Chapter 14

Chapter 14

T he setting sun cast a golden hue over the gardens as the final remnants of daylight bled from the sky. Fey loved this time, the moments between day and night, and this was her favorite place to spend it.

Shortly after the War of the Fallen had ended and the Eternal City was being built, the first Queen had commissioned this park. In the center of everything, far from the palace proper, far from the twin rivers that flanked the city. It was a place for all the citizens of the city to enjoy regardless of Faction or status.

At the center of the park sat the Dual-Faced Goddess Statue.

Fey sat on the bench before it, staring up at her Goddess, letting peace settle through her.

The statue was a massive thing, nearly twenty feet tall, and made of solid metal. Split down the center, half depicted a woman in gold, her face upturned to the sky, hand resting gently on the swell of her stomach. Her face was serene, soft, and feminine. This was the Mother Goddess, the giver of life. The Goddess most denizens of the realm prayed to.

The statue had another face, in silver. The same features, the same feminine lines, but no serenity would be found here. No forgiveness. Her eyes were narrowed in fury, her face a mix of rage and beauty. Her hand didn't rest on the swell of her curves but instead clutched a sword before her, sharp and dangerous.

This was the Goddess Fey worshiped. A fighter. A destroyer. This was vengeance given physical form.

And yet—here, in this one place, they existed as one. A single entity, with two heads, but one body. The duality of the Goddess herself. Creator and destroyer.

The garden darkened as the sun dipped further below the horizon. Fey sighed.

It would be stupid to go back there. It was reckless, and it was stupid. But right now, it didn't feel like they had any other options, and stupid was better than nothing.

After their night at the club, Fey had dug up everything she could about the owner, going through the Crown's extensive incidence lists and making a dossier of everything she could find.

Alastair Salvatore—that was the name of the Vamp that had her purring in the palm of his hand that night. The Vamp she was having trouble not thinking of when her fingers slipped between her legs at night. He'd purchased the property just over ten years ago as an abandoned factory building and quickly turned it into one of the city's hottest nightclubs. In the last few years, the neighborhood around it had been transformed from a slum into an up-and-coming fixture of the city—the nightclub bringing new life to the area and quickly becoming a favorite with the students from the university just a few blocks away.

There had been a few incidents at the club, but fewer than Fey had expected. A Wolf Shifter he'd hired had been arrested and convicted of assault just a few months ago, and a note in the file claimed it was Alastair himself who had brought the man in for justice. And there had been a small fire just after the club's opening, though no one had been hurt. But other than that? The Crown had surprisingly little criminal activity on record about The Last Drop. Or on Alastair himself, for that matter.

A shadow fell on the bench beside her, and Fey glanced up.

"Hey," Lilith said, looking down at her. Fey squinted against the light of the setting sun, and Lilith grinned. She held a strawberry ice cream cone in one hand, and it dripped down the side .

"Hey," Fey answered.

Lilith didn't make a sound as she slipped into the seat beside Fey, curling her legs beneath her as she sat, and licked some of the melted cream from her cone. Around them, couples walked through the park, stopping to admire the art. A few Shifter children played nearby, some of them halfway in their animal forms, still learning the basics of their transformation.

It felt… weird, sitting with her sister in public like this. Most of their time was spent in their quarters, and the rest—well… when they were out together in public like this, they were on a mission. Masked.

"What are you doing here?" Fey asked, curiously.

"I had a date," Lilith answered, taking a bite of her ice cream, pink bits of strawberry clinging to her lips. "Figured I would grab a little treat on the way back to the palace."

Fey snorted. "Must not have been a very good date if you're done before sundown."

"Oh, I disagree," Lilith purred, smiling devilishly. "I think it was a very, very good date."

Fey couldn't help it. She laughed, shaking her head.

"Do I even want to know what you're doing out here, in the middle of the Demon district?" Lilith asked, her voice teasing.

Goddess Park sat closest at the intersection of the Demon and Shifter districts, and the streets surrounding it were mostly factories and food stores, spotted with a few low-income housing complexes. There wasn't much around the area if you were looking for things to do.

