Page 127 of He Who Ignites The Flame
My glass clinked against the table as I set it down before grabbing the bottle of ambrosia liquor and pouring more. The last remnants of sunlight leaking from the nearby window illuminated the amber liquid as I lifted it to my lips, pausing before I could take a drink as I rested my head against my hand. The feather-light touch of the glass against my lips dredged up thoughts of Thalia, the sight of her reaching for me, fingers skimming my lips, her drunken eyes silently begging me to touch her, her lips parting as she moaned, how she melted between Micah and me.
I cursed before downing the glass, desperate to douse the raging inferno inside me, and I dropped it on the table amidst the strewn files and images of murdered women littering my desk. The glass tipped over and nearly rolled off the table, and yet, I couldn’t bring myself to care if it fell, if it shattered into a million pieces.
Had she truly wanted me? Or had she merely been drunk? I dropped my face into my hands, my mind too full to try andthink straight. Something deep within my chest burned, leaving me jittery and breathless, demanding more of her attention, more of her blood, her body.
How could I have been so foolish? How could I just go back to pretending there was nothing between us after having a taste of her?
I couldn’t.
There was no way I could go on pretending I was all right, that I wasn’t fucking head over heels in love with her, that she wasn’t my mate.My fucking mate.
My eyes passed over the paperwork on my table, halting on my letter of resignation I’d finished writing a few hours ago. There was no way I could continue as if last night hadn’t happened, no way I could look at Thalia and not want to hold her, to taste her, to tell her all the things I had been bottling up for centuries.
“Sorry, Lucia. Looks like I’ll be letting you down again,” I muttered under my breath.
Regardless of what had happened, I couldn’t leave Damien to deal with the serial killer, if only for Lucia. I’d see it handled and figure out what the hell I was going to do about Atlas. As soon as I put this murderer down, I would tell Damien and petition Hades for work in the Godsrealm. Perhaps if I lost myself in the revelries of the fae, I could find some drunken peace, some way to forget her face. Perhaps I was delusional to think I could ever find peace without her, but I sure as hell wouldn’t find it here, with this endless torment of longing and heartache.
I lifted my eyes to the clock, the fading light signifying the approaching patrol, and my chance to take some of this anger out on darklings. Gods, I prayed I encountered some tonight. I fully intended to bathe in their black blood if given the chance.
I rose from my desk and grabbed my holstered dagger from the desk before securing it to my hip as I stalked out of my office.
“There’s been a change in shifts,” Zephyr said as I stepped down the hall of The Complex, checking that my knives were secured to the holster strapped across my chest.
I halted and arched a brow. “What do you mean?”
“Micah’s taking over for Zach.”
What. The. Fuck?
I turned to Zephyr. “I don’t?—”
The main door swung open, and Micah peered inside, already donning his Elythian leathers. “You ready?”
“Fates watch over your patrol,” Zephyr said, patting my shoulder before he left us in the entry before I could protest.
I made to follow him, but Micah’s hand landed on my shoulder, and whatever I was about to say to Zephyr scattered from my thoughts.
“Let’s fucking get this over with,” I muttered as I jerked out of his hold, pulled my hood up, and stalked out into the chilly night air.
Micah followed. “Barrett?—”
“Don’t start,” I growled as we made our way down Short Street. I didn’t bother to look at him as we headed for the east side of the city, where we would begin our patrol of the central sector. “I don’t want to talk about what happened last night.”
He let out a sigh, but thankfully he didn’t speak further, and something twisted in my chest at the look of defeat in his eyes as his gaze drifted away from me.
Hours passed, our patrol a misery of silence that offered me no comfort, only the endless echoing thoughts of the night before, of the fears and doubts tearing away at my mind. My impatience had swelled to a boiling point in the absence of darklings, my dagger unused in my grip.
Of course, the one night I wanted to take out a darkling, there would be none in sight.
“Can we talk?” Micah said, glancing back at me as thunder rolled in the clouds above us, and I drew a slow breath. “Please.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I said, fingers tightening around the hilt of my dagger. “We were drunk. It was a mistake. I know she’s yours.”
“Barrett, it wasn’t?—”
I halted as his words were cut short, and I glanced in his direction to find him stopped, his brows furrowed as he scanned the street ahead of us. The scent of blood hit me then, and I stepped closer to him.
“Human blood,” he said, glancing at me, and I nodded before we hurried down the street, our boots echoing before the sound was drowned out by the distant rumble of thunder.
