drop, though I knew Sanguivita existed.

Notorious for bad behavior, this is the bar my father had to send his enforcers to.

There’s another bar connected to this one, supposedly owned by a rogue demon, and I have to wonder if it belongs to Asmodeus.

Petra and the demon are busy slinging drinks, so I don’t pester them with the unimportant question.

Usually, this area is rife with vampire attacks on humans, though rarely fatal, but everyone seems to be behaving tonight.

It’s a bit slow, considering the holiday.

There are a few empty tables on the other side of the bar, abandoned drinks discarded across the surfaces.

I check the time, realizing it’s early. Vampires tend to come out later, waiting for the humans to drink enough to make coercion unnecessary.

There’s a dance floor on that side of the bar, and bodies writhe and wriggle beneath the flashing lights. It’s packed, a few dozen people shoved into a space far too small for that many people.

On the edges of the dance floor, I spot a woman who I wish didn’t remind me of Gwyn.

She’s tall already, but she wears heels, nearly putting her on even footing with the man beside her.

He’s got his hand on the small of her back, just above her big, round ass.

Her thick thighs are shoved into fishnet tights, and her black skirt barely covers her.

If not for her blonde hair, I’d think it was Gwyn.

It’s infuriating that even here, on an errand to fix something she made worse, that I still manage to think about her. I take a swig of the drink that almost tastes like her blood, and I watch the blonde’s soft body mold to the man beside her as he leans down to whisper something in her ear.

For a second, I imagine the lower register of Gwyn’s seductive laugh as the blonde listens to what her companion has to say.

She sets her glass down on the table and the man grins at her. He looks just like any other brown haired white guy you find at the gym on any given day, but she steps closer to him as he holds out his hand.

I sit up a little straighter as I watch her hips sway.

I need to get laid, I decide. There’s been more than one occasion I’ve woken up, dick hard in my hand with Gwyn’s name on my tongue as I forcibly push the dream’s memory of her naked body out of my mind.

I watch the blonde woman move out to the dance floor with the handsome man, and I wait. One of them is a vampire, certainly, considering they’re here, but I don’t know which one is which.

Based on his aggressive body language, and the way he pulls her pelvis against his, I assume it’s him. He tilts his head down to speak to her, and I wonder if he’s going to bite her.

For some reason, it pisses me off.

I close my eyes and throw back my drink, wondering how Gwyn’s blood somehow tastes like this. Sweet and rich and bold, the taste of this mixed drink gets me hard. And as I stare at the blonde woman, whose thick body and endless curves should be a fucking crime, I decide it’s now or never.

When he puts his hands on her hips, grinding against her, I stand up.

When he tilts his head, exposing his neck to her, I stand still and watch.

And when I catch a glimpse of her profile, fangs glinting in the flashing lights, I can’t move fast enough.