Page 4 of Darkest Need

“Nobody,” I answer truthfully. “I think it even makes you sad, and you have no heart.”

“But”—he winks—”thanksto my wife, gorgeous goddess that she is, I do have a soul.”

“Sodo I. But I didn’t need to wander in the Egyptian desert for thousands of years to find it. Weren’t you on your hands and knees in the sand for years—and years andyears?”

He growls, “Low blow.”

“I like blowing.”

“Wow.” He checks his watch. “I’m late for dinner. Lock up when you clean up the drunkenness. You’re coming over, right? Or are you staying late for guys’ night?”

He has a home with a family. I have a grumpy roommate who is still trying to bring himself to understand the modern world. I swear he nearly shat his pants when he saw a microwave. Ancient Gods like Horus need a manual, though he did manage to conquer TikTok.

Home. I wonder what that’s really like. Everyone has their person. Did I mention Timber forced Horus to become my roommate so I could help him? But now that Horus has his person, it’s just me, all alone in a sad, depressing room. That’s why I work late. What’s the point of home if you don’t truly have one? What’s the point of going to an empty room and existing? I’ve worked for Timber for the last eighteen months, helped save his life, and now I just get to hear people’s thoughts, see their futures, and realize I have none.

Wow, shit just got dark.

“Nah, man.” I shake my head. “Might go hunt.”

“So, you’re going to Taco Bell?”

“They give good chalupa.” I shrug because nothing sounds more depressing than sitting on the sidewalk outside Taco Bell and people-watching.

He sighs. Yup, I’ve officially driven Anubis—aka Timber—insane. Feels kind of right, though.

“Please.” He grits his teeth. “Phase the passed-out human, go do the job I pay you for, and for the love of the Creator, stop wearing shirts that show off your chest and biceps. It’s why we get sued.”

“I like my shirts!” I yell.

“So do they.” He basically points at every single human and demon in the club. Is it my fault I look good in a nice muscle tee? No, but still, he’s the boss and kind of a demon king with a godlike past. So, what he says goes. Last time he got pissed, he burned down his office. I mean, I think it had to do with the sex he was currently having. But still, there was trauma.

I sigh and pick the dude up from the floor. Then, very carefully so as not to be noticed by all the drunk people, I wave a hand over his face. His eyes flash blue before returning to brown. “What just happened?”

“You’re really drunk.” I pat him on the back. “But I grabbed you a car. Name’s Penny, drives a black Ford Focus, and should be here in the next few minutes.” I nod to security. They escort him out, and then I return to the rag I’ve been using to wipe down the bar top.

I swipe and then look to the right, making sure security actually escorted him out.

It’s a busy night full of humans dancing with demons they assume are just really good-looking people and have no ill intent, and the drinks are flowing so hard I’ve already sent home at least a dozen patrons because they couldn’t put one foot in front of the other. Timber blames the Ambrosia we put in the liquor. I blame the stupidity on the humans and their inability to know when enough is enough.

The door to the bar opens as security walks back in. Following them in is a girl, stumbling so hard I’m afraid she’ll chip a tooth on the hard concrete floor.

Her hair’s blue, which is pretty normal for any bar or place downtown. I don’t even really notice it, only that it’s sticking to her face with something red, and her cheeks are swollen. I squint. It almost looks like she’s been beaten. She stumbles toward the bar in her short denim cutoffs, combat boots, and black tank top, then slams her hand onto the bar next to the rag and whimpers.

There’s a dagger sticking out of the top of her hand, and her right eye is so swollen she can barely make eye contact with me. Before she stumbles closer, blood trickles down her right arm. She’s wearing black fishnet tights with her shorts and the tank is cropped and looks like it’s been torn half off. I don’t know if it’s the look she’s going for or if she’s been truly attacked—even beyond what I can already see.

I hop over the bar and grab her before she passes out, then carry her into the back office, shoving past everyone dancing. I nod at Timber to take over.

He frowns but returns the gesture as I shove into the office and slam the door closed, laying her on the black leather couch to examine her. That’s the good thing about immortals, nothing really fazes us. So if I nod to him, and he nods to me, we both know he’ll have my back if shit goes bad. But until then, I’ll handle it.

Werewolves can heal others since we’re self-healing, but I’m not sure what kind of internal injuries she may have at this point.

“Hey.” I grip her face gently. “What’s your name?”

She shakes her head, and then it lolls to the side until she’s completely passed out.

Well, that’s a no-go.

“I’m just going to pull the knife out of your hand,” I say to myself and wince when blood surges from her wound. I toss the dagger onto the floor and grip her palm between mine. My skin burns where I touch her. The weapon looks familiar, but I can’t figure out why as I continue to hold her hand tightly. The stab wound was deep—very deep.

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