by Gaja J. Kos
Emerald eyes snapped to my face, intrigue—and something darker—making them even more astonishing. “Carry on.”
I told him everything that happened the previous day—the hooded stranger, the attack in my apartment. I even mentioned the anti-necromancy protestors who had swarmed me on my way home. Every detail mattered, and since I’d come here for help, I was determined to actually get something out of it.
If he agreed, of course.
“And you have no indication whether the three events are connected or not?”
I shook my head. “The anti-necromancy and zombie-rights protests have been going on for a while, though they’d never turned to violence before yesterday. And I’d never seen any shady figures lurking around The Night Hag—well, at least not that shady, if you know what I mean.”
A corner of his sensual lips pulled up into a smile. “I suppose you have seen your fair share of creeps in your line of work.” He leaned back, amusement touching his eyes. “In that, we’re alike.”
Although I’d hardly call drunken humans and supernaturals the same as career criminals, I kept my mouth shut. Alin studied me, head cocked to the side, and trailed a finger across his lips, slowly, bringing it from left to right, then back again. I gave myself a mental slap to scatter the inappropriate thoughts rattling at the back of my mind—as well as the heat that surged through my veins—and willed my expression to be as neutral as I could make it while his gaze took in every inch of my body. Of me.
My nipples hardened under the soft fabric of the sundress, but the stirrings of desire were quickly replaced by an onslaught of fear as Alin rose from his throne and obliterated the distance between us in a blink of an eye. The warmth of his powerful body lapped against my skin, the sheer proximity forcing me to tilt back my head unless I wanted to stare right at that unnerving curve of his mouth.
Gods, he was death and violence tucked in a bespelling shell, and right now, he was letting me see the full extent of his capabilities.
My mother was an idiot for believing his power rivaled hers. If anything, Alin surpassed her. Laughably so.
A shiver crawled down my spine, but I didn’t break eye contact. Something that appeared to please the lord standing before me. He smiled, his gaze briefly flickering down to my lips, then pushed away.
I nearly lost my footing as cool air replaced the heat of his body, but it was his words that delivered the final blow.
“You will have my assistance,” he drawled. “In exchange for unrestricted access to your bar.”
My heart leaped into my throat. “You—you want to use The Night Hag as a part of your operation?”
Alin gave a non-committal shrug. “I’ve been searching for a new base that would suit the specifics of the black market trade, and The Night Hag fits the bill perfectly. The potency of your own magic would offer a smokescreen for the objects passing through your bar, throwing off any prying eyes—or snooping tendrils. You would continue to run your business as usual, and my men would run theirs in the background. None would be the wiser.”
He was right. Everything he said was the absolute truth. The Night Hag was laced so thoroughly with magic that there wasn’t a chance in all the realms anybody would be able to sense items of supernatural power concealed between its walls. But agreeing to his terms…
Damn it, The Night Hag was a clean operation. My necromancy toed the line with darkness enough as it was. And while, as a child of both light and dark, I didn’t particularly mind either of the two opposing yet complementary forces, I wanted to keep the Hag as she was. Fun. Safe.
That last word echoed in my mind, splintering into a thousand pieces that crashed and rolled, reminding me that safety was the exact reason I sought out Alin in the first place.
I let out a shuddering breath, and a small part of my heart crumbled at the words. “Fine. You can use The Night Hag for your dealings.”
Satisfaction gleamed in Alin’s eyes. “Excellent. My contacts will be in touch with you shortly.” He walked up to the edge of the circle I was still occupying. “Business as usual tonight, Lana.”
I wanted to ask him what the fuck he meant, but before I even opened my mouth, the circle around me flared, and I was nothing but particles once more, racing down the umbilical cord and straight into the embrace of Martin’s apartment.
Alin’s warning—because that’s precisely what his last words had been—played in my head over and over again as I unlocked the back door of The Night Hag later that evening. The bar was dark, quiet, with nothing but the essence of my magic floating in the air. I pushed my power farther out, scanning every nook and cranny of the place until there wasn’t a single corner left untouched.
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
I let out a breath.
While I wasn’t shaken easily, it seemed that last night left a lasting imprint. Not particularly surprising, given the pile of threatening shit fate had dumped on my shoulders, but I knew better than to let fear trap me in its clutches. So I squared my shoulders, flicked on the lights, and marched into the office to stash my spare clothes. Once that was done, I locked my purse in the drawer and scanned the papers stacked on the side of my desk.
I scrunched my nose. The accounting could wait. I probably wouldn’t have made any sense of the numbers anyway.
I let the zombies rest for a while longer, not wanting to use even an ounce more of my magic in case the after-Lent lull hadn’t settled in yet and I’d have to face another night chock-full of patrons. However, the lack of man—or, I should say, zombie—power wasn’t unpleasant. I’d arrived fairly early and could definitely use the distraction of preparing everything by myself.
Dimmed light cast soft shadows across the main area of the bar as I flicked the switch. We’d cleaned up good yesterday, so there wasn’t all that much hard work to be done except restock the liquor and put some extra change into the till. I did the latter first, then moved into the back rooms to snatch a crate of beer.
