Page 12

LUCIAN

Aboveground, Highvale was circular, surrounded by twenty-foot-tall walls and magic no one could hope to breach.

Back in the day, the entire city stood empty topside, other than the gates, the Hall of Truce, and the Arena which currently housed the Guard, and the temples of the twelve gods.

I wasn’t born back then, but I understood that Highvale had been a beautiful garden.

The actual populated city was set underneath.

When we opened our doors to an influx of newcomers thirty-five years ago, we built accommodations for them above—and away from the rest of us.

The new houses were beautifully crafted in a variety of styles, which only had one common theme: splendor.

Larger, taller, mansion-type edifices close to the gate, but the buildings closer to the center of the city were two or three stories tall, as to not eclipse the Hall or the Guard’s Arena—or darken the light of the public gardens.

The club was close to the gates of Dionysus—hence the D.

We followed a similar setup for the address in the underside.

I decided it was fitting for a drinking parlor to be established near the patron god of wine.

We passed the street bordering the city walls where most of the trendy restaurants and night life had converged, into quieter, more imposing avenues—residences, mostly.

“This should be it,” Lucky said in front of a black door with a large brass knocker.

Before she could knock, it opened.

“Mr. Regis,” a gorilla-shaped man with an egg-shaped face and a negative amount of neck grunted. “And guests.”

I nodded, walking in. The long corridor led to an elevator. There was only a single button, so Ronan pressed it, before rubbing his hands together. “Oooh, it feels like we’re entering a new blood secret society.”

“That would be because we are about to enter a new blood secret society. Didn’t you see the beast at the door?”

Lucky tilted her head. “I’m pretty certain he was human. Like, ninety-five percent sure?”

“I’ll give you ten golds if you ask him,” Ronan challenged her.

All his annoyance from earlier had disappeared, replaced by excitement and mischief.

“Do not ask the gorilla if he’s human,” I groaned. “Firstly: he isn’t. Secondly: we’re attempting to keep the girl alive, remember?” I told Ronan, who pouted.

The elevator opened in the center of a dimly lit, well-appointed lounge, decorated in blues and gold.

Divided in small clusters of tables where friends could mingle, open booths along a wall, and old-fashioned pub rooms with sliding doors, the place seemed both elegant and private. The music playing didn’t seem familiar at first, the classical notes agreeable.

I approved.

Frankly, it was a shock. I expected a loud club with flashing lights and loud trance “music”—that term was debatable—like Pan’s. I enjoyed Pan’s as much as the next unders, but it would have been nice to have a place like this back home too.

No, Lucian. You literally own six businesses. Don’t open a damn seventh.

We’d only taken a couple of steps into the club when Gideon bounced towards us.

It occurred to me that it was the first time I saw him in civilian clothes.

In a leather jacket over a form-fitting white T-shirt and dark jeans, he still looked more like a bouncer than the gorilla had, with his bulky shoulders and unapologetically colossal frame.

He towered over me and I was six foot bloody two.

“I didn’t have a choice,” I declared before he could say a word. “I could bring them or not come at all. This is Ronan and Lucky. Guys, Gideon Valesco.”

Ronan rolled his eyes, extending his hand. “Excuse my friend’s complete lack of decorum—he’s got his panties in a bunch tonight. Ronan Nachtigall, at your service. My excuses for intruding on your celebration.”

“The more the merrier,” he assured Ronan. “And any friend of Lucian’s is welcome.”

They exchanged the kind of handshake that made me wonder whether they broke any bones in the process.

Ronan gestured to Lucky next. “My family’s ward, Aristeia Priam, the unluckiest being alive, and therefore dubbed Lucky.”

“You’re so pretty!” Lucky told Gideon. “I’ve never seen a boy with eyelashes so long. And your hair’s totally thicker than Ronan’s.”

“His is silkier,” Gideon grunted. “And you? You drink on my tab all night, da’ling. Come on, I got us the back room.”

