The Ravenous Dark, page 34
And the Wildings weren't holding anything back. Bailey surprised herself by keeping a straight face through it all, but her patience was running desperately thin. As the group succumbed to another uproarious round of laughter on her behalf, she downed her third drink.
Nia's elbow hit her side as the conversation finally tread in a different direction. "Did you really make his kids piss themselves?" she asked skeptically.
Bailey bared her teeth. "No," she glowered. "Kiefer wasn't even inside with us. He doesn't know what he's talking about."
Nia choked back a laugh, holding up her hands defensively. "Damn, no need to bite my head off. You could have spoken up at any time to set the record straight. Better yet, you could have kicked Kiefer in the balls. Remember; violence is always the first answer."
“It’s not mine.”
Liar, a nasty voice whispered in her head. You already knocked his nose sideways and you enjoyed it too. Bailey ground her teeth, and with a flick of her wrist, she tossed her empty glass on the table. It spun and toppled, crashing into someone else's drink. Bailey ignored the disgruntled remark aimed at her surliness.
This time Nia didn't hold back her laughter. The serval's eyes danced with dark amusement. "Right, I forget. You’re way up here, and we’re all down here, right?”
“That’s not—”
Nia waved off her protests with an eye roll. “Chill, I’m fucking with you.” It didn’t feel like it to Bailey, even as she took a few deep breaths to settle her agitated nerves. “You are in a fine mood tonight. The full moon isn't that close, is it?" Nia asked.
"No, it's not until next Friday. I'm just…."
"Pissed about the decree?" Nia's expression turned somber. "It's pretty fucked up, but we can work to our advantage."
"More than half the stuff I deliver are items from sorcerers to their clients."
Nia smiled slowly. "Exactly. And now if they want that same quality service, they'll have to pay a premium. Both ways."
"The new rules—"
"Fuck their rules," she cut in. "All sorcerer-made goods need to be approved by the bloodsucker committee?" She blew a raspberry. "I'm not concerned."
Bailey didn't have anything to say as she spotted Q's massive frame lumbering through the crowd. She tracked his approach. He accepted greetings of handshakes and slaps on the back with grunts and nods as he ambled up to them.
He eyed her and reached into his sweater pocket. "Your cut," he said, pulling out a thick roll of bills held together by a rubber band. When Bailey didn't immediately accept the money, Nia snagged it. She pressed it against Bailey's chest, then jerked her head in Kiefer's direction.
"Better pay him, so he can get out of here. This one's ready to bite his head off."
Q scowled and glanced in Kiefer's direction while Bailey pocketed her cut. Neither acknowledged the pinched expression she wore that kept her watering eyes from spilling over.
"He's been hitting up the Styx a lot. Heard from Sue he's got some bills past due, if you know what I mean," Nia divulged.
Q grumbled something unintelligible under his breath and stalked to Kiefer.
"Maybe you should have a drink at the bar," Nia suggested after giving her a long look. "You could use it, and I don't think Kiefer's going anywhere anytime soon. He's sloshed."
Bailey nodded tightly and left the group. The money in her pocket felt dirty. Disgust rolled up her spine at its weight. She moved swiftly through the throng, snagging a recently abandoned seat at the bar. The bartender didn't immediately attend to her, finishing off other orders in a mad dash to sate the bar's patrons. Her foot tapped restlessly against the bar stool’s middle rung; her muscles wound tight.
"What'll it be?" the bartender asked, slightly out of breath.
"Double whiskey. Neat." Bailey paused. "I don't want to see my glass empty either." She collected a few bills from the wad in her pocket and slid them to the bartender. His eyes widened in surprise.
"Of course."
He went to work immediately, climbing the library ladder that allowed the bartenders to search the collection of liquor more easily. He pushed off and sailed down, stopping a foot before reaching the other end of the bar. After deliberating between two bottles, he crowned the victor by bringing it down to the bar. The drink was in her hand moments later.
Bailey regarded it with apprehension.
Thus far, there’d been a fifty-fifty chance whether alcohol would dull the soulmark’s incessant longing or leave her spiraling. And since the money weighed close to two tons on her person….
