Page 41 of Elixir of Strife
Leon did one better, fingers splayed as he palmed his opponent’s face. Mask or no mask, his Alcantara witchery worked. The thug was screaming his head off, huge white eyes staring above Leon’s head. Thinking back, the image of the dragon he’d used to frighten me wasn’t actually all that scary. It was his fear hex at work, filling my blood with a cold terror that made me want to clamber out of my own skin.
One guy was already on the ground, Guillotina straddling his chest. Contrary to her name, she didn’t actually make a habit of decapitating everyone around her. She didn’t need to. Her fists and her feet worked well enough. She grabbed a handful of the thug’s shirt, slamming him against the floor again and again as she repeated her question.
“Who sent you?” she yelled, never really waiting for an answer. “Who sent you?”
Never mind that we already knew. I knew that she was just itching for an excuse for wanton violence. I stepped in to drag her off before she killed him. Guillotina growled and kicked at the air. The lady definitely lived up to her name.
Johnny stepped forward, his arm thrust out. The air around him glimmered as little pinpricks of light stretched and grew into actual little pins. Or needles, rather. He motioned with his fingers. A dozen or so of the needles zipped toward the closest thug’s face.
“FYI? It doesn’t matter that you’re wearing that stupid thing on your head. The needles will make it through to your face just fine. And heads up: there’s a dozen more behind you. And above you. No worries, guys. There’s plenty for everybody.”
Johnny gestured again. The needles flew in closer.
“I suggest you get the fuck out of my bar. Now.”
The goons went scattering, racing out of the entrance and into the night. Even Leon’s guy, who had stopped screaming, but now had a new, telltale blotch of wetness on his jeans.
I swept my hand across my forehead, catching my breath. “You know that won’t be the last of them.”
Tina flipped her hair, still so stunning after roughing up our tough customers. “Well, they can keep coming if they want to.” The flush of red in her cheeks made her even lovelier, in fact. Actually telling her that would likely earn me a jab in the throat.
“Easy for you to say.” Johnny kicked at some stray debris, what used to be a perfectly nice wooden chair. “We’re the ones who have to clean up.”
Leon thumped his chest. “I’ll help.”
I smiled to myself. As if there was any doubt.
Roscoe slipped his arm around Johnny’s waist. “And don’t worry. You know how much I love re-inscribing the glyphs and wards. Keeps me in practice. Helps me be more creative.”
Johnny flung his hand at a puddle of blood on the ground. “If you can find creative ways to keep that from happening, that’d be great, too. We don’t need this place getting shut down for biohazards.”
I tuned them out unintentionally as Leon jumped in, helping Roscoe pacify a very prickly Johnny Slivers. Tina and I exchanged knowing looks, because she was right. Divina only needed some time to handpick hardier thugs to send after us. She was a cornered animal, lashing out because we wounded her ego.
That was also her biggest failing. Divina couldn’t help herself, the exact kind of person who was prone to making long, villainous speeches. I knew we’d be hearing from her again, and very likely seeing her, too.
Very, very soon.
17
LEON
Ishucked my street clothes, sighing with relief. Nothing like stripping off after an exhausting day, and what a day it had been. Max had the same idea, his voice reverberating from his beautiful bathroom as he hummed something indistinct. Knowing him it was something cool and eclectic that only cool and eclectic dudes like him listened to.
These sleepovers were becoming a pretty frequent thing. Couldn’t complain. Max had the better apartment, and it tended not to attract cockroaches. Or, you know, demanding sea dragons. I trotted into the bathroom and slipped into the shower buck naked, my fingers already trailing down his torso.
“Whoa, wait.” He held me back, hand pressing against my stomach, a rare moment of hesitation, or perhaps uncertainty. “Been a long day. I’m all dirty.”
“No,” I replied, pushing back, clenching my muscles so they ground hard against his hand. I pressed a slow kiss against his collarbone, thrilled when he shuddered. “I like you like this.”
I breathed in the smell of his skin, the patch of expensive, faded fragrance in the crook of his neck, the scent of his chest, under his arms. I breathed in the smell of a hard day’s work, the not-unpleasant register of labor and sweat layered over his pampered, perfumed body.
Still, it wasn’t right to think of Max as someone spoiled, as just another rich kid. That was one of the things I loved about him, how these two halves of him coexisted. In his professional life, Max was gruff, ruthless, efficient. In private, especially between us both, he was well-mannered, well-groomed, sensual.
And most of all, hungry.
But I was hungry, too.
I bowed my head, sweeping my tongue out against his nipple, tasting the faint salt, the whisper of soap and scent. Max hissed, head lolling back. I knew his eyes were shut, knew that this was one of his tenderest spots. His hand slammed against the wall to keep steady. With his other hand he grabbed the frame of the shower stall, holding on for dear life.