Like it was the most ordinary thing to do, Gideon dropped to a squat and patted his back. “Hop on, pixie. Wouldn’t wanna lose you.”

Lucky did not hesitate.

I had to admit, perching her up on someone’s shoulder wasn’t the stupidest thing to do. At least she wouldn’t trip and fall on an arrow tip. Or a jagged knife. Or broken glass. Yes, all three had happened to her at one time or another.

The back room was similar to the main club, but contained a single long wooden table, on top of the occasional smaller booth. Several familiar faces were already seated at the table, on the armchairs, and at the bar.

I was stunned to hear clapping, mugs hitting wood, and even the occasional whistle.

“The man of the hour!” Gideon announced proudly. “And his unfairly gorgeous friends.”

“Regis! Regis! Regis!” they chanted together.

I didn’t move.

In all the chaos, I spotted a flash of bright red hair, and then she was there, handing me an honest-to-god drinking horn, filled to the brim.

Leaning in, Kleos whispered, “You look like you’re ready to bolt.”

I swallowed. Could I?

“Just make a toast,” she said, lifting her own drink—a perfectly normal mug.

Wait, no. That was a tankard, made of something that looked like bone.

I only allowed myself to glance her way. It was also my first time seeing her out of her trainee uniform, and not dressed in a girlish pink gown either.

Guard trainees wore black cargo pants and a tank, under a bomber jacket if the weather demanded it. It was nondescript. She did not look nondescript today.

I decided to not look, let alone describe.

“You saved one of them today,” she reminded me, sliding to my free side—Ronan was still standing next to me, as stunned as I was. Gideon and Lucky were already at the bar. “No one will forget that.”

Right. That made sense.

I lifted the horn. I was, in fact, very well versed in the art of socializing. I just didn’t expect to have to make use of those skills tonight. When Gideon insisted on setting up this party, I figured it would be two or three of his friends, not four dozen.

“Six months!” I said over the cheers, which died down. “When I was sent to the Guard, I thought I’d be bored to tears. But you guys are actually hopeless enough to have thoroughly entertained me.”

There were chuckles all around.

“To the end of an era.” Then I brought the drink to my lips, and fuck , that was good.

I didn’t expect the sweet, fruity, slightly spiced flavor.

Everyone drank with me, then returned to their chatter, thank all the gods.

I kept drinking, unable to stop myself until the horn was empty. “Damn!”

“I’m gonna need one of those,” Ronan decided.

“Me too. Another one, that is. What was that?” I turned to Kleos.

“Mead. It’s not too strong, so I stick to it, otherwise Gideon drinks me under the table. Hey,” she said casually to Ronan, offering her free hand. “Kleos.”

We moved to the bar together, the man behind it busy pouring pints and flirting with a couple of runner girls whose names I never bothered to learn.

We took a seat, ready to wait for our turn, but Kleos hopped on the counter, and leapt down to the other side before my widening eyes.

Fuck, she was far enough away I couldn’t miss what she was wearing.

Skinny white jeans, the kind that stopped a couple of inches from the ankle, paired with leather wedge heels. Her long-sleeved black top was plain enough, but hid absolutely nothing of the curve of her bust. And her fucking tits .

The reinforced sports bra I’d seen her in before had done criminal things to those tits. Her sweetheart neckline was modest, but I genuinely had not associated Kleos Valesco with tits until this second, so it still seemed obscene.

She turned to face the row of drinks, and then, the evil, evil thing dropped her upper body down to open a fridge.

Returning with a large bottle and another tankard, she saw me—never mind, us —gawking at her like hormonal teenagers at their first glimpse of a Playboy magazine. Naturally, Kleos completely misconstrued our staring.

“Oh, I’m allowed here. My dad owns this place,” she explained, serving all three of us.

“Yo, Valesco, can I have some of that?” someone called, and she scurried toward him.

“Marry her, or I will,” Ronan deadpanned.

I grabbed his wrist, and let myself suck in on his life force for seven delicious seconds, wordlessly making my point.

Watch it, Nachtigall.