Bailey brought the drink to her lips.
She finished it off with a hiss and drew the back of her hand against her mouth. There was no immediate relief, but a warm buzz drifted through her. It was a good sign. She signaled the bartender for a refill.
She needed to rid herself of the night's payout, all of it, but she didn't know where—
Bailey perked up as the answer hit her. She would find a way to send it to the sorcerer and his family. It was the least she could do after what they'd done. The thought should have brought her some modicum of relief, but she felt like utter shit.
Bailey's head lifted as a fresh drink appeared in front of her.
If I could just talk to someone about everything.
But she couldn't. The moment the thought came, she brushed it away. She couldn't stand their looks of disappointment on top of everything else. And she didn't want their pity either.
Her throat tightened. Bailey grabbed her drink with haste and tossed it back. A fit of coughing and sputtering took her immediately after. Bailey rubbed her chest as the coughing came to an end.
"Hey."
Bailey jerked at the soft-spoken greeting. The corners of her mouth angled down at the sight of Stella.
"Hey," Bailey muttered, lifting her fingers to signal the bartender. He beat her to the punch, topping off her drink with a practiced hand.
"So… how did everything go tonight?"
"Like shit." She delivered the words with scalding heat. An uncertain blush crossed Stella's cheeks.
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that."
Bailey ground her teeth together to keep from snapping. Stella had done nothing to deserve her temper, but Bailey couldn't help but give in to the emotion. She was too on edge to think rationally.
Then Kiefer's words from earlier sparked in her memory. She narrowed her eyes on Stella.
"Are you?"
Stella blinked. "Am I what?"
"Sorry?"
She blinked again and leaned slightly away. A frown formed on her delicate features. "Of course, I am."
"Because we're friends, right?" Stella nodded, her frown deepening. "If we're such good friends, then why have you been keeping secrets from me?"
The color receded from Stella's face faster than Bailey knew was possible.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she whispered hoarsely.
"No?" Bailey bristled. "You mean you don't have any new powers you aren't telling me about? Powers that the Delacroix wanted to secure by renewing your contract."
Stella stood very still. "Where did you hear that?"
"Does it matter? Is it true?"
She glanced away. "We weren't a good fit." It was the exact reason she gave to her and River at Laxmi and Eris's wedding, when her entire world got flipped upside down. Bailey slanted her regard to her drink. The burnt amber liquor gleamed in the warm light of the bar.
"Did you lie to me about your sonic voice? You said you'd never used your banshee voice like that before the opera. Was that a lie?"
"No," Stella protested immediately. "No, I didn't lie to you, Bailey. That was the first time I'd ever used my voice like that."
Out of her peripheral, she watched Stella try to lock eyes with her. Bailey inhaled, long and slow, before doing just that.
"I believe you when you say that," Bailey told her calmly. Stella visibly relaxed. "But I'm calling bullshit on the Delacroix. You have another power, don't you? One that the Delacroix want? One that all the top households want?" Stella's lips clamped together. The sight made Bailey's heart cringe. "Does it have to do with your aversion to singing?"
The guess made Stella's eyes widen like some deer caught in headlights. She looked around the crowded bar uncomfortably. When she faced Bailey again, her eyes glossed over with unshed tears. She said nothing.
"Right then." Bailey cleared her throat and faced her drink. Sniffing back the sudden wave of stark sadness and loneliness, she dismissed Stella in a miserable, self-loathing tone. "You should go. Maybe we can talk when you're ready to be honest and start treating me like a real friend, yeah?"
Stella shuffled back, bumping into several people. Her whispered apology barely reached Bailey's ears before she vanished into the crowd.
Bailey pinched the bridge of her nose to try to center herself, but when that didn't work, she finished off her second glass of whiskey.
Hypocrite, she berated herself. You can keep secrets, but your friends can't?
"Why hello there, gorgeous. What's got you down?"
"I'm not interested in company," Bailey stated, not bothering to even glance at the man.
She rose from her seat slightly and snagged the bottle of whiskey the bartender had been serving her. Her hand was remarkably steady as it poured a generous portion for herself.
