Dark Desires After Dusk (20 page)

“And you must be Imatra,” he said, his tone inscrutable.

Just as Cadeon had heard, Imatra was a great beauty. And the woman obviously knew it. She wore a crimson silk robe over a leather miniskirt and a black bustier that pushed up her sizable breasts precariously.

Holly had on a twinset and a Burberry skirt.

Imatra sauntered around him, lazily trailing a finger along his shoulders. “Such a stunning male you are.” She barely spared Holly a glance, then her attention was back on him. “You need to come with me to the back.”

When Holly followed them, Imatra turned and said, “Just Cade. We've
business
to attend to.” She winked at Holly.

Cadeon looked like he'd protest—Holly wanted him
to. But Imatra whispered something in his ear, and he said, “You stay at the bar, Holly. Don't interact with anyone. Just sit and stay quiet, or yell for me if you need me. I'll be back in fifteen minutes.”

Then they were gone. And she didn't know how she felt about that stunning demoness flirting with Cadeon so aggressively.

Exhaling a breath, she sidled up to the bar and took a stool. This place reminded her of the Tatooine bar scene from
Star Wars
. What was the name of that place? Oh, yeah. The Mos Eisley Cantina.
I am such a geek to know that.

“What'll you have?” the bartender asked her. One of his three eyes was missing.
Three not complete or two not nullified.
Either was bad. She tried not to stare, but the potential for three should be three!

She delicately cleared her throat. “W-water would be fine, thank you.”

As she arranged the napkins stacked nearby in perfect squares, all around her males closed in.
Oh, yes, Cadeon. Don't interact, and I'll be dandy.

“What business have ye here, Valkyrie?” the apparent leader asked.

She sensed a vague threat from these males. They were testing her. She recalled the last time she'd felt this way—her first day of class with thirty-three Tulane football players. She'd donned a façade of utter confidence, tolerating zero disrespect.

What were demons compared to freshmen jocks?

“I'm here enjoying the area,” she said blithely. “Tell me, do you reside along the water?”

They all went wide-eyed. “Why do ye want to know
where I live?” the leader asked. “To take my head whilst I sleep?”

“Aye, Deshazior,” another interjected, “that's the way of the Valkyrie. Creep in when you don't expect it, then,
bam
”—he slammed the bottom of his fist on the bar—“you're headless.”

Be calm. Slow the heart.
“While that might be the case, gentlemen, I was actually thinking that flood insurance must be a nightmare for you guys.”

“She talks like a human,” this Deshazior said. The demon, who himself talked like a Central Casting pirate, motioned to the bartender, and a shot glass appeared in front of her. “Drink, Valkyrie.”

“I don't imbibe.”

“It's rude to be turnin' away demon brew when it's offered to ye.”

“Nonetheless, I never drink—”

“And bad luck to boot.”

“Bad luck?” Her hand swooped up the shot glass.
A random occurrence that doesn't go your way.
“What can one drink hurt, yeah?” Great, now she was even talking like the oaf.

With her free hand, she collected a napkin, giving them a pained smile as she polished an area on the rim of the glass. To the accompaniment of Jimmy Buffet crooning, “They say you are a snuff queen, honey, I don't think that's true . . . .” she placed the drink to her lips, then turned it up.

The liquid burned like nothing she'd ever ingested, and she coughed, eyes watering. She placed the glass on the bar with its opening down, so they didn't try to refill it.

“How'd that treat ye?” Deshazior asked.

She couldn't yet speak, so she gave the only polite gesture that was applicable: a thumbs-up sign.

Everyone cheered, while someone slapped her on the back, much too hard.

“She'll have another!”

They lined up a second glass.

Oh, no.
One down, one up. She would have to drink this and then one more to get to three . . . .

At number six, she felt surprisingly sober and wasn't as miserable as she'd thought she'd be, taking turns doing shots with demons in a sandbar bar. Indeed, she was quite relaxed.

And Deshazior was turning out to be a hoot. The storm demon had been a bona fide pirate, yet he text-messaged on his Sidekick faster than even she could. He was handsome in a grizzled way, and he also had an interest in mathematics since he'd been a navigator.

He'd told her the shots would hit her harder with each hour of the night. Holly was strangely looking forward to it.

She squinted at the Budweiser wall clock. Forty minutes had passed. Get in and get out, Cade had said.

“What is taking him so long?” she absently murmured.

A few demons smirked, and one said, “Imatra's a demanding one.”

Demanding?
We're here for directions.
What did being demanding have to do with how long Cade was taking with the gorgeous demoness?

She scratched her head, got aggravated with her falling bun, yanked it down.

Her eyes widened.
Holly, you're an idiot.
Two demons in a back room, with their three-times-a-day needs . . .

“And it ain't like Cadeon the Kingmaker's not up for the challenge,” another said.

Cadeon was back there having sex with Imatra.

All of the sudden, Holly understood why people cursed. Sometimes the emotion inside couldn't be vented with any known combination of tame words.

At least he was right about one thing. She
was
a preachy tight-ass and a hypocrite—because as she sat here getting increasingly
drunk,
all she wanted to do was utter the vilest oaths she could come up with.

