The music is almost deafening. The rhythmic cadence, laden with heavy bass drops and sharp synthetic upswings, pulses from multicolored runes carved into the walls and dance floor until it’s vibrating through my entire body. Beads of sweat dot my brow and several strands of auburn hair cling to my slicked skin. I resist the urge to swipe them away and instead bury my fingers into the long brown hair of the eager-eyed stranger grinding against me.

  The woman’s piercing amber eyes, slightly glazed over from the euphoric mix of music and alcohol, roam over my body and I see the hint of a devilish grin dance on her lips. Her desire assaults me in waves and I return her smile in kind.

  For a brief moment, I entertain the thought of taking her home for a bit of fun. But tonight I’m in the mood for a different flavor.

  The suffocating aroma of leather, sweat, and ozone fills the air but it only serves to fuel the raging mob of clubgoers around me and soon I become lost in the revelry. I needed this. Even if clubs and crowds aren’t my usual scene, after the long week that I’ve had I needed this tonight.

  I feel another smile tug at the corners of my lips and I give in, allowing the feeling to wash over me. It’s been a while since I’ve smiled.

  When the stifling heat finally overcomes the rush of adrenaline pumping through my veins, I brush the hair from my face and shove my way off the dance floor. The beautiful brunette stays behind, her arms latching on to the next available body as the tempo changes, and I briefly imagine the sort of fun we could have had later.

  It makes my head spin.

  My mind is still reeling as I stumble in search of refreshment, nearly losing my footing as I crash into the only empty stool at the bar.

  Fuck. How much have I had to drink? Get a grip on yourself, Ashe.

  ‘You’re a mess.’

  A familiar itch tickles the back of my throat, leaving a bitter taste on my tongue, and I grimace. I need to wash that down.

  Snapping my fingers at the bartender, I fight for his attention over the raucous crowd, yelling out my order when he finally glances in my direction. One more drink won’t hurt.

  “I’m gonna have to cut you off, mina kaelithi,” the bartender says as he pops the cap off a bottle of ale. He’s a mountain of a man with a stocky build and full beard, his chestnut locks pulled back into a loose bun. A large, faded scar mars the right side of his face, cutting diagonally from his temple and disappearing into the thick of his beard, and a worn leather patch hides a missing right eye. “You’ve hit your limit tonight.”

  I glower at him, a look that could kill, as I whip out a slip of colored paper from my pants pocket and slap it onto the wooden counter, enunciating every word as I growl, “Whiskey. Straight.” The night is still young and my buzz is starting to wear off. Besides, where the fuck does he get off on telling me when I’m done? “Consider it my nightcap, Jorrik. Unless my scrip is no longer good here?”

  “Kaelithi—”

  “Seven hells, man, just get the lady her drink.”

  I turn to the would-be bar hero seated next to me, watching as he lifts the bottle to his lips. The thick scruff of black hair around his jaw and neckline gives him a roguish appearance, and his dark eyes regard me with a curious—dare I say, predatory—interest. A shiver runs up my spine as his gaze roams over my body, one eyebrow lifting at my choice attire, and I know that I’ve found tonight’s flavor.

  A sense of unadulterated excitement comes over me and I smirk. “Are you buying?”

  He juts out his chin toward the dance floor. “From what I saw out there, I’d say our mutual friend here is right. You’ve gone well past your limit, little sister.” Then, with a gruff laugh he shakes his head, his eyes gleaming with an unearthly hunger. “But from where I’m sitting now, I think I’d like to help you out. Far be it from me to refuse a lady a drink when she’s thirsty.”

  I don’t like how Jorrik’s term of endearment sounds coming from his lips. “What, you don’t think I can get my own drink?”

  “Dressed like that?” He gestures to my clothes—loose denim pants, a casual shirt one size too big, weathered knee-high laced boots, and a thick black leather jacket—and snorts. “It’s no wonder that bartender’s been giving you a hard time. All your good parts are hidden.”

