Chapter 39

Chapter 39

ALASTAIR

L eaving Fey behind in that dusty, broken building had been the hardest thing Alastair had ever done. But he wouldn't have done it— couldn't have done it—if he didn't trust that she knew what she was doing.

When Alastair returned to the party, stopping by the restroom first to put his clothing in order and wash the smell of Fey from his fingers, it was as if he'd never left. People were chatting and laughing, half lost in their cups, deliriously happy, without a care in the world.

Alastair hated them all.

But he hated one of them, in particular, more than all the rest. Hated the male so much it was hard to still the rage growing inside him.

He'd barely made it back to the party and gotten himself a drink before Dameon returned, hurrying to the Queen's side.

It would be so easy, Alastair thought to himself as he watched Dameon bend down to whisper in the Queen's ear, so very easy to snap the male's neck. With Alastair's speed, there wasn't a single person in this building who had the power to stop him.

He'd seen the look on Fey's face when Dameon had pulled that bottle out. Seen her face crumble, devastated. Betrayed. That alone was enough to sign the male's death warrant, but then …

Alastair had liked the crazy little Witch that fucker had killed. Willow—that's what her sisters had called her. She'd been bloodthirsty, yeah, but wasn't he the same? Something about her had made him smile, made him glad Fey had a Witch like that protecting her.

And Fey? Fey had loved her.

And this vile excuse for a male had taken that beautiful, bloodthirsty Witch away from her, away from the world, snuffing it out like it meant nothing.

Alastair's lips curled back in a snarl, and he took a step forward.

No one would be able to stop him in time to save Dameon. He might even make it out alive if he were quick enough. No one would?—

"Ah, there you are."

The murderous rage growing inside Alastair stilted, and he exhaled, dizzy with the strength of his anger.

Cassiel Salvatore deSanguine placed a hand on his son's arm, turning Alastair to face him.

"My God," he said, his lip curling in distaste. "Where have you even been? You look…" Words failed his father, as his gaze traveled up and down Alastair's body, taking in the wrinkled shirt, the blood his stomach, and various stains on his pants. Some of which were very obvious against the black fabric. "God above, you smell like a whorehouse."

Alastair raised an eyebrow. "And how would you know what a whorehouse smells like, father?"

"Don't be a smartass," Cassiel snapped. "Just look at yourself. I brought you here to socialize, not sleep with anything that moves."

Alastair just shrugged, taking a sip of his whiskey. He'd long since stopped giving a fuck what his father thought about him.

"Are you still drinking that swill? You can't even get drunk, son. What's the point of it?"

"I like the taste," Alastair answered with a smile. "Why do you think I opened a bar?"

"I can say with complete honesty that I have no idea why you do any of the things you choose to do."

"And let's get one thing straight," Alastair continued, ignoring what his father said entirely. A waitress walked by with a tray of drinks, and Alastair set his now empty glass down on it and plucked a fresh whiskey for himself. "You didn't bring me here to socialize. You brought me here for the same reason you always do. You brought me here to wow the aristocrats with what a fine, virile young male your son is. You brought me here to play stud." Alastair gestured down at his clothing. "And who am I not to play the part in its entirety?"

In his peripheral vision, Alastair saw Dameon finish his conversation with the Queen and leave, and he ground his teeth together in frustration.

Fuck . He'd missed his chance.

Maybe it was for the best. Fey deserved that kill. She deserved to be the hand that ended that fucker.

"I should have brought your brother," Cassiel deSanguine said, not bothering to hide the disdain in his voice.

"Yeah," Alastair agreed. "You should have. But he wouldn't have been able to entertain the Witches here nearly as well as I can since he prefers cock."

"I forgot how disgusting you can be," his father snapped.

"Tut, tut, father, don't be so close-minded. There's nothing disgusting about liking to suck cock. Maybe if you gave it a try?"

But his father wasn't listening to his teasing anymore, his focus instead on the Queen as she stood and addressed the room. The room stilled and quieted as guests turned one-by-one to watch her.

"We thank you all for your attendance tonight," the Queen spoke in a voice carried by Air so that each and every guest could hear her. "But we will be ending the festivities early. Goodnight and blessed Solstice. My guards will be escorting you all from the grounds. Please do not give them reason to use force."