He was an untrustworthy demon. She knew that. What had she been thinking even to imagine more with him?

Earlier, just before Imatra and Cadeon had gone back to her room, Imatra had flashed Holly that superior look, as if she'd taken something from her. In fact, Imatra had given her something.

Perspective where Cadeon was concerned.

Holly liked things ordered. Cadeon's bedding a sexy demoness the same night he'd made a play for Holly forever removed him from her consideration. By this act, he'd been nullified.

Yes. She'd wanted not to be tempted. To be unafraid that she might forsake her old life.

No demon, no temptation, no dark side.

Pasting a smile on her face, she asked the group, “Whose turn is it?”

I
'm only here for business, dove,” Cade said when Imatra poured drinks for them.

“You know it's bad luck to turn down demon brew. And it's rude to keep your sword on, like we're enemies.”

He took the glass, none too subtly glancing at his watch. Ten minutes had already dragged past as she'd asked questions about the other factions out for Holly.

“Just need my directions, and I'll be off.”

Cade couldn't imagine how Holly was faring out there. But he also had confidence in her, assured that she'd use that head of hers to stay out of trouble. He'd been impressed at the good job she'd done masking her amazement in the face of so many new Lorekind.

There'd been fey, demons, and Lykae, but fortunately, there were no Valkyrie. He knew all his plans could come tumbling down the minute she found out there was no turning back to human.

“Why the rush, Cade? Would it be so terrible to have a drink or two with me?” Imatra let her robe slink down her shoulder.

Cade believed most would think Imatra was beautiful, but he found her overblown and lacking compared to his halfling. “My asset's out there in a roomful of demons. She was human two days ago. There's a time element here.”

“No one would dare hurt her.”

No, but they might frighten her.
“Then I'm keen to get to the next checkpoint, which should please your master.”

“He wishes to inquire about the health of the Vessel.”

Cade hated to hear Holly talked about that way, so impersonally. Groot would never see past what she could provide to discover what she was like.

“Holly's fine.”

“We didn't expect you to be traveling alone with her.”

“Wouldn't be. 'Cept for the fact that Groot and Omort's sister Sabine, that little bitch, captured my brother.”

“We hadn't known if you were aware of that.”

The idea of Rydstrom's imprisonment seethed inside Cade, but he strove to block it out, realizing that negotiating this checkpoint might not be as simple as he'd anticipated. Imatra seemed capricious. She could make trouble. He didn't want to blow this deal because he got impatient with her.

Imatra said, “I suppose everyone will know soon enough with the way Sabine's been bragging about her new plaything.”

Cade ground his teeth. “Where is Rydstrom?”

“You expect me to tell you when you won't even take off your sword or share a drink in politeness?”

He dutifully shrugged from his sword sheath, laying it on a chair, then lifted his glass.

With a pleased smile, she sat on the edge of her desk, making sure the slit in her skirt rode up to her hip. This female was trying to be sexy—it was her whole persona, but it wasn't natural. She had to work at it.

And she still couldn't hold a candle to Holly, who couldn't care less if males found her attractive.

“Where's my brother, Imatra?”

“Likely in Tornin, but we can't say for certain. I'm sure more information will come to us—information we might share if this transaction goes smoothly.”

“Why wouldn't it?”

“How can we know you won't sleep with the Vessel?” Imatra asked.

Good question. “The same way my clients have known I'd never fuck with whatever asset they've entrusted to me. Bad for future business. Besides, the chit is absolutely not my standard fare.”
My standard fare was shite compared to Holly.

The demoness studied him, as if determining whether he were lying. Were they suspicious? If so, how? No one but Rydstrom, Nïx, and Rök knew what Holly was to him.

“If you decide to get clever and try to have the sword
and
the girl, you will fail,” Imatra said. “First of all, Groot is an incredibly strong mind-reader. You might be able to block his probes, but she'd have no chance. Secondly, the exchange will be made within Groot's fortress, which is mystickally protected, rigged with traps, and guarded by revenants. A forest of Wendigo surround it. You'll get her killed if she runs with you.”

Cade hadn't realized until this very second that trying for the sword and for Holly had been an option in the back of his mind.

A favored one.

Now he felt his hopes plummeting.

“A lot of obstacles,” Cade agreed. “How can I be sure that I'll even get out alive?”

“Groot has vowed to the Lore that you'll have safe
passage. If you vow as well that you will never reveal his location.”

Swearing to the Lore was the most abiding vow an immortal could make. Even an evil sorcerer would feel compelled to keep it. “I vow it.”

“Also, my master wants the Vessel fertile for immediate breeding. You have to ensure she continues eating,” Imatra said, testing him, analyzing his reaction.

Cade just stopped himself from gritting his teeth. “Not here to play nursemaid.”

“If she's not in the condition he wants her, then maybe your sword won't be as you'd prefer it.”

Bugger all. “The
Vessel
has a mind of her own, but I'll give it a go with the food.”

“One more thing—if she's not there by midnight on the next full moon, the sword will be tossed back into the forge, lost forever.”