“Well, I cannot allow that, can I?” Digging my thumb into the skin beneath his chin, I jerk his head back and lick up the column of his throat, the salty taste of sweat and fear mixing with his blood.
“Lena!”
A sharp command pierces through the haze and my gaze snaps to Tristan where he stands guard at the mouth of the alley with Amara.
“Not here,” he says, jerking his head towards Trip.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to control the bloodlust flowing through my veins, the throbbing in my gums and the darkness within me starving for another taste. But it’s been too long. I'm weak and tired. So very tired. It’s too difficult to pull back. Even now as I grit my teeth and hold my breath, using every ounce of willpower to control myself, every fiber in my being screams at me to just give in. To allow those obsidian shadows free rein. But then I recall who I am, what I am, and how I choose to be. Remembering that even though I was born of darkness, I’ve also chosen to follow the light.
Slamming the lucky son of a bitch to the ground, I use his trousers to wipe his blood from my arms and lips, grateful it didn't soak too far into my vambraces.
“Let’s go,” I say to Trip. He grabs his satchel off the ground, collects the spilled items, then rushes to my side.
“You'll pay for this, bitch,” the Air immortal croaks.
“No, I won't,” I say without a backward glance, striding out of the alley. “But you will.”
Slender fingers grab hold of my arm, tugging. “You shouldn't have done that,” Trip says, glancing nervously down the alley. “Jareth is dangerous.”
“Don't you worry about that. I can take care of myself.” Stroking his arm, I give him a reassuring smile. “How do you feel?”
“I'm fine.” He shrugs and stares down at his feet. “Nothing’s broken, just a few bruises.”
“Good.” I nod, clearing my throat. “Head on inside.”
Trip shuffles awkwardly, then suddenly lurches for me, wrapping gangly arms around my neck in a tight hug. “Thank you, Lena,” he whispers. “And please don’t tell anyone he's my father.”
Emotion clogging my throat, I wrap my arms around him, fisting the back of his homespun tunic. “I won't.”
Trip pulls back, offers me a small smile, and turns to walk up the porch steps of The Quiet Harpy, disappearing through the door.
“Find out where Jareth lives,” I order.
“On it,” Amara replies, striding away from us without even glancing in Aurora's direction as she passes her by.
“Where is she going?” Aurora asks with a furrowed brow, thumb gesturing over her shoulder. “And what are you all still doing out here? Wait…” She pauses, squinting her eyes to peer down the alley. “Is that screaming I hear?”
Tristan and I share a look, and I shrug. “Yes.”
“Oh my gods!” Aurora gasps, placing a palm to her chest. “Are they alright?”
I laugh. “Nope.”
Tristan cringes and scratches the back of his head. “Uh… Aurora… You see –”
“I broke Jareth’s arms,” I cut in, then add after a moment's thought, “and maybe his balls.”
Aurora blinks slowly, ponders my claim for a moment, then shrugs and offers a meh sound. “Alright, then.” Passing by us, she climbs up the porch steps and peers at me over her shoulder once reaching the top. “Can you really break someone's balls, or is it more like a pop?”
“I can't be sure,” I reply, following behind. “I didn't feel anything burst when I kicked him, but I don't think I would with my boots on.”
Tristan climbs up the steps, bounding ahead of us and placing a hand on the door handle. “Please stop talking about breaking balls.” Pulling open the door, he cringes. “Or popping them.” He steps within the doorway, but instantly steps back, snapping it shut and pivoting to face me. “Actually, I don’t think I’m in the mood for tavern food. Why don't we head down to the bakery instead?”
Aurora and I share a frown.
“The bakery is closed,” I say, waving over my shoulder at all the darkened shops behind me. “Everything is closed.”
“Then why don’t we head to Aurora’s shop and I'll cook us something?” Tristan grabs me by the shoulders and spins me around, guiding me toward the porch steps.
Rolling my eyes, I twist from his grip and move towards the door. “Do what you like, but I'm starving. I'm not going to wait around for you to cook when we're already here.” Wrapping a hand around the iron handle, I pull open the door, but Tristan slaps a hand on the wood, slamming it shut.
“Please don't go in there, Lena,” he says quietly, his hands flattened on the door, barring me from entering.
I stare at his somber face, the plea within his brown eyes. Brow furrowing, I open up my senses and travel down our bond, feeling anger, worry, and protectiveness. All on my behalf.
What does he not want me to see?
Never one to avoid the truth, I smack his hand away and swing open the door.
Shrieking laughter and boisterous jeering instantly accosts me. The scent of roasted meat and ale tickles my nostrils, and the smoky air makes my eyes water. But the bombardment to my senses is not what causes me to freeze only a step within the doorway. It's the male sitting at the bar between a pissed off Kace and a concerned looking Zander.
It’s Darius.
Oh, and a beautiful blonde female draped across his lap.
Feeling as if I’ve been punched in the gut, my breaths stall in my lungs. Surprise and hurt course through me as my entire being wishes to look away, but I can't. I’m held captive by the sight of Darius holding another female in his arms. The very same arms that were wrapped around me just a few hours ago.
Confused, I release the tether on our bond and feel down the link, then nearly crumble to the floor when his emotions blast into me. So many emotions. Too many. Pain, hate, grief, anger, fear, confusion. I feel everything and nothing all in a debilitating swirl of chaos, fire and ice burning me from the inside out.
