Page 21 of Moonlit Nights & Northern Lights
I paused mid-sip, my eyes widening with mock innocence. “Um… try triple.”
“That’s not legal!”
I raised an eyebrow, pointing toward the bar where refrigerated glass cases displayed neatly labelled bottles of crimson liquid. “Is it legal to sell pints of blood by the glass?”
Maxwell’s expression shifted from outrage to defeat. “There’s no way I’m going to be in bed by eleven, is there?”
“Not a chance in hell.”
He leaned in closer, his eyes flitting about the room. “And what if they don’t come?”
“It’s Friday night. They’ll show up,” I said with more confidence than I felt. “This place is basically the supernatural equivalent of that cantina fromStar Wars. If you’re a shifter in South London who doesn’t want to deal with pack politics, this is where you come.”
He gave me an off look. “You’re aStar Warsfan?”
“Don’t sound so surprised.” I drained half of my second drink in one gulp. The alcohol buzzed through my system, making me feel relaxed for the first time in days. “I contain multitudes.”
“That’s Whitman, notStar Wars,” he corrected, then caught himself with a slight flinch. “Sorry. But I likeStar Warstoo. Not only dead American poets.”
I stared at him. “Are you… actually semi-interesting, Detective Theodore Maxwell?”
“Probably not,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking up in what might have been the beginning of a smile.
“Do you likeHow to Train your Dragon?”
He frowned. “What’s that?”
I gave an exaggerated sigh. “False alarm. Come back to me when you know what Hiccup’s middle name is.”
The music shifted, replaced by a low electronic beat that vibrated through the floor. The lights dimmed further, and more people began filtering in. A few of them were humans—some likely seeking to earn afat wad of cash from spending an hour in one of the private rooms with a vampire.
Near the bar, a stunningly gorgeous man with sharp cheekbones leaned against the counter, whispering into the ear of a woman who looked absolutely entranced. The air around him seemed to shimmer slightly.
“Incubus,” I muttered, nodding in their direction.
Maxwell’s head whipped around. “How can you tell?”
“The slight shimmer,” I said. “And the way humans look at them—like they’re starving and the incubus is a five-course meal. Plus, they smell different.”
“They smell different?”
“Like sugar and sex and something electric. It’s hard to describe to someone who doesn’t have enhanced senses.”
Maxwell stared at the incubus. “I’ve never crossed paths with one. Well, I don’t think so.”
“Count yourself lucky. They’re a nightmare to deal with—can charm their way out of almost anything.” I drained the last of my drink, the gin dulling the sharp edges of my thoughts. “Kit brought one back to Killigrew Street once, for questioning. The incubus nearly talked his way out of it. Even Seb was getting a bit doe-eyed before Priya slapped some sense into him.”
The moment I set my empty glass down, a waiter materialised beside our table with two more gin and tonics.
Maxwell let out a small cry.
God, when was the last time I’d eaten?The alcohol was hitting harder than usual, but honestly, I welcomed it. It was quieting the constant worry that had been gnawing at me. A week of Dev being missing, a week of barely sleeping, and now Maxwell was stuck with me when he’d probably rather eat glue.
Just one more drink, then I’ll stop.
“Well,” I said, taking a generous sip. “Whatever happens next, at least it won’t be boring.”
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