Page 92 of Villains Never Die

“I need a drink.”

“Ooo, Council meeting and then a date,” I deadpanned. “Are you so turned on by politics that you’re trying to seduce me?”

“I’m trying to distract you,” he said. “You’re carrying too much alone again.”

“Oh. And no, I’m not. You’re right here.”

He stepped so close our chests almost brushed. “You can’t see the enormous wall you’re building back up?”

My eyes sharpened, and I hoped he felt the sting of them. “Maybe it’s because the last time I saw you, you basically told me to fuck off with my feelings.”

He had the decency to look properly remorseful, his shoulders dropping a fraction, lips pressing tight. Then he touched one finger to my lips, cutting off anything I might have said next.

“One problem at a time. Have a drink with me.”

I didn’t mention that he’d just defined my feelings as aproblemas I smacked his hand away. “One drink, and you are allowed to talk about anything that isn’t us or the meeting we just left. Both are giving me a fucking headache.”

I stepped past him without a clear destination. Council meetings changed locations each time, often hidden by glamours and spells, but this one was in a wealthy part of town. If I walkedthe busy streets long enough, there was sure to be a suitable bar somewhere. Rook kept a pace behind me now, his footsteps following mine instead of courting them. I could feel enough of his body heat at my back to make me regret snapping at him. In another time, in another situation that didn’t involve endless death threats, all-consuming goals, and unchecked ambition, I might have reached out and held his hand.

We stepped through the glass door of a bar calledThe Easy Bottleand found a secluded table in the corner. The place had dark, polished tables that created a rich contrast to the white leather seats. The back of the bar was a massive stained glass piece that cast the bottles in front of it in colorful reflections on the white marble bar top. A server came over to take our orders, and I picked a citrus cocktail from their specialty menu, something light to lift my mood and weak enough to keep me sober for the drive home.

“Just one,” I warned Rook. “I’d rather not kill you in an accident tonight.”

“I’ll have what he’s having,” he told the server. The moment she walked away, he gave me an easy grin across the table. “A few months ago you would have loved to have run me off the road.”

“A few months ago you shot me.” I tapped two fingers on the lacquered table and smiled in spite of myself. “You’re bloody insufferable, you know that?”

“Is that what you tell yourself when you come in my mouth? Or my ass or…”

“We’re not talking about us, remember?”

“You’re so serious all the time,” he grumbled as the server placed our drinks in front of us. “Lighten up, England.”

He hadn’t called me that in a while, and I both loved and despised the little thrill the nickname sent down my spine like an electrical shock.

He took a long pull of his drink from the straw. “Holy shit. That’s really good.”

I swished my straw around, disturbing the slice of orange floating in the pink liquid, and tested it. Orange and grapefruit layered over the crispness of tequila, sliding a pleasant sweet and sour mix over my tongue.

“Impressive,” I said.

“When do you plan to do the ritual?” he asked.

The drink turned more sour than sweet, pairing adequately with the shift in my mood. “This weekend. This week was a bloody wreck after the fire and with Gray gone. I spent every day cleaning up messes, and I’ve barely slept. But this weekend she’s mine. The bitch has been a thorn in my side since I was ten. I can live with it for a few more days.”

“Do you want company?” He reached across the table for a moment so brief I might have imagined it and brushed his fingertips against mine before wrapping that hand back around his drink.

I hadn’t considered letting someone else in on such an intimate moment, something I’d held so close and waited so long for, but the question made me wonder if there would be blood, if Death might fight back, if I would be afraid to face her again or end her fearlessly with all the hatred in my heart.

Perhaps I shouldn’t do it alone.

I nodded. “Yes, I think I would like company.”

He slapped one hand on the table. “Okay, no more serious talk. Your face is going to stick that way if you keep frowning all the time.”

His drink was finished, and he reached across the table to pick up mine and slurp it loudly. I huffed a laugh. “That was only half a drink. Now I have to order another one.”

“Oh no,” he said, grasping the orange slice between two fingers and biting into it. A bit of juice escaped down his chin and Iwanted to lick it off his face. He wiped it away and grinned like he could read all my thoughts. “You’re driving. Have another half a drink. I don’t have to follow the rules.”