“Another,” I slur to Bastian, but he shakes his head.
“Sorry, man. You’re cut off. Did you drive here?”
The chameleon blinks so quickly, I struggle to focus and snarl as I dig my keys out of my pocket and hold them over my head. “I am d-drunk. Nnnot ssstuuupid. I will walk. Bill. Now.”
Anger helps sharpen my words, and I scribble my name on the check, tuck my card and keys back into my pocket, and stumble towards the door.
Halfway there, a sweet, melodious voice floats just under the music.
“You want to come with me now, dearie. I will take care of you.”
I know that voice. And the solicitous tone with an undercurrent of pure evil. I thought she had stolen all my memories of her, but apparently, some were merely buried. Regina. I scan the club, desperate to discern if this is all in my head or if she is truly here.
“Did you drive here, my sweet girl? Where did you park? Tell me now, and forget about your friends.”
Fuck. When Regina captured me, there were no automobiles. She is here. And she has found another victim.
Turning around quickly is a mistake. The lights, blaring music, and at least a dozen shots of rum conspire against me, and I start to fall, nearly taking a small pack of female wolves to the ground with me.
Two of them shove me away as I hear Regina again. “Do not protest, dear. No talking now at all. Off we go.”
“Stop!” My strained cry does not carry over the din, and when I get to my feet, I cannot see anything but a mass of people waiting to enter the club for its after-midnight soiree. “Get out of my way,” I snarl, but all I am is a drunk asshole, and no one listens.
“Regina!” I call at the top of my lungs. “Regina, you fucking bitch, stop right now!”
But when I finally stumble into the street, there are only empty sidewalks and thick fog rolling in off of the bay.
Zoe
A pounding headache wakes me, and I groan as I sit up and rub my eyes. But the sound only gets louder. The walls are shaking. Someone’s knocking. I stumble to my door and check the peephole.
Shit.
“Sin? How the hell did you find me?”
His eyes are bloodshot and very blue, and he smells like he took a bath in a bottle of rum and—ew—vomit.
“Regiiiinnnnaaa,” he mumbles. “Nnnneeeddd...”
I step aside to let him stumble into my apartment, and as I shut the door, he tries to turn, but his legs tangle and he falls over.
“You’re drunk off your ass.” Tugging at his arm, I try to pull him up, but he’s solid and apparently determined to stay on the floor. “And a mess. There’s no way I’m letting you on my furniture like this.”
I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I kneel next to him and start peeling his jacket from his shoulders. “Off with this.”
“Youuuuu...rrrrr....otherrrrr.” He’s staring at me like I’m a ghost, or worse, but he lets me prop him up to sitting.
“I’m not, and I’d appreciate it if you’d stop insisting I am.” The jacket lands in a heap next to him, and I go to work on his black shirt. Stupid asshole. How dare he show up like this and make me take care of him after what he did to me this afternoon.
“Like…her…” Sin reaches up and tries to touch my cheek, but I bat his hand away and finish with the last few buttons on his shirt.
“Holy fucking shit.” His sculpted chest and abs are impressive, but they’re also covered with scars. Long, thin lines, those same awful T shapes at the ends. Scooting around him, I have to swallow the horror sticking in my throat.
His back is even worse with at least twice the number of scars I saw on Temple’s autopsy photo. How could one man—even if he is a demon—withstand so much pain?
“Sin, my God.”
“God knows.” The words escape on a whisper, and his head lolls forward. When I reach for his belt, he says, “Please. No.”
I rest my hand over his heart and wait for him to look up at me. “You reek, and I’m pretty sure you can’t stand on your own. But I’m going to get a blanket to cover you up. Stay here and don’t try to move.” I leave him with his arms around his knees, swaying slightly, and rummage around in my closet.
Once the blanket’s draped over his body, I kneel back down and touch his cheek. “Give me your pants, and I’ll throw everything in the wash. You can sleep this off on the couch. Okay? I’m so mad at you I should just leave you on the floor, but my grandmother would come back to haunt me if I did that.”
“Mad’s....not here. You are. How?”
He’s not making any sense. My patience is long gone, but so is Sin’s fight, and when I reach for his belt this time, he doesn’t protest. The blanket covers most of what he very obviously doesn’t want me to see, but the brief glimpse I catch of his right thigh reveals more scars—burns this time.
It takes us ten minutes to traverse the few feet to the couch, Sin crawling on his knees with me bracing him so he doesn’t fall over, but once he’s stretched out under the blanket, he forces his eyes open and for one second, I think he actually focuses on me. “Thank you, Zoe.”
“Yeah, well...you might not feel the same way in the morning with the hangover you’re definitely going to have. Good night, Sin.”
Eleven
Sin
The scent of coffee rouses me. I force my eyes open and wince against the bright lights. Fuck. It has been years since I had a hangover this terrible. Worse, I can feel the first stirrings of hunger in my gut. Soon, I will need to find a willing snack.
“I wouldn’t get up if I were you.”
Zoe. The last hour of my night comes screaming back to me in a rush. Searching for Regina. Failing to find her. Stopping at a liquor store for a bottle of Absinthe and using it to dull the pain of my memories.
Then...ending up here.
She sets a mug of coffee down on the end table. “You’re naked under there, and I don’t fancy a show.”
From the way her cheeks tinge pink, she does. Very much. But I, on the other hand, do not want to give her one. This was—is—inappropriate on every level.
Drawing the blanket closer to my chest, I sit up and groan. “I owe you an apology.”
“Several.”
With a sigh, Zoe leans against the arm of a chair a few feet away. She wears a long, peach robe, and her red curls are damp. Her scent wraps around me—coconut and watermelon—and I breathe deeply, wanting more. I do not understand why her mere presence both soothes and irritates me, but under the blanket, my cock rises to attention, and I shift my legs to hide my reaction from her.
“Several, then. Was I…indelicate? Indecent?” The way my body is reacting to her now is definitely the latter, but hopefully she has not noticed. I bow my head, letting the rich scent of coffee replace all else, and the first sip eases the pounding behind my eyes.
“No. But you woke me well after midnight, stumbled in here babbling and smelling of puke, and then passed out. Plus, you left me at headquarters yesterday with no explanation. Alone. On my first day.”
She keeps her tone soft, thankfully, but the judgment is clear. She believes me to be an asshole. She would be right. I am.