While the storage still held a fair amount of alcohol, I made a mental note to contact my supplier first thing in the morning. The week-long festival had put a serious dent in my stock, and I didn’t dare risk waiting until the next delivery.
Unquenched thirst didn’t make happy patrons.
Sweating lightly from all the shuffling about, I walked back out into the bar and knelt in front of the fridge tucked beneath the counter. One after the other, I placed the large bottles of beer onto the shelves, enjoying the normalcy the task filled me with. For a moment there, I forgot about the attempt on my life, about the hooded stranger, and the damned, delusional protestors. Even Alin.
But only for a moment.
Because as soon as I crammed the last bottle on its designated shelf and stood, something rammed into me from the side. I yelped, but before Lena’s training kicked in, the force sent me flying across the polished floor, and I was helpless to do anything but brace for the impact I knew would follow.
Chapter 6
I slammed into the wall. Hard.
Spots coated my vision, light and dark, twisting, turning, and crashing into one another. If I had any breath left in my lungs, I would have laughed at how well the display depicted my life.
As it was, my current bitter views of my life came second to the roaring impulse to scramble the fuck off the damned floor and not pass out from the hit I took. Because that wasn’t an option. Not when there was a hulking, shaded creature rushing straight at me.
I couldn’t see what it was, not with the dimmed lights of the bar combined with the cloak of darkness it had around itself. But from the way my body ached, it was fair to assume it was a damned powerful supernatural. More than that, I guess I really didn’t need to know.
The creature was only a couple of feet away when I bolted right, dashing for the moderate amount of space the main floor of the bar offered. With something of that size and strength, there was no chance in all the realms I could beat it fighting close quarters. But out here—shit, at least
I had the luxury of throwing a chair its way and hopefully throwing it off balance.
I shielded as I moved, the blend of demonic and Kolduny magic casting an ethereal, yet quite solid wall around me. It blocked the creature’s first attempt, but not the second. I swore, leaping over a table and kicking it back before landing on both feet once more. The creature didn’t as much as stumble over the fallen furniture, but it did slow down enough for me to pull up, then loosen a rope of pure power from my core. With a scream, I sent it flying straight towards the fucking mountain of shadows, the sheer concentration the act demanded rolling beads of sweat down my skin.
Naturally, the creature scattered the threat of magic before it even managed to coil around its body, but it missed the second one I’d concealed. A groan rose above my rapid breaths, and I tried to tighten that damned vine around the shadows, only to realize that I couldn’t.
Gritting my teeth, I swiped an iron barstool from my left and swung it. Hard.
The creature ducked, then shot upward the next second. I spun to the side, my magic warming the air to a blistering degree, but the fucker was faster. And shielded.
Power pushed at me, potent and strong enough to coax a cry from my throat, and before I knew it, a pair of strong—and definitely male—hands snaked around my body and pinned my back against the shaded, muscular chest. I kicked and squirmed, using every ounce of my training to get away, but the arms held me in a steel, vise-like grip, refusing to budge a single fucking inch.
Shit.
I opened my mouth to scream for all the good it would do me, but any voice that might have torn through the air was cut off as the edge of a cool, sharp blade pressed against my throat.
My entire body went still. So, so still.
This is it, I thought. No prolonged demonic life. No more necromancy. No more teasing my sisters.
I choked up a little at that last thought, regret raking its talons through my insides. After a short period of alienation, especially with Liva, the three of us had finally started to build a relationship. Gods, I wanted to see the end to that promising start, not die with a bloody slit throat without as much as knowing why.
Anger and trepidation rushed through my flesh in equal measures. No, scratch that.
The anger was winning.
I shifted slightly, trying to find a way to lash out without that knife digging into my skin. Just as I readied myself to move, a warm breath brushed against my ear, the touch so intimate I shivered.
“I can taste your wrath on my tongue, darling. Use it. Let it be an anchor.”
My eyes widened. I knew that voice.
“You fucking prick!”
The knife dropped from my throat, and when I spun around, the creature wasn’t shaded any longer. I took in those piercing eyes, the elegant roughness of his chiseled jaw and light, russet stubble—and punched him right in that damned handsome face.
Alin stopped my fist a hair’s width before it would have collided with his nose. He clicked his tongue and let go with a little shove to make sure I wouldn’t try to pummel him again. Right.
Demon lord or not, I didn’t care. I glared at him with unbarred hostility and a promise of retribution. Only Alin wasn’t fazed. He simply sheathed the knife and crossed his arms in front of his chest. Despite his power and steel gaze, the way he stood there was oddly...casual.
“Where was this spark when I first attacked you? You have the knowledge and means locked up inside you, that much is evident, but the lack of experience to hold your ground against an opponent, physically and metaphysically alike, is worrisome.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And you plan to what—train me?”
Amusement touched the corner of his lips. “Black market trade is a dangerous business. While my associates would never do you harm, I cannot guarantee that the rest will be as…benevolent.”
His words hit me like a ton of bricks. I blinked, not sure if I wanted to stab Alin for his nonchalance or myself for being so damned naive.