"And yet you're graced with my presence anyway."
Bailey snorted and sent Raphael a half-hearted scowl. He claimed the seat which opened next to her, stealing it from a woman who eyed him murderously.
"Grace isn't a word I would associate with your kind."
He slapped a hand over his heart, adopting a wounded expression. "Ouch."
Bailey quirked an eyebrow and sipped her whiskey. His wounded expression melted at the sight into one of sly continence.
"And what words would you associate with my kind, or rather, me? Personally, I find the adjectives dashing and drool-worthy quite fitting."
Bailey let her gaze slip over him in clear assessment. By the time her eyes returned to his, there was a stifling heat radiating from his gaze. She couldn't tell if she should like it or not. "Dangerous too."
"Indeed," he confirmed in a too husky voice as he leaned in a hairsbreadth closer. "But I've discovered that might be my greatest appeal here." He lifted a gloved hand. "I am different from my kind, and the masses can't resist getting a taste of the unknown."
"I bet your kind would use a few different words to describe you, wouldn't they?" She sneered and stared pointedly at his raised hand. His smile froze at Bailey's cruel rebuttal, and the she-wolf immediately faltered as the warmth in his expression reeled back. She bit her tongue and squeezed her eyes shut. "I'm sorry. That was rude of me to say." She grimaced. "My night hasn't been the best," she explained weakly, anger sputtering out.
"We are neither in the wrong; your apology is unnecessary." Raphael ran a hand through his dark hair until it heeded his command and stayed out of line of sight. He waved away the bartender as he approached. "I've never been well-liked among my kind, given my powers of manipulation differ so vastly from theirs. Which is not to say," he said, locking eyes with Bailey. "That my performance is any less than theirs. It's simply approached differently. More hands on, if you will," he told her with a wink.
Bailey chuckled as he waved his gloved hand again. "I'll take your word for it."
He slid from his seat. "I'm off to the Lamia Den if you care to join me. The Styx may offer more variety in their games, but the Den is more intimate."
A preamble of heat laid discreetly in his offer. Bailey chose to ignore it. "No, thanks. I think I'll stick around here."
He gave a slight bow, no hint of mockery in his body language. His hooded regard never left Bailey. "The invitation is open should you ever find yourself looking for my company. I've been quite the patron there, as of late." In the next instant, her fingers were gently trapped among his own as he brought them to his lips to deliver a whisper of a kiss. A delicious shiver raced over Bailey's skin at the seemingly innocent touch. "I hope the rest of your evening takes a turn for the better. If it doesn't, there’s always rhodiola to drown your sorrows in."
Bailey's throat locked up at the casual suggestion. Once he was out of sight, she filled her glass to the top with the fine whiskey and abandoned her seat. She had every intention of gulping it down and leaving but then caught sight of Franklin. The owl shifter was in all black and sported a bloody lip. Bailey wasn't sure she'd ever seen the owl shifter not wearing her most recent altercation proudly.
She stepped out of the gilded elevator and scanned the crowd. Bailey froze as she did a double-take, her eyes landing on Bailey. She smirked and headed her way.
"Fuck," Bailey breathed in dismay.
She took a gulp of bourbon, nearly gagging as the alcohol burned its way down her esophagus. She did not want to be part of the conversation that was about to happen; she couldn't trust her temper.
"Hey, what's going on?" Franklin said as she neared. "I heard you put on quite the performance. How'd you like that payout? Beats the cash you make running trinkets and potions, huh?"
Bailey scowled. "I told you from the start that kind of shit isn't what I was interested in."
"Were you asked to physically harm somebody?" Franklin cocked her head to the side.
"No, but—"
"Then what's the problem?"
There was an unmistakable edge to Franklin's voice, despite her cool delivery. It put Bailey on alert, despite the whiskey she’d been drinking.
"You know exactly what the problem is," Bailey replied in a steady voice, trying desperately to maintain her composure. "I thought I was there as backup, so if the guy ran, I could stop him; not to scare the shit out of his wife and kids."
Franklin remained expressionless. "Did any of them get hurt?"
