Page 20 of The Witch Queen of Halloween (Immortals After Dark 20)

Godsbelow, that witch could kiss.

Sincethen, he’d tried to convince himself he didn’t need a certain red-hairedWiccanin his life.Butwhenever he saw her now, heat banked inside him.Involuntarysmoke would emerge from his fingertips and the ends of his horns.

Humansnever would guess that demons had souls.Butwe do.

AndRökbelieved thatPoppyDyerwas the other half of his.

Heshoved his phone in his pocket and signaled for another refill, surveying the busy bar.Thisholiday wasn’t usually anything special because every day wasHalloweenin theLore.Itjust meant immortals could move among humans more readily.

WiththeAccessionin full swing, though, everything took on new significance.

Erol’swas packed to the rafters withLoreanslooking either for hookups—or for power.Couplesin the back groped while others huddled over drinks, plotting for an upper hand.Allianceswere formed; backs were stabbed; pleasure was had.

Immortals, man.

Tiredof it all, he ignored glances from amorous females.Theprospect of empty bedsport left him cold, had for years.Resistingthe urge to look at that pic again, he wondered how long he’d have before his next awkward summoning.

Thebartender, a seal shifter fromCalifornia, brought over a pitcher of brew, frowning atRök’sempty steel mug.

Apparently, he’d crushed it.Hemuttered, “Putit on my tab.”Heneeded another job, a truly grueling one to lose himself in.

Theshifter gestured to one ofRök’shorns and said in aget-a-griptone, “Mydude . . .”

“Huh?”Rökreached up and found a piece of his cabin’s siding stuck on the tip—from where he’d been ramming his horns against the wall.Darkgods, the state of me.Heyanked off the wood, crumbling it in his fist.

Ona scale fromnot fucked uptocompletely fucked up,Rökwas redlining theFUmax limit.Ademon denied his mate didn’t get to be a selfless gentleman.Inthis strung-out shape,Rökcame to a conclusion:Ican’t hold out any longer.Ineed?—

“Poppy.”

Hejerked his head up when someone mentioned her name.

Notfar down the bar, a raven-haired female with flashing eyes pokedDeshazior, a demon transporter, in his burly chest. “You’lltell me where you traced her, orI’llpermanently blast your demonic testicles right off your demonic body.”

ItwasPoppy’solder sister,Lea, a witch so fierce she must channel theFuries.Shecouldn’t findPoppyand was worried, which meantRökwas seriously bloody worried.He’dbet the otherDyersisters were out combing the city.

ThoughLea’sthreat would make most males quaver,Desh, a storm demon as old as dirt and a former pirate, didn’t flinch.Henodded atLeawith understanding, replying in his salty accent: “WishIcould help ye, luv.Don’tknow aPoppet.”

“Youbought a pouch fromPoppylast week!Yourun theLuberservice”—LoreUber—“andIoverheard you two talking about a trip together.”

Atrip together?Deshwas like a bad penny.Rökhad laughed whenCadegot jealous overHolly’sfriendship withDesh.Nowthat storm demon was teleporting around withPoppyin his arms!

Leasnapped, “You’lltake me to her now, orI’llGELDyou!”Herpalms began to glow with magic.

Deshpulled at the collar of hisT-shirt, one that read:LuberTeleporting!Nojob too small, some jobs too big.“Igot a privacy policy.Can’thelp ye.”

“We’llsee, demon.”Herraised hands crackled, the rattle before a strike.

Ina balls-preserving move,Deshtraced away midbeam, leaving his barstool pulverized.

“Damnit!”Leaglared around the room.Immortals, unfazed by the confrontation, shrugged and got back to business.

Röktraced over to her. “Whathappened toPoppy?”

Leasneered at him. “Well, if it isn’tRökKours.I’msurprised your summoners allowed you outside of a bedroom.”

Heremembered that sneer from the last time they’d talked, when he’d charged over toPoppy’shouse straight from that restaurant two years ago.

Leahad intercepted him in the yard and had uncannily seen what he’d suspected—thatPoppywas his fated one. . . .

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