"This is my favorite part of the city," Fey told her. She gestured at the statue before them. "This is the first place I came to when I moved here."

Lilith frowned up at the statue, licking sugar from her lips.

"We had a traditional Goddess statue in our home when I was growing up," Fey said. "You know the one? She's on her knees, palms uplifted. Subservient."

Lilith nodded.

"I hated it. She looked so small, so… powerless, kneeling there like that. It wasn't until I saw this—saw her shown like this—that I fi nally felt like I saw her. Like I saw the Goddess I felt inside me, the one that I could resonate with."

Lilith smiled. "Yeah," she said. "I get that." She licked a trickle of strawberry ice cream that was melting down her cone, racing toward her fingers.

Fey shrugged. "I like to come here when I want to feel close to Her. When I have to do something I don't want to do."

"And what is it that you don't want to do?" Lilith asked, teasing.

Fey sighed heavily and stood up to leave.

"I have to go make a deal with the devil," she told Lilith, turning to walk away. "See you at the palace later, okay? And if I'm not back by morning… send Joy out to save me."

Fey hoped Mr. Alastair Salvatore was the forgiving type…

But she doubted it.

It was barely 8 pm by the time Fey arrived at The Last Drop, and the club was almost unrecognizable from the last time she'd been there. It wasn't busy yet, and the few people already there were content to sit at the bar or in various booths along the walls, sipping at their drinks and chatting. The dance floor was empty, and Fey was pleasantly surprised to find that the music and lighting were more reflective of an upscale bar, rather than a popular dance club. They must turn up the sound and turn down the lights once the place starts to fill up.

The bartender watched her approach with curious green eyes. The sleeves of his T-shirt were rolled up and stretched over his thick biceps. With his messy brown hair and five o'clock shadow, he looked more like a model than a bartender.

"What's your poison?" he asked in a purring voice, giving her a crooked grin when she sat on an empty stool in front of him.

"Vodka seltzer," Fey ordered. He nodded, and when he set the drink in front of her a few moments later, Fey's eyebrows shot up. Calling it a vodka seltzer was a lie. The drink he set in front of her was a full glass of vodka, with only the barest whisper of mixer, and it smelled strong enough to strip paint. Fey appreciated that in a drink, even if she didn't plan on drinking it tonight. It was just for show, after all—a prop.

The bartender smiled wider at her raised eyebrow, revealing a twin set of dimples in his cheeks. And a sharp set of incisors. "You look like a girl who can appreciate a strong drink," he explained.

She smiled back in response and slipped a full silver mark across the bar in appreciation, bringing the drink to her lips and feigning taking a sip. The bartender watched her, and when she set the glass down on the bar, his eyes lingered on it, narrowing slightly.

"We don't get a lot of Witches in here," he told her, gaze moving from her drink to her face. He leaned on the bar, watching her.

Fey raised an eyebrow. "Are we going to have a problem?" she asked, letting the barest hint of a threat darken her voice.

The Shifter just smiled lazily, flashing sharp teeth in the process. "Oh no," he assured her. "No problem at all. Just curious if the Crown sent you to take one of us out of here in handcuffs." His smile grew, turning slightly feral. "And if you're looking for volunteers."

His voice held enough sexual purr that Fey's toes curled slightly. Fuck, was every male here nothing but walking sex appeal? No wonder this place was so popular.

"Why do I get the feeling you flirt with every woman who walks in here?" she asked, teasing.

The bartender laughed. "No, no—I definitely have a type." He leaned a little closer to her, and Fey couldn't help the slight blush that rose to her cheeks. He drummed his fingers on the wood of the bar top, and she noted that his fingers ended in claws. Sharp. Dangerous.

"Actually," Fey said, trying to ground herself. It would be too easy to get distracted, too easy to give in and finish her drink, to leave without doing what she came here to do. She feigned another sip from her glass. "I'm here to see the owner. Do you know if he's in tonight, or when he might?—"

CRASH .

