Page 9 of Hunt Me

“Maybe.”

Or just gone back to her realm.

Beside me, Styx empties her glass again then hands it off for a refill. She sits, silent and contemplative. Her refusal to fill silences with unnecessary words is one of the reasons we’re friends. But I’ve also noticed how many drinks she’s put away since arriving, and I’m starting to think it’s more than just support for my dismal mood. Before I can ask, she breaks the silence.

“There’s something else, isn’t there?”

I reach for my drink, using the move to buy myself time. If I say it aloud, I won’t be able to take it back or pretend it away anymore, but in the end, the alcohol pulls the words from my lips. “There was a woman.”

“Fuck me,” Styx says, throwing up her hands, “there always is.”

I cut her a look. Whatever she sees in me has pity flashing like lightning in her eyes. “Damn, what was she, a siren? You look pathetic.”

“Worse,” I say, misery leaking in around the alcohol making my senses buzz. “My mate.”

“No shit?” She looks stunned. I watch as her expression registers the memory of her own mate issues. When she recovers, she says, “I thought you couldn’t have a mate.”

“So did I.”

Her eyes narrow, but they’re glassier now, glazed with the magic infusion. “Wait. How can you have a mate bond and a blood oath to Caius?”

“I don’t think I can.” My voice is hoarse.

She’s hit on the real problem I’m trying to drink into oblivion. Her expression softens.

“What are you going to do?”

“I have to choose.”

Styx stares at me, sympathy mingling with that dry humor we both know she uses to cope. “Wow, and I thought my life was fucked.”

I snort.

She raises her newly refilled glass to me and says, “You lived a good life, soldier. But it’s over now.”

“Fuck me,” I mutter, and then we drink to her dramatic toast.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as the drunk eyeing Styx gets off his bar stool and approaches. He sways slightly, but his gaze is firmly set on the female beside me.

I tense, not really worried since Styx can handle herself, but I also don’t appreciate the interruption I know is coming. Nor do I think Caius is going to look kindly on us getting into a bar fight. Again.

“Hey, gorgeous,” the male leers, and Styx turns to glare at him. “I couldn’t help but overhear you saying you wanted to get fucked.” He winks. Or tries to. It’s more of a slow blink while his jaw hangs slack for concentration. “I think I can help with that.”

Fuck. This guy clearly has a death wish.

I brace myself for Styx to gut him right here. Even Meech, the bartender, who is no coward and usually doesn’t put up with this kind of shit, makes himself scarce.

Styx merely stares him down, incredibly still on her stool. “The only thing you can help with is my death count,” she tells him. “Unless you turn around and stumble away right now.”

Mentally, I will him to take her advice.

Under normal circumstances, I’d kill him myself for the way he spoke to her, but my role here in Tartarus is not normal. Nor does it allow me to kill without the permission of Caius himself. In fact, if I witness another citizen committing unsanctioned violence, I’ll have no choice but to intervene.

Unfortunately, the dumbass is either too drunk or too stupid to know his mistake.

He doesn’t leave.

Instead, he inches closer. To me.

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