Page 60 of Lucky or Knot
“Fine,” he said, and then added, in a meditative tone, “You know, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to watch you beat him to a living but miserable pulp. As an appetizer for the thousand years of torment, of course.”
“Your wish is my command.” I winked at him, and he flashed me half a smile. Good enough, given how cheesy that wink had been. I turned and sauntered into the middle of the room. “Are we doing this or what?”
“No, of course we’re not—me, waste my time with some lowlife?” Cunningham hadn’t moved, and the stink of fear had started to waft to me across the broken-furniture-strewn space between us. “I wouldn’t dirty my claws with the likes of you,” he said desperately.
“Not much danger of that,” some smartass muttered—Blake, of course.
Declan laughed out loud, and Cunningham went a ruddy purplish color from his collar to his hairline. “Go on, then,” Declan said, still chuckling. “Or not, and every shifter in Vegas is going to be laughing with me by morning. And outside of Vegas. And in all the investment banking boardrooms—”
“Go fuck yourself,” Cunningham snarled, and stepped forward out of the protective circle of his bodyguards at last. “Come on, you animal. I’ll kill you while that little bitch watches.”
Unlikely, but since Blake had already made that joke, I kept my mouth shut. Although “little bitch” was going to get him a few extra claws through the spine. He’d heal, but I had recentknowledge of how much that fucking hurt, and I wanted him to get the same.
We circled each other for a few seconds, while he drew his magic around him, the air crackling with it, and half shifted for the advantages of size and strength it would give him. The fangs and claws and glowing eyes gave him a strange look in his designer tux, and the way the seams were ripping along the sides from his increase in mass only made it weirder.
I hadn’t been planning to bother, myself, because I didn’t need any more advantages. But what the hell. Somewhere along the line, I realized I’d already made up my mind, and I wouldn’t be going back to Lucky or Knot. Stripping had been fun, profitable, and a great way to kill some time while I figured out my life, but I wanted Raven more than I wanted anything else, and I suspected that he wouldn’t want to stay in Vegas after everything that had happened here. Since this was going to be my last nude performance in a strip club, then, I might as well give it my all.
So I flexed—subtly, I had it down to an art form by now—and drew myself up to my full height of rippling muscle, letting my fangs protrude to their Smilodon maximum, holding my hands up to display the gleaming edges of my claws, widening my stance to show it all off.
Cunningham had gone from red to pale. Good. I wanted him afraid. Knowing how helpless he was, how he was about to get hurt. He needed a dose of that. I doubted it’d make him a better man, but if it made him a crying, broken, screaming man who’d gotten every bruise and moment of fear he’d ever inflicted on Raven back on him a few times over, that’d be enough for me.
Someone wolf-whistled. Blake again, I was pretty sure, dammit, confirmed when Declan said quietly, “And that’s why we don’t go to Lucky or Knot, darlin’,” and then laughed.
“You’re no fun,” Blake muttered. “I’m just encouraginghim.”
“Don’t think he needs it,” Declan replied dryly.
And I really didn’t. Despite everything I’d done and endured over the last few hours, I’d never had more energy coursing through me, more focused power, in my life.
Cunningham lunged first, in a move that was probably meant to appear bold and dominant, but that had more of an air of losing his nerve. I swiped at him, raking my claws down his back as I sidestepped, shreds of Italian wool drifting through the air and blood welling up in their place. He howled, spun, and went for me again, and this time I punched the claws of my other hand straight through his side, the sensation of scraping along his ribs setting my teeth on edge.
I ripped out my hand, his blood pouring off my claws in rivulets and splattering the floor. Cunningham staggered, shook his head, and came at me again, eyes glowing and wild, rationality gone, past the point of anything but rage.
Toying with him some more had its appeal—but I glanced up, over Cunningham’s oncoming rush, and saw Raven standing there by the booth, his posture unnaturally stiff again and one hand gripping its back hard enough that his tendons stood out.
Shit. Fae appetite for vengeance or no, stated desire to see me beat up his abuser or no, he looked like he’d had enough violence and blood and alpha anger for one night. Possibly even forever.
Time to end it.
I indulged myself with one powerful uppercut that took advantage of my own strength and Cunningham’s momentum, snapping his head back in a way that would’ve instantly killed a human, the impact shuddering all the way up my arm and into my shoulder in an immensely satisfying way. Cunningham went flying, landing on his back on the ground.
He tried to sit up, failed, groaned, and went still.
Gods fucking damn it. I’d missed my chance to sever his spine a few times. Still, I’d splatted him pretty well.
The room erupted in noise and chatter and argument, Declan’s voice above it all, taking charge, ordering around his own men and Cunningham’s with equal authority. Two men rushed forward and started dragging Cunningham away. Louie had at last crawled out from under the table, and he’d started yelling at everyone indiscriminately.
But none of it really mattered. None of it mattered at all. Cunningham’s still-warm blood on the dirty, gritty linoleum felt truly disgusting under my bare feet as I crossed the room back to Raven, but I didn’t care.
Raven. His eyes wide, his cropped tux nearly in tatters, the scarf he’d had around his neck long gone, gazing up at me silently. He didn’t have a trace of color in his cheeks or lips. Yeah, he’d had enough. What I’d done had been necessary, because to break a shifter’s power and authority you had to do it our way. But I made a promise to myself, unspoken but as binding as any fae bargain, that he’d never have that kind of violence in his life again, not if I had anything to say about it. I stopped a foot away, so close, but not touching. I’d need a shower, maybe three, before I was fit to touch anyone, let alone him.
Well, maybe a little bit of touching.
I remembered to retract my claws before I reached across the gap, gently taking his hand in mine, squeezing his fingers. He squeezed back, and his attempt at an exhausted smile lit up his face and the room and my whole fucking life.
“Can we leave now?” he asked, voice unsteady. “We’ve run for our lives, fallen to our certain deaths down a stairwell, negotiated with a loan shark, and I can’t imagine there’s any more alpha posturing that could possibly be necessary. Not that you weren’t extraordinary. That’s a full night of activity. Even byLas Vegas standards.” Oh, thank the gods, he’d left out the part where… “And you jumped through a flaming hoop to entertain a dinner party. We can’t forget that.”
Damn it.
