“I bet.”
Jen eyed me. “Sounds like he’s got some kind of power of persuasion if he could actually get Amanda Brooks to consider it. She’s always going on about the founding families and her heritage.”
I thought so, too. And okay, my tail gave an envious little twitch. It kind of sucked to be a hell-spawn with no discernible benefits. But envy was one of the Seven Deadlies. I was already skating on thin ice with lust, and thanks to my mom’s upbringing, I was committed to being one of the good guys, dammit.
“Yeah,” I said. “But I talked her out of it—or at least I think I did.” I made a devil-horns sign with my right hand. “Oh, and by the way? The hell-spawn lawyer dude? Stacey Brooks thinks he’s hot.”
Jen made a face. “She would. Did you warn her?”
I smiled. “Nope.”
She laughed. “I wouldn’t have, either.”
Eight
After getting off to a wild start, Labor Day weekend seemed to be settling into a more sedate pace, which was okay with me. Having had the chance to debrief with Jen, I felt more settled myself, no longer bursting at the seams with my news.
I called my mom to touch base, giving her an edited version of last night’s events. Like everyone else in town, she was dying to know about the orgy.
“Oh, my goodness!” she exclaimed when I gave her the lowdown. “Well, that explains why Lurine isn’t answering her phone today.” She paused. “Are you sure she’s all right?”
“Yeah.” I smiled. “At last glance, I’d say she had the situation well in hand. Literally.”
“Daisy!” Mom tried to sound scandalized, but I could tell she was laughing. “So no one was hurt? And you’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” I assured her. “No one was hurt.”
I hoped it was true, anyway. Stefan had said he sensed no one had taken great harm from the experience. Which reminded me that in my capacity as Hel’s liaison, I probably owed him a formal thank-you for his assistance last night.
If I thought about it for too long, I’d talk myself out of it, so instead I drove over to the Wheelhouse after I ended the call. Not that long ago—like, just earlier this summer—the Wheelhouse wasn’t a place I’d have gone to alone. It’s a biker bar and a ghoul hangout, and it’s always had a dicey reputation.
But now it was Stefan Ludovic’s headquarters, too.
Even so, I took dauda-dagr out of the hidden inner sheath in my messenger bag and belted it around my waist before I ventured into the Wheelhouse. The first time I’d walked into this bar, I’d been on an investigation with Cody and the atmosphere was markedly hostile. But that was before Stefan had successfully squashed a rebellion and consolidated his power over the Outcast in Pemkowet. It was also before I’d killed two ghouls: poor Emma Sudbury’s deranged sister, Mary, and her . . . boyfriend, I guess, who I only ever knew as Ray D.
I hadn’t been in here since.
It hadn’t changed all that much. It was still a rough place where rough-looking guys in leather vests or jackets with Outcast motorcycle club colors gathered to shoot pool and drink beer, many of them with eyes that glittered a little too brightly in the dim light, watched by tired-looking mortal women who had histories of violence and hardship etched on their faces. But it was different. It felt different. Still dangerous, but somehow not quite as seedy, not quite as dissolute.
Huh.
“Hey, darlin’.” The blond kid from last night peeled himself off the wall he’d been leaning against. He checked me out with an impudent look. If I hadn’t known he was more than two hundred years old and had been hanged to death, it might have tickled me. “Here to see the big man himself, are you?”
“If he’s free.” I put out my hand. “Cooper, right?”
“Best you don’t.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He wore a chambray shirt with the sleeves cut off and his bare arms were thin and wiry. “Miss Daisy, right?”
“Right.” I was having a hard time reconciling his age with his appearance. “So no leathers for you, huh?”
“Haven’t passed the initiation yet.” He looked me up and down again, pupils flaring briefly in his angelic blue eyes. “No disrespect, m’lady, but you’re a wee mite to be carrying such a big dagger.”
“Yeah, well.” I laid my hand on dauda-dagr’s hilt. “You know what it can do, right?”
“Oh, I do!” Cooper flashed a grin that was at once charming and unnervingly fearless. “You’re the angel of death in a feckin’ ponytail. C’mon, I’ll take you to see him.”
I followed him to Stefan’s office in the rear of the bar. Patrons moved out of the way with alacrity. Cooper may not have been initiated into the motorcycle club yet, but he’d obviously gained their respect. No one here showed any inclination to challenge Stefan’s choice of lieutenant.
“Daisy.” Stefan rose to greet me. He sounded surprised. “Is everything well? I thought the situation resolved.”
“It is.” The room seemed to get smaller as Cooper exited and closed the door behind him. Conscious of Stefan’s gaze on me, I had a vivid and not entirely unwelcome memory of the hunger in it last night. Taking a deep breath, I suppressed it. “As Hel’s liaison, I came to offer my official thanks for your assistance.”
Stefan smiled.
It was a genuine smile, one that brought out the dimples he had no earthly right to possess. One that gave me a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach and made me wonder if that really was why I’d come here in the first place, and . . . oh, gah! What the hell was wrong with me, anyway?
“It was my pleasure, Hel’s liaison,” Stefan said. “I’m glad that you called upon me, and I hope you will not hesitate to do so again.”
“I won’t.”
“Good.” He sounded serious. “With practice, discipline, and will, the Outcast can become a force for order in this community, and learn to take sustenance in the process.”
See, he had me right up until the bit about taking sustenance, which unfortunately reminded me that I’d let Stefan take sustenance from me, which meant he was attuned to my emotions, and . . . um, yeah. That outburst of lust I’d let loose last night that had blown one of the Mamma Jammers’ amps? He’d probably sensed it. And maybe the bom-chicka-wow-wow that followed it.
My face got hot.
I don’t know how Stefan followed my train of thought, but he did. Hell, it probably wasn’t that hard. After all, he’d had centuries of practice. He smiled a little, but soberly, without dimples. “Your personal business is your own, Daisy,” he said in a quiet voice. “It is as I have said. Your emotions are exceedingly powerful. If you desire my aid in expressing them without consequence, I will gladly give it to you. But the bond between us does not exist for the sake of prurience, and I am capable of deflecting my awareness at need.”
Oh, my God, he totally knew. “Can it be broken?”
Stefan raised one eyebrow. “I assure you—”
“It’s okay.” I held up one hand—the left hand, letting him see the rune etched on my palm. “I believe you. But I have a right to know.”
He hesitated. “Not that I’m aware of, no. Even if there were a way, I would be reluctant.” He took a sharp breath, his pupils dilating in a rush. “Your position is not without its dangers, Daisy. It brings me a measure of comfort to know that if you are in distress, I will sense it.”
The memory of Stefan coming to my rescue, sword in hand, rose in my mind. Unfortunately, it was accompanied by the memory of Stefan impaling himself on that same sword, dying, and being restored to wholeness.