"No, but—"
"Then what the fuck is the problem, B?"
Franklin stepped into Bailey's space. The owl shifter might have been an inch or so shorter than Bailey, but she held herself at least a foot taller.
Probably because she isn't losing her mind.
"Let's do a quick recap." She held up a hand and ticked up a finger. "You didn't have to muscle anyone—" Another finger ticked up. "—you got to beat on Kiefer, which everyone is always dying to do—" A final finger rose, paired with an indulgent sneer. "—and you got paid almost the equivalent of actual muscle money. You came out all aces on this job, and you're complaining?"
"Don't act like you did me any favors."
"I did do you a favor," Franklin countered aggressively. A genuine flash of anger alighted her eyes. "And from what Q told me, you almost blew it. You know what? Why don't you hit the bench for a while? Come back and see me when you're ready to put on your big girl panties and do some real work. We're primed to set up an underground market to keep products moving."
Franklin gave Bailey a few hard claps on the shoulder, then swiped her drink as the she-wolf silently fumed. Franklin smirked at her obvious indignation, and it only served to spike Bailey’s anger further.
"Better yet," Franklin amended. "I'll contact you. Later, wolf girl."
I’ll be damned if I go back to the Wildings after this shit.
The crowd pressed in to fill the space left by Franklin. Their shoulders and hips jostled Bailey as she stared after her. A tremor ran through her as their scents and voices teetered on being overwhelming.
Do not wolf out. Do not wolf out. She repeated the chant until she was sure her fist wouldn't land in someone's face and then stalked back to the bar.
"Get out of my seat," Bailey growled at the woman who'd taken her old seat. "Now."
"You can't just—"
The woman's protest died on her lips as Bailey's eyes flashed gold and looked pointedly at the bejeweled staff leaning against the bar next to her. "I think it's past your curfew."
The female stiffened. Her face flushed in outrage, while Bailey's flushed in shame.
"I guess the Vrana's efforts were all for show," the sorceress spat. She stood and grabbed her staff, then marched away. Bailey sat stiffly as a maelstrom of emotions left her paralyzed.
"Back so soon?" The bartender's gracious smile faltered as he saw Bailey's cold expression. He cleared his throat. "What can I get you?"
"Rhodiola."
He nodded and fetched the drink. A few moments later, he came back with a Pontarlier glass. Its globelike reservoir was filled to the brim with an evergreen liquor. Bailey swallowed as he slid the glass across the counter to her. She was used to seeing it served in shots. Her expression must have shown her confusion, for the bartender leaned toward her, an elbow resting on the bar's glossy surface.
"No offense, but you look like you need a proper glass of the stuff. My advice, sip it slowly. Don't throw it back like you did your whiskey. You won't need to drink half as much to get away from your demons."
Bailey wanted to snap at him to mind his own business, but he was already gone, sweeping across to the other end of the bar to help another. Her gaze turned to the drink as she cupped the glass tentatively. She never had the magically spiked liquor before, nor had she been remotely interested in trying it.
But her limit had been reached. Everything was going up in flames around her. Her friends, her job, and Ronan….
A near-violent tremor wracked her. The glass rattled against the bar top. Bailey released it and shoved both hands between her thighs. Her fingers knotted together in a fit of anxiety that could not be quelled for several minutes. When she finally unclenched them, her digits were sore.
He's going to let us go insane.
The thought brought her back to numbness.
Maybe I should force the marking too? I already crossed one line tonight, why not another?
A manic giggle erupted from her lips. Bailey slapped a hand over her mouth, horror flooding her bloodstream. No. She wouldn't do that. She would never do something so reckless and hurtful. Bailey swallowed thickly.
She wouldn't force it, even if it meant her sanity.
Bailey exhaled shakily and brought the rhodiola to her mouth. Her eyes briefly widened, then closed. There was no immediate flavor or taste. Neither bitter or sweet, the syrup-like liquor coated her mouth and throat with a cooling sensation that tingled. Bailey set down the glass and licked her lips. A vaguely sour and herbaceous aftertaste lingered at the back of her mouth.
