Page 7 of Hunt Me

“Nothing, she grabbed me, and I…”

“Murderer!” the man declares.

People stop and stare, their fear turning to suspicion as they move in closer, encircling me. With nothing left to do for the stranger now dead at my feet, I get up and run away as fast as my legs will carry me.

Chapter 2

Legion

The sexy female fae from the Crossroads haunts me every step of the way back through the portal and into Tartarus. The fact that I witnessed her spike a man’s drink and ultimately kill him only makes me more curious about her. Who is she? What wrong did that male commit against her? Every thought and urge I have toward her is unexpected—and honestly, the worst fucking thing that’s happened to me in a long time. As is the desire to turn around and hunt her down.

Fighting the temptation to return to her, I end up at Osiris, one of the less popular bars on the outskirts of town, and, therefore, one of my favorite places to frequent. Arriving well before happy hour, I order bottomless shots with a generous infusion of magic in an attempt to drink away the knowledge of the female’s existence. My biology makes it nearly impossible to get drunk—partly thanks to the blood of a god that runs through my veins and partly thanks to Tartarus which would have rendered me immortal even if my DNA hadn’t—but the magic infusion offers that extra oomph. Now, all I have to do is drink faster than my metabolism can burn it.

Two off-duty soldiers come in. Their stares and whispers make me regret my choice. Drinking at home is probably more appropriate, given that I’m the general of Tartarus’ army. Seeing the boss get wasted in the middle of the afternoon is gossip that’s sure to spread through the ranks. But I’ve come too far.

“Sir, can I buy you a drink?” one of them asks.

He’s green, I can see it in the way he addresses me so casually. Not to mention his uniform marks him as a trainee. Clearly, he hasn’t learned rule number one.

I school my features into something more growly, which isn’t hard, given my mood.

“What the fuck did you just say, soldier?” I ask.

“I, uh, I could buy you a drink,” he says, looking unsure.

“No,” I say flatly. “You can’t.”

“Sorry, I just?—”

“What’s your name?” I demand.

They exchange a look, and my temper shortens further. “I asked you a question, soldier.”

“Lankford, sir. This is Rath.”

“Who’s your supervisor?”

“Uh, Conway, sir.”

“Has he explained the consequences of breaking protocol?”

“Sir?”

“Drinking with your commanding officers is a punishable offense.”

The first whiff of fear rolls off them.

Instead of feeling satisfied, my dark mood only makes me feel bad for them.

“Get out of here,” I say.

“Sir—”

“I said go!”

They scramble out, and I go back to the task at hand of getting myself good and wasted.

An hour later, I’m barely upright on my stool, which makes this effort a success as far as I’m concerned, when I’m rudely jostled by a new customer sidling up to the bar beside me. Styx gives me a once-over that would make most mortals quake. Despite her small stature, the kelpie is known and avoided by most in Tartarus, though somewhere along the way, her grumpy persona stopped putting me off, and we became something like friends.

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