Page 36 of Carry Your Debt

“Onedrink,witha plate of food, and then you are going straight to bed.”

I sag, letting him take even more of my weight. Because as much as that commanding tone had me deflating in his arms like a slutty balloon, I can still feel my skull starting to split like an overripe piece of fruit.

Damnit.

I really could’ve used the drinkbeforewe had to head in and throw ourselves to the wolves.

Orwolf—singular.

The Big, Bad,‘Possibly the Next Southern Sovereign’Wolf, to be precise.

I tilt my chin, studying Zeus’s tense profile as he expertly steers us around another group of rowdy mobsters—this one comprised of three members of the AmericanCosa Nostrasharing lines off the small of a petite Courtesan’s back. “And where willyoube?”

His eyes cut to mine, stern gaze dropping to my lips for just a nanosecond. But I caught it, and the dominance in his expression has my mouth watering against its will. I swallow.

“Running interference,” he answers evenly, his own throat bobbing once.

“Jax,” I whisper.

“I rather likedZeus,” is all he says, punctuated by a rueful grin.

“You don’t—” He cuts me off with a single, knowing squeeze to the waist.

I shiver when Dio then runs a knuckle down the length of my spine. “Hospitium,” D reminds me, “and Knox will be stuck to him like glue. He’ll be fine, babe.”

Logically,I know Sebastian won’t lay a hand on him here—not without major consequences. But that paternity report has still sparked a small, foreign flame of anxiety deep inside my chest. It all but puts a bounty on Zeus’s head, and the protection of neutral ground ends the moment we leave Themis.

“I’ll be fine,” Zeus echoes before purposefully putting some distance between us. We’ve reached the doorway of the antechamber hosting tonight’s dinner service, and as soon as the four of us move through the set of Georgian doubledoors, a mouseyConcordiahostess wearing a blood-red cravat practically teleports her way to our side.

Jessica Crabit, 29’s chocolate brown doe eyes instantly zero in on Zeus. “Sovereignty, sir?”

“South,” Zeus instructs her, glancing around the hall. Although there are quite a few revelers still enjoying the debauchery outside, it looks as though a good majority of the tables have already been seated.

“And party, sir?”

“Gray Men.”

There’s no missing the flash of pity on Jessica’s sharp, elfin face.

“Leadership or ancillary?” she asks, more timidly.

“Second gen leadership,” Zeus clarifies, and she pales as though he just asked her to escort him to the gallows herself.

To her credit, she doesn’t miss a beat—bustling off almost as quickly as she appeared and leaving me cursing at the thought of having to chase her down in this unholy combination of dress and heels. Zeus follows calmly in her nervous wake with the long, unhurried strides of a mafia prince.

I have to practically jog to keep up.

The hostess comes to a halt in front of a grand cluster of tables, each one covered in a black cloth and bearing an elegant placard inscribed with:

Southern Sovereignty:

The Gray Men

“Here, sirs,” she gestures politely to one of two intimately set tables, both positioned slightly apart from the rest of the seating reserved for our faction’s party. Both, surprisingly, are still empty.

Zeus dismisses her with a nod, reaching for the chair directly in front of me. Before he can finish sliding it out, however, Dionysus shoulder checks him out of the way.

“Your ladyship,” he croons in my ear with a dramatic hand flourish.

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