Page 76 of The Blood Witch

The noise Amalia made when she took her next bite was vulgar enough she was sure her mother must be rolling in her grave, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. The spices! The meat! Even the strange, spongy dough that held the whole thing together.

It was sensational.

“This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten in my life,” Amalia murmured, not caring even a little that she was speaking with her mouth full.

“I’m glad you like it,” Vee said. “The stuff they keep giving you here, it’s all… sweet, you know?”

Amalia swallowed. “What’s wrong with sweet?” she asked.

Vee shrugged. “Nothing. But…” She fiddled with the strap on her bag. “The world out there? It’s not always sweet. Maybe it’s time you experienced a little more of it.”

Amalia considered this, staring at the last bite of pork bun in her fingers.

“Yeah,” she said. “I think maybe I should.”

She offered the bite to Vee, who took it with a grin.

Chapter 34

JASPER

“Excuse me?”

Jasper glanced up, smiling brightly at the Witch who approached the bar. He had heard her walk up, even over the heavy bass of the music. But when he gave her that surprised smirk, as though she’d snuck up on him, she blushed so prettily.

They always did.

“What can I get you?” Jasper asked, setting down the glass he was polishing and leaning toward her, his palms flat on the bar.

There was a time before Fey, when having a Witch in the Last Drop was practically unheard of. Sure, they were close enough to the university to attract a few college kids, but most of their clientele come from the Fallen Factions. Witches had their own bars and their own clubs, where they didn’t have to rub shoulders with the riffraff in the lower city.

Fey had changed all of that. Hell, Fey had changed a lot of things.

Now the club’s clientele had a broader range. And it had been months since Jasper and Ferus had been forced to beat the shit out of anyone. He almost missed it some nights.

Almost.

The Witch gave him a flirtatious smile, batting herlashes at him. Behind her, the group of women she’d come in with watched their interaction and giggled.

“I heard you have a specialty drink? One you make for… for the Broken Blade?”

Jasper widened his smile just enough to flash his sharp incisors as he straightened. The Witch’s eyes went to his teeth immediately, and her breath hitched. Fear was a powerful aphrodisiac in small doses, and the Witches who had started coming here (always in groups, always giggling) enjoyed a bit of danger to spice up their evening.

And Jasper was happy to oblige them. Up to a point, of course.

“A Witch’s Temple,” he told her, grabbing bottles. “Of course. And for your… friends?” He glanced at the table, raising an eyebrow and smiling at the four Witches there.

“The same, for them,” the Witch answered breathlessly. Jasper gave her a wink and set to work making them.

“Is… is she here tonight?” the Witch asked, and Jasper glanced up to look at her. “The… the Broken Blade?”

“Fey?” he asked. “Nah, not tonight. Not yet, anyway. But later?” He shrugged, like she came in all the time. “Who knows? She might show up.”

And if she did, he’d be sure to give her a talking to about her aim. Sure, the scorch marks on the wall were barely visible in the dim light of the club, but they’d lost about half their top-shelf stock to her temper. Next time, maybe he could convince her to aim just a little lower.

Jasper lined the finished drinks up on the bar but shook his head when the Witch reached into her pocket for her coin.

“Oh no, darling, this round is on me,” he told her, dropping his voice to a husky whisper. Her blush was delicious.

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