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He gave the slightest of shrugs. “I’m motivated to keep you alive.”

“Even if I am your enemy?” she asked.

A ghost of a smile flickered over his face and was gone. “That keeps things interesting, don’t you think?”

CHAPTER 10

Izetta limped across the downtown intersection, hiding her face from the well-dressed humans lining up outside restaurants and movie theaters. What the fae hadn’t broken, the fight with the gargoyles had. With her limbs bruised and her clothes in tatters, she was a pitiable sight. A few bystanders threw her scornful looks. More pretended she wasn’t there.

Rage and shame thrummed through her, but she thrust it down for later. The path from the forest had been brutal, and she’d had no blood to give her strength to heal. Pain stabbed with each step, a molten blade first in her leg, then her ribs, sometimes the small of her back. The fae had understood how to draw out the act of injury, and even a vampire had limits.

If Rafe hadn’t helped her, she’d still be in the fae’s dungeon. She owed him, and she’d return with reinforcements, whatever it cost her. But her first task was survival.

One stumbling lurch at a time, she turned from the bright, well-swept main street into a side alley and, from there, to a seedy part of town. This was a no-man’s-land between the human neighborhoods and the streets run by the supernatural set. Neither wanted the blame for this block, but both made use of its so-called services.

She paused, sluggish and shivering, as she leaned against the grime-streaked bricks of the closest building. The amber lights of the Beacon Pub puddled on the wet sidewalk, bringing to mind the many other spilled liquids associated with the dive. Like most of the businesses along Skinner Street, it was a front for something else—in this case, the business HQ of the local vampire nest. They’d pay well for what she’d learned in the forest. With an act of will, Izetta pushed herself away from the wall and down the street.

The Beacon’s narrow door had lost most of its paint. The remainder was mottled by Christmas lights strung around the entrance and front window. If the decorations were out of season, no one cared. It was as close to fancy signage as the dive was going to get.

Izetta pushed the door open and was met by a wall of rock music from decades past. The tables were full, with more customers leaning against the poster-covered wall, pints in hand. The fragrance of warm flesh and warmer blood was a caress and a gut-punch. Hunger unhinged her already wobbling knees. Her jaw throbbing with the need to bite, she elbowed her way directly to the bar and grabbed the only free stool.

Henry, the werebear owner, was pouring drinks. He took one look at Izetta and pulled a carton from the fridge beneath the counter. When he poured it into a glass, it looked like ruby cream, only a few bubbles glittering along the rim.

“Heat the second glass,” she said, her voice a dusty croak. “Give me the first one now.”

Henry didn’t argue, thrusting the drink at her before pouring another and putting it in the microwave. Izetta gulped the slimy liquid, not needing to pause for breath. The plasma-infused beverage clung to her tongue, cloyingly sweet, but she immediately felt warmer. It would tide her over until she could hunt.

“What happened to you?” Henry rumbled as he put the warmed second glass in front of her, his dark eyes searching her face. He was six and a half feet tall and built like a concrete block wrapped in plaid flannel and suspenders. The patrons knew better than to mock his fashion choices.

“Long story, and not a good one,” Izetta replied, resting her forearms on the sticky wood of the bar. Already, the pain was backing off, so the disgusting drink was doing its job. “I was out Dunbury way. Had to walk back.”

Henry grunted, leaning closer to hear her over the din. “Too hurt to fly?”

Izetta shrugged. Vampires didn’t fly so much as levitate short distances. She’d been able to get away from the hellhole in the woods, but then her abilities had stuttered like bad Wi-Fi—not that she’d admit that out loud.

She sipped the warmed liquid and made a face at the chemical aftertaste. She pushed the glass back toward Henry. “Put something in this.”

He splashed in vodka, a trace of amusement crinkling his eyes. The rest of his face was too buried in his reddish beard to reveal much expression. “Glad you made it home.”

“I’m not home yet. I stopped here to talk to Malatest. He’ll want to hear about what I found.”

Henry frowned. “He’s got the lieutenants with him tonight.”

“Lieutenants,” she huffed. They were mere boys, mean-spirited toddlers grasping at the scraps of power Malatest dangled before them. She could take any of the brats one-on-one, but as a gang they made her wary.

She held out her glass again. It took a lot to get a vampire drunk, and she needed something to ease the knot between her shoulders.

The werebear obeyed, being generous. “I wouldn’t talk to Malatest tonight if I were you.”

“Because?” She swigged the drink, the alcohol fumes burning her nose.

He arched a brow. “Sadie has put him in an unforgiving mood, and you smell like wounded prey.”

“Running up his gold card?”

“He wouldn’t mind that nearly half as much. Let’s just say she prefers the dance clubs to this joint.”

That fit. Sadie and the Magician had been together on the surveillance video—which raised questions Izetta intended to answer before her second drink was done. “How did Malatest find out where she goes?”

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