“Wait, let me get this straight,” I said when my anger dwindled down and the fingers I’d unknowingly curled into a fist relaxed. “I came to you because I wanted to save my ass, not add more thugs to the list—”
He shrugged. An infuriating gesture if there was any.
“Nothing ever comes without a price. But I can assure you that with training, you could wipe the floor with the black marketeers—at least those who’ll enter your establishment.”
“Well, that’s reassuring.” Not. I raked my hand through my hair, fixing the crooked, disheveled ponytail.
Training with Alin. Surrounding myself with thugs. I sighed.
It had been my choice to go to him, to plead for help even when I knew who he was. I really didn’t have the right to whine, as long as I was getting what we agreed on. At least not whine too much.
“Have you found anything on my would-be killer yet?”
Brilliant, emerald eyes met mine, but they were as unreadable as the rest of Alin’s infuriating face. When he finally deigned to answer, his words weren’t what I was expecting at all.
“Meet me at my lair first thing tomorrow.” His gaze raked down my bare legs, then moved up over the expanse of my chest the low neckline of my tight black tee only emphasized. “In training-appropriate attire.”
I blushed, then swore—at myself, at him, I really couldn’t tell—but when the string of curses left my mouth, Alin was already gone, leaving nothing but the thrashed bar and the magnetic echo of his power behind him. Wonderful.
After my frustration subsided and the darkness descended upon the town, my night was finally starting to look up. The excitement of Lent had indeed lessened, and The Night Hag—now devoid of traces testifying to my brawl with Alin—was pleasantly calm. Not empty, far from it, but the people inside were easygoing regulars who didn’t make sweat drip down my back as I weaved between the tables. Mart also came in about half an hour earlier to check up on me and enjoy his beloved gin and tonic, heavy on the gin, which always made me perk up.
I did my rounds, then shifted the majority of the work onto the zombies while I filled Mart in on the latest developments. He whistled, fingers entwined on the counter once I spilled out almost every annoying detail of Alin’s little visit to The Hag. The only thing I left out—the most annoying one of all—was my own inexplicable reaction to the bastard’s presence. Lusting after demonic assholes was a big no-no in my book, and I didn’t need Mart telling me what I already knew.
Those spurs needed to disappear sooner rather than later.
“Well,” he said, voice tinted with just a dash of amusement, “you can’t deny the man does take his word seriously.”
I snorted. “You did hear the part about the dangerous nature of his associates, yes?”
“If he says you could handle them, then I’m inclined to believe him. Alin may be a lot of things, but he isn’t the type to fuck around. And you are under his protection until he fulfills his part of the bargain.”
I sighed. “It’s what’ll happen after that worries me.”
To that, Martin had no reply. I rubbed the inner corners of my eyes, mindful not to smear my makeup, and leaned on my elbows, my gaze drifting across The Hag. Three zombies moved seamlessly through the room, taking orders and clearing tables with almost zero effort on my part. I should’ve probably asked Mart just what it was that he slipped me last night since I had a suspicion I would need a whole lot of quick recoveries in my near future with the promise of thug-level training looming over my head. Before I managed to open my mouth, though, another group walked in.
I shot Mart a glance, letting him know I’d return soon, then walked over to the colorful bunch of elderly women. I hadn’t seen them around before, so I figured it was best for me to approached them first, rather than send out one of my zombies right off the bat. While the majority of the people who crossed the threshold knew what they were getting themselves into, there were some whose bravado didn’t last, so I made a habit out of gr
eeting newbies myself, giving them a chance to ease their nerves—or scramble out the door.
The ladies, however, seemed to know full well what they had signed up for by entering The Hag. I couldn’t help but smile at their admiring expressions, the way they took in the three reanimated bodies for what they were—something wonderful, not the abominations or slaves as certain people wanted the wider world to believe.
“Hi, I’m Lana, resident necromancer of The Night Hag. What can I get for you tonight?”
Bright eyes looked up at me, and one of the women—a silver-haired, petite thing in her early seventies—actually gasped in delight. Honestly, there was no other word for the sound she’d made but adorable.
After another second had passed, the ladies recovered enough to give me their orders. I flashed them a smile then walked back across the bar, still marveling at the exchange, when an uneasy slither of awareness crawled down my skin and settled at the base of my spine. Slowly, I scanned the room, then swore.
Sure enough, there was someone lurking at the corner table. No hood this time, but a cap, pulled down low enough over his brow to conceal his features. I took a deep breath.
Much like yesterday—if it even was the same person, which I somehow doubted—the stranger wasn’t trying to attack me. He merely sat there, observing in utter stillness.
Not wanting to make the same mistake twice, I carefully uncurled a vine of magic and guided it ahead of me as I moved, my motions natural as if I were merely coming to take his order. The power licked and rubbed at the air, filtering through the scents and individual traces until it found the one belonging to the man.
My step faltered. He—he felt…human. But there was something clinging to his essence, something that spoke of strength of the supernatural variety. Maybe a spell? I bit my lip, wavering between the impulse to keep my probing concealed and simply smashing through everything to get to the gist of it.
