Page 114 of He Who Ignites The Flame
“Have you spent so much time with those foul creatures of The Underworld that you now share their taste for human disdain?”
He stiffened, gaze briefly shifting to the curious eyes around us, and I sucked in a breath. That was confidential knowledge, something no one was to know; technically, not even I should know about his ties to The Underworld. Barrett didn’t respond, his silence too loud, and the quiet murmurs of the onlooking warriors in the hall of The Complex began to fill my ears.
Barrett leaned down just a fraction, meeting my gaze. “Don’t fucking get involved.”
“I’m worried about you,” I admitted in a near whisper.
Something flickered across his steel eyes, a molten softness that immediately hardened once more, tempering into something that could cut me down.
“Your worry is a burden I’d rather not suffer.”
46
BARRETT
Hurt flashed across Micah’s face as I glanced at him. I averted my gaze, unable to hold his, unable to take the pain I’d dished out to my best friend—to my fucking mate. Could I even call him my best friend for how I had treated him the last several years, the unintentional avoidance, the bitterness I’d let slip through as I watched their happiness after too many decades pretending Thalia wasn’t my mate? The judgment of the surrounding warriors radiated off them like a feverish cloud as I stormed out of The Complex and into the dark.
“Fuck!” I shouted, my voice cutting through the silent night air as I smashed my fist into a nearby brick wall.
Was I so miserable that I had to take out my frustrations on her? On Micah?
The look on her face was seared into my mind, burning me far worse than any flame ever could. If only I could set the pain in my chest ablaze, burn it until nothing remained of our bond but ashes. It was the only reason I couldn’t stomach being around them, couldn’t stomach how she smiled at him, how she kissed him.
I almost wished Micah had slugged me, knocked my ass out on the floor for everyone to see.
Wind whipped around me as I stalked down Short Street, and I shoved my hand into my pocket to pull out a pack of rolled Brierleaf, desperate for the hit. A few cars blurred past me intermittently, kicking up the cool air as I stopped at my Honda CB750 parked along the sidewalk, the racing bike too powerful to be street-legal, but fast enough to give me the rush I always needed. My mind dredged up all the ways Micah would comfort her, how his hand had come to rest on her shoulder to prevent her from following me. The flames writhed beneath my skin, a torrent of pent-up anger and possession, like a beast whose treasure had been stolen, only...
She had never been mine.
Leaning against my bike, I put the rolled Brierleaf to my lips, sparking the flame to life atop my fingertip and holding it to the end, taking a hit the moment the paper lit. The smoke filled my lungs, the numbing effect slipping into my bloodstream, though it was too weak to combat the torrential emotions flooding my system. I needed a drink, plus a face to smash in if that wasn’t enough to dull this overwhelming feeling. I threw my leg over my bike, kicking the engine to life before taking off down the road.
Stoker’s bar was packed in the late-night hours, music blaring throughout the room as I stepped through the old door. Vincent caught my gaze from where he sat with Anna, dressed in her scrubs and likely fresh off her shift at Dr. Johnson’s clinic.
“Barrett!” he called, holding up a glass.
I beelined for him, the amber liquid like a siren to the hulking, scaled beast burrowing further into my bloodstream, boiling my blood to the point of lava.
Vincent grimaced when he got a better look at me. “Rough night?”
“Try shoving your foot in your mouth to your mate and then tell me how you feel,” I muttered and immediately stiffened as I glanced at Anna. She was lost in a conversation with Eiko, the half-human, half-immortal bar owner, and hadn’t seemed to hear.
“Ouch,” Vincent said, sliding a glass in front of me. “You can have mine; you clearly need it more than I do.”
I downed it without hesitation, relishing in the burn snaking down my throat as I set the glass on the bar top. “Semele!”
“On it, hothead!” she said, immediately getting to work on another drink for me.
I let out a sigh as the name dredged up memories of Lucia. Semele had never forgotten our first meeting, still held a bar fight I had no memory of over my head. She and Lucia had continued to tease me, and the nickname stuck with her as well.
“What happened?” he asked.
“They’re getting too close,” I grumbled, setting my elbows atop the bar.
“Close?” he echoed, cocking an eyebrow.
I dropped my voice. “I’m working a murder case—some immortal has been killing women left and right—and I’m getting pulled back intoUnderworld work. They keep prying, and it’ll only result in them gaining a target on their back.”
“Good thing I’m bulletproof,” Vincent mused with a smirk before taking a drink.
