8. Zev

Chapter 8

Zev

T he music, as well as the whiskey, is a welcome reprieve from the incessant thoughts in my head.

I lean heavily against the marble bar, swallowing back another hefty mouthful of the amber liquid the half-pixie bartender pours in my crystal glass.

Every second that ticks by tightens my muscles.

Every second we waste in this place, pleasant or no, is another I'm not making my way back to the palace with the key to getting what I need. I'll never admit it, but the Succubus was right about needing to be fed and healthy for the Collector. He won't make a fair trade if I don't bring her in pristine condition.

"I must say," Sirius—the sorcerer who happens to be Livana's supplier—says as he takes the empty spot next to me. He has to move a long, maroon cloak out of his way to sit on the sleek barstool. "We don't get many of your kind in here."

"My kind," I repeat, focusing on my drink as the bartender brings Sirius a crystal glass filled with a clear liquid without him asking for it.

"Yes," he says after he's taken a sip. "Drifters. They know my rules, so they usually linger in the alleyways outside my establishment, like mold in the cracks of a crumbling building."

I grunt and take another drink. If the sorcerer is trying to rile me, it'll take more than that. I'm used to being hated by both monsters and mortals. Half the drifters at the Academy hate each other, thanks to the Collector's ability to turn us all into enemies.

"You should've brought her here sooner," he says, noting I'm not ruffled.

I cock a brow, casting a sideways glance at him.

"Livana," he says. "Her heart condition is progressing. She shouldn't go that long without feeding again, let alone without her medication. If those pathways continue to grow…" His voice trails off and he shakes his head. "As hers, you should be more careful?—"

"I am not hers," I cut him off, but I take a breath to quell the bite in my voice. His assumption has spilled a secret she no doubt would've never revealed to us.

Sirius's eyes glow gold for a moment, just a flash of his power before they go back to his natural color. He studies me, intrigue ripping over his features, and it takes all of my training to not reach for my necklace and fiddle with the rotating star—an anxious habit I've never been able to break.

"You're not?" he asks again, as if I'll have a different answer for him. "Interesting," he continues after my silence. "Very interesting." He tilts his head. "Your companion. He went with her?—"

"I know," I cut him off, having spotted Jagger dragging the succubus to a private suite. I knew he wouldn't be able to resist for long, and we do need her healthy when we turn her over to the Collector, but that doesn't mean I'm not worried about him.

I am.

In fact, if Sirius hadn't sat down, I likely would've already barged in on them, just to make sure she hasn't drained him dry. Jagger can handle himself, but there's something about the succubus that feels…different.

The vison of her riding him, his blood dripping down her chin as he makes her come hits me so quickly a growl rips from my chest. Goddess, the damn succubus has gotten under my skin. Her back talk, her aversion to cooperation despite not running, has my mind consumed with thoughts of her. Of breaking her, making her submit.

And she'd love it. That much I can tell.

Not that we'll ever truly find out.

"At least one of you is taking care of her," Sirius says, oblivious to my lapse in thoughts. "She'll need to feed more frequently?—"

"I don't care." I finish the whiskey in my glass, shaking my head at the bartender when she approaches with the bottle. We need to move. We've already wasted enough time here.

"No," he says, looking me up and down. "Of course you don't. Drifters don't care about anything but gold, right?"

I shift to face him, my jaw hardening. He's baiting me, I can tell, but it doesn't piss me off any less.

"Exactly," I lie, and he sees right through it, the damn sorcerer. He's probably one of the more powerful ones, judging by the sheer size of this place and the power I can smell on him, and he likely has a little foresight.

I don't give a shit what he sees. What he thinks he knows.

He doesn't know me .

"Ah," he says. "That's much better."

I furrow my brow, wondering what the fuck he's talking about, when I spot her.

The little succubus has changed out of the tattered clothes she wore at The Red Lion , now dressed in a loose pair of dark blue cotton pants that pool around a sturdy pair of boots, a maroon long-sleeve shirt hugging her curves, showing off just a hint of her breasts, and a warm cloak draped over her shoulders that will help with the cold autumn nights. Her eyes are bright, like new life has been breathed into them, and her movements are more graceful than they'd been when we came in here.

I'm transported back to our first encounter, when she'd moved her body in a sultry way, gripping my thighs and rolling her luscious ass all over my cock. Fuck, it'd been nearly impossible to resist her then, and now, looking at her practically glowing as she walks toward me, Jagger trailing behind her like a lost puppy, it's ten times as difficult.

I'm so fucked.

"Amazing," Sirius says, drawing me back to myself. "What a little blood and lust can do for her."

"Hmm," I say in response.

"Be sure to keep her in this condition, drifter," he says, his tone laced with a crystal-clear threat. "You don't want to see what I'll do to you if you betray her."

I stand, and so does he, not a flicker of fear in his eyes. "Who are you to her?" I ask, my hands fists at my sides. "Her father?"

He laughs, shaking his head. "Not even close," he says, then sighs. "I have a vested interest in her well-being."

"That's not my problem."

"Isn't it?" he asks, but doesn't let me answer before saying, "you're welcome, by the way."

"For what?"

He doesn't answer, instead dismissing me as he saunters through the crowd, the patrons parting like he's fucking royalty. He stops before the succubus, giving her an approving nod before disappearing into the crowd.

And I can't help it, I watch as her eyes meet mine, as she hesitates, a hint of rebellion shifting her stance. She looks poised to run, and my blood races hot through my veins, the ache wrenching low in my gut akin to hunger.

No, starvation .

I've been starving for a long time.

But I didn't notice until I laid eyes on her.

And I hate her for it.