Hainted by Hawk Jordan L

Author:Hawk, Jordan L. [Hawk, Jordan L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-09-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

Leif sat at the bar of the same gay club he’d come to before. The bartender slid a second scotch in front of him, and he took a sip, wondering if he should just start throwing them back until he was well and truly drunk. Sweet death, he wanted to. Maybe if he drank enough, he could forget the look in Dan’s eyes, the coldness in his voice.

I can’t believe I fucked up this badly.

He’d never meant to bring more pain down on Dan’s head, but he’d done it anyway. And, yeah, Taryn had been the one to blow his cover, and he half wanted to hate her for it. But the truth was he had no one to blame but himself.

He was out of options. He’d lost whatever help Dan might have given him. Rúnar had the Eye of the Uktena, and Samhain was less than a week away. He had no idea where the Witches Harrow might be located, or if he had a chance of stopping Rúnar.

Nothing was left but this. To be bait, in the futile hope Rúnar would somehow tip his hand.

Being bait didn’t mean dying, though, not without a fight. If he got killed because he was stupid enough to get drunk now, he’d have to explain to Hel why he’d been careless with the job she’d given him.

With a sigh, he set the glass back down, having only tasted a sip. In the background, a DJ spun industrial tunes, and the sharp musk of sweat and lust stained the air. A couple of men had tried to strike up a conversation with him, but he’d shut them down quick. He wasn’t endangering anyone else. Rúnar would have to find his own victims.

And he would, probably from one of the many cemeteries in the area. He’d send one after Leif, maybe to attack him on the street, maybe to follow him back to the hotel. It didn’t matter. He’d keep coming back, night after night, keep fighting, until Rúnar finally got tired of it and came to take care of him personally.

A hand fell heavily on his shoulder and spun him around. Leif grabbed automatically for a sword that wasn’t there, dropped his hand to his boot knife—then stilled and stared.

Dan stood there, his brows drawn down over his dark eyes, his mouth a thin slash of disappointment. “What the fuck are you doing here?

No. No, this was not happening. Dan had thrown him out, had repudiated him—he wasn’t, couldn’t be here.

“I should ask you that,” Leif managed to say through his shock.

Dan’s hand tightened, pressing the thin cover of muscle into bone. “What do you think you’re doing? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“It’s called being bait,” Leif snapped.

Dan paled sharply. “You can’t—”

“Don’t fucking tell me what I can do!” And gods, this was too much to ask. Why is he here? Was this some final torment, some last dig, just to show Leif everything he couldn’t have?

Leif wrenched loose of Dan’s hold and tossed money down on the bar, covering the drink and the tip.

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