Page 110 of Fallen Court

Lach’s hand swept through the air, the gesture deceptively light, but its effect was immediate and forceful. The witch crumpled to his knees as if invisible weights had been fastened upon him.

Who was top of the food chain now?

“Enough,” Lach seethed, power rolling off him in palpable waves. “Do you know who I am?”

The witch nodded, his face pinched with pain or fear or some welcome combination of both.

“And do you know who she is?” Lach gestured toward me with a tilt of his head.

The witch’s eyes darted to me, widening as it hit him. Another nod, this one laced with reluctance. “I’m sorry.”

“If you know who I am, you know what I do to men like you.” Lach’s voice was low, but each word cracked like thunder. “Normally, I would take your hands for it. But since you knew who she was, I assume you want to die. There are less painful ways to meet your end, but none come swifter than touching what is mine.”

I stood there, the heat of anger replaced by a cold shock, but I found myself unable to move, locked in place by some terrifying desire to let him do just that. This was about more than the mating bond, although that probably wasn’t helping. It had always been about more with him. I’d seen enough of all the fae courts to know that respect was often a currency traded flippantly, rules not applying as often as they did. Oberon had abducted me. Bain had hit on me. They might hold others accountable for whatever law this was, but Lach…

It took everything in me to find a single word to stop him. “Don’t.”

Lach’s chest rose and fell, his eyes never leaving the man on his knees. “You’re lucky she’s merciful.” But before the witch could stumble back to his feet, he cried out. The bones in his hands shattered in a series of sickening cracks. I looked away as his fingers snapped. Scrambling forward, I reached for Lach’s arm to tell him enough.

“It is the law,” he said roughly, but he didn’t meet my eyes. Instead, he looked around the room. “Does anyone have a problem with that?”

The whispers surrounding us raised in heated disputes, the energy of the room shifting dangerously. Words clashed, threatening to become something more physical. The covens were already on edge, this brawl a live wire sparking dangerously close to kindling.

“Is someone picking a fight in my bar?” a lofty voice called over the ruckus. Baptiste stepped from the crowd, another vampire with unkempt hair and pitch-black eyes following her closely, and a hush descended on the room. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Lach. “I should have known you would be in the middle of it.”

“Just keeping my people in line.” He smirked at her, but there was no hint of amusement in his eyes. “Security seems a touch lacking.”

Baptiste bristled, her mouth turning down. “We’ll see about that.” She lifted a hand and beckoned to one of her men. “Caleb, see that these assholes find their own side of town.”

The shaggy vampire bobbed his head, grabbing the collars of the two closest to him. “Let’s get you where you belong.”

A shiver raced through me at his carefully chosen words.

Baptiste’s frown lifted into a wide grin. “Wasn’t that easy?” She took a step toward Lach and tapped her index finger on his chest. “I’ve got everything under control.” They glared at each other for a moment before she whirled toward the watching crowd. “If you’re here to dance, the night isn’t getting any younger. If you’re here for trouble, get the fuck out.”

All around her, people shared looks before turning back to their own friends.

“Channing.” I rushed to my brother as the music picked up again. “What were you thinking?”

He shook his head, his expression a mix of stubborn pride and recklessness. “It wasn’t me. He started it.”

“It doesn’t matter who started it—” I began, but Lach cut across our exchange, his attention now divided between us and the simmering crowd.

“And you know better,” he growled at Shaw.

His brother’s jaw tensed, an increasingly familiar look of frustration gleaming in his eyes. “That’s right. I should. But I don’t know better because I’m just a fuckup.”

“Shaw—” Channing reached for his friend’s shoulder, but Shaw shook him off.

“It’s okay. I know where I stand.” He glanced away, not quite hiding his pained expression. “Lach is the powerful one. The strong one. He does everything right.”

“Maybe we should get out of here,” Dante suggested in a gentle tone.

“Listen to your friend,” Lach advised. “Party’s over.”

Shaw drew a sharp breath and released it with a forced grin aimed at me. “But the night is young.”

Lach looked as charmed as I felt.