The sound of a door slamming above was loud enough to shake the floor, and the bottles on the bar wall rattled. Fey winced. Well, that answered her question.

The bartender's eyes tracked something behind her. "Oh, he's here alright," he said, a smile curving up one side of his face. "And I get the impression he's been looking for you, too."

He shot Fey a sympathetic look.

"Well, well, well," a voice snarled from behind Fey as Alastair stalked across the room, radiating fury. A few patrons glanced up, only to quickly look away again, fear in their eyes. He wore a suit again, identical to the one she'd seen him in before. Dark, and expensive. He moved with a slow, deliberate grace and didn't stop until he was standing directly behind Fey's stool, towering above her. "This is a pleasant fucking surprise, don't you think?"

Fey's heart rate jumped at the sound of his voice, but she kept her face impassive, placing her drink down on the bar with deliberate care and slowly turning around in her seat.

"Hello, Alastair." She rested her elbows on the bar top and tilted her face up to smile at him.

He looked furious. Though Fey supposed to anyone else he might have looked casual, standing with his hands in the pockets of his slacks. But his eyes flashed with anger, and a muscle in his jaw twitched as he looked down at her, his gaze drinking in every detail of the Witch before him.

A woman's appearance was just as much a tool as any other weapon in her arsenal, and Fey had spent time perfecting her look before she arrived here tonight. In place of the skintight dress he'd seen her in last time, she wore a pair of dark pants and a white cashmere sweater, baggy enough at the neckline that it fell from her shoulder and displayed the full expanse of her collarbones. She'd wanted to accentuate her neck, so she wore her hair up in a high ponytail, leaving her cream-colored skin on full display.

She hadn't bothered with a healing elixir after she'd last seen him, and the faintest remnants of a bruise still graced the side of her neck—a reminder to him of what they'd done in those few minutes they were alone. His eyes lingered on it.

But from the way his teeth ground together as he looked her up and down, Fey couldn't tell if he was mentally undressing her, or skinning her.

"I have to say," he said, when he finished assessing her, his golden eyes finally settling on hers. "It takes a lot of fucking balls for you to walk back into my club after what you did."

Mentally skinning me, Fey decided.

"I think you of all people would know whether or not I have balls," Fey countered. The bartender developed a sudden coughing fit that sounded a lot like laughter.

"Jasper, you have five seconds to fuck off somewhere else," Alastair snapped, glancing over.

The bartender, Jasper, only shrugged, grinning. "I've got nowhere better to be, boss." And then, as if to emphasize his point, he poured himself a drink and brought the glass to his smile to sip it.

Alastair snarled, then turned his gaze back to Fey. He took a step towards her, and she wondered vaguely if he would kill her in front of all these witnesses.

I should stop pushing him like this , Fey thought. I need to stop pushing him like this.

But he made it oh so fun.

Instead of murdering her in cold blood, though, he leaned in, placing a hand on the bar on either side of her, caging her in place with his body. "So why are you here, Witchling?" he asked, his face barely an inch from hers. "Have you come back to beg for my forgiveness? Or…did you forget something the last time you were here, hmm?"

Fey's pulse raced as he leaned even closer, whispering directly into her ear. "I found the gift you left on my desk for me."

He leaned back just far enough to look her in the eyes, and his tongue slid across his bottom lip suggestively. Oh, right. She had forgotten about the pair of panties she'd left behind on his desk.

Oops.

"Actually," Fey started, fighting to keep her voice calm. "I came back because I need your help."

Alastair blinked. He stared at her in absolute wonder for a moment, his face mere inches from her own, before barking out a laugh and stepping back.

"You need my help? After you broke into my office?" Alastair ran his hand through his black hair, ruffling it and shaking his head in amazement. "You must be fucking insane, Witchling. Do you even have any idea who the fuck I am?"

Fey shrugged like it didn't matter, like she didn't care. And she didn't. She was a Blade, and there wasn't a Vamp out there in the realm who would outrank her.

Baffled, Alastair said, "Give me one fucking reason why I should even consider helping you."

"Because I'm willing to bet that deep down you're actually a decent guy," Fey offered, and Alastair threw back his head to laugh.

"You'd lose that fucking bet," he chuckled.

"I don't think I would," Fey answered. Her temper was rising, and she couldn't help the bite in her voice.

"And why's that?"

"Because of what happened to Alicia," Fey countered.

All the air in the room seemed to vanish at those words, and Alastair went very, very still.

"You're going to want to think long and hard about the next words out of your mouth," he whispered.

"You remember Alicia, don't you?" Fey continued, ignoring the warning. "She was a bartender of yours about two years ago, before she went missing."

Someone was growling, and the danger in that sound made the hair on Fey's arms stand at attention. It was the bartender, Jasper.

"Keep her name out of your mouth," Jasper snarled. Gone was the flirtatious smirk, gone were the bedroom eyes. A predator stood behind the bar, staring at her, and Fey could see the beast that lived under his skin clawing to be let out.

She didn't care. Fey gave him a cold smile in return and let her own monster show through, just a little.

"Everyone knew she was murdered," Fey continued, turning back to address Alastair, ignoring the snarling Wolf, ignoring everything else to address him, and only him. "Even before the body turned up. And everyone knew who did it. Her boyfriend had a history of hurting women who wouldn't listen to him."

Alastair was so still, so very still, as she continued .

"So no one was surprised when he disappeared a few days later. Even the Crown assumed he had run to escape justice. To escape the Blades."

Alastair laughed, cruelly. "Like the Queen's Blades give a shit about what happens to Fallen like us?" he sneered.

Fey ignored him. "But he didn't run away, did he? And pieces of him started to turn up, all around the city, at every dive bar, at every seedy restaurant this asshole liked to frequent. A message from someone powerful. A message to all the abusive fucks out there that no one, no one , hurts someone under your protection. Isn't that right?"

The growling from Jasper stopped.

"What makes you think I had anything to do with it?" Alastair asked, voice low and dangerous.

"Everyone knows who that message was from," Fey said. It was true. The dossier she'd assembled made it very clear the Crown knew about it but didn't care. Just trash taking care of trash. "Rumor has it that no one hurts a woman in this club if they want to live. So, yeah, I'm willing to bet the Vamp who tracked down that murdering piece of shit and cut him into pieces might be a decent guy under all the bluster. And he might be willing to hear me out."

Alastair smiled, and for one brief moment, Fey felt hope.

"And like I said," the Vamp purred. "You'd lose that bet."

Hope is a dangerous thing. It fractured in Fey's chest, and she could feel the sharp edges of it cutting her heart.

"Even if what you're saying is true, even if I did all of that, it doesn't mean I'll help you," Alastair told her. But there was something there, something in his eyes that let Fey know she had a chance.

Or… maybe that was just her desperation. Maybe that was just her hoping, beyond hope, that someone, anyone, would be willing to help.

"Please," she said as Alastair turned away. The words sounded so weak coming out of her mouth. But he stopped. "Please, I…I don't have anywhere else to turn right now. I'm at a dead end and I…I just… please. Please, just hear me out."

Fey hated the weakness in her voice when she said it, hated the pleading tone to her words, but it was the truth. All of it. She was out of options, out of time. And she was willing to beg if it would help get her answers. Even if she couldn't look at herself in the morning .

She'd do anything for Alice.

Alastair turned and stared at her, assessing. Then he sighed, long and loud, tipping his head back to do so.

"Fuck the Goddess, I must be out of my fucking mind, too," he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Fine. Fuck it. You get two minutes."

Hope, that stupid, treacherous emotion, flared to life again. Fey tried not to look too pleased, tried not to smile as she looked up at him and nodded.

"Two minutes," she repeated.

"Meet me in my office. I'll be right there," he said. His eyes flicked up to hers with a dry amusement when he added, "You remember where my office is, don't you, Witchling?"

It took effort not to bare her teeth at him. Accepting the dismissal, she stood, moving toward the stairs that led to the second floor. Behind her, Alastair leaned against the bar, speaking in a low voice to the bartender.