  “My, aren’t you a charmer. Does that line work on all your victims?”

  He shrugs and takes another swig. “That depends. Is it working now?”

  “Oh, honey, I’m no victim.” I wink as Jorrik quietly sets my order down. Large cubes of fresh ice clink against the glass as I take a moment to study this arrogant stranger. His pressed slacks and silky patterned shirt, the salmon-colored sleeves rolled up to reveal hairy arms and a lavish gold watch, wouldn’t look half bad if he wasn’t trying so hard to flash his chest hair at anyone with tits. I purse my lips. “Say, you look familiar. Have I seen you around before?”

  “I slum here often enough, but I would’ve definitely remembered you.” He licks his lips, unbridled hunger radiating from him as his eyes darken and he inhales deeply. “I’ve never smelled anything like you before, and I’ve seen all kinds of pretty things come and go. Most of them end up leaving with me.”

  ‘Insufferable pest.’

  I fight off an eye roll. “You make it sound so tempting. How can any woman resist?”

  “Guess I’m just lucky.”

  “Who says you’re getting lucky tonight?”

  I catch Jorrik’s look of concern from across the bar and offer him a curt nod. He knows better than most that I can handle myself; but gods, if this asshole isn’t such a tool! It’s almost impossible to curb my disappointment. I was hoping this would be more fun.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  “Well, the night’s still young and I’m getting hungry.” Chugging down the rest of his beer, my new friend grins wolfishly as he reaches for his coat. “Care to grab a bite?”

  “Damn, you know what? I can’t. I left my cat outside and if I don’t get back to him soon then he might wander off and maul some clueless stranger who thinks he’s being charming.”

  “They always say that redheads are the ones to watch out for.” A guttural laugh rumbles in his throat. “I bet you’re all kinds of freaky, aren’t you?”

  “You have no idea.”

  A ripple of lust rolls off of him, filling my senses, and I suppress another shiver. It’s now or never.

  Before he can stand to leave, I snap my fingers. “Now I know where I’ve seen your face before!”

  He quirks a brow, amused, as I reach into the depths of my jacket and pull out an obsidian medallion the size of my fist, sliding it across the bar toward him. As he picks it up, the thin disc reacts to his touch and a hidden needle springs out to prick his skin.

  “Ow!” he hisses, dropping the marker back down and pressing his thumb to his lips. “The fuck was that?”

  “Just wait. You’ll love this next part.” Together we watch as his blood slowly fills in the grooves, swirling around the raised skull engraved in the center until the hollowed recesses are glowing bright red. My smirk widens as realization suddenly illuminates his face. “You’ve got a nice little price out on your head, Stannik Wilczek.”

  “Y-you’re a hunter?”

  “Must be your lucky night, after all. You know, I’ve hunted game much bigger than you before. Less obnoxious, too.” I chuckle dryly, trailing a finger over the rim of my glass. “Normally the Society doesn’t deal with the frivolities of the criminal underworld; it’s below our pay grade and so we let the politicians and their Knights handle that shit. But a bounty’s been put out and money’s money. I’m simply here to collect.”

  “You’ve got it all wrong, lady.” In a fury he tosses the medallion to the floor, as if that would clear away his fate, but the marker only glows like that for one reason. He is my target.

  “Tell you what, Stan—can I call you Stan?” I grab the whiskey glass between thumb and forefinger, swirling the ice around. “Let’s up the ante. I’ll give you until I finish my drink. I’d say that’s a pretty generous head start, wouldn’t you?”

  “You’re fucking crazy! I’m telling you, you’ve got the wrong man!”

  “Well, now, let’s see.” I raise a hand as I recite his laundry list of offenses. “Poaching sprites and fairies for apostates to use in illegal dark magics, dealing in unlicensed weapons trading on the black market, prowling the bars at night dressed like a total jackass—that one’s my personal favorite—and indulging in the consumption of human flesh.” I wiggle my fingers. “Did I miss anything?”

  His eyes widen as a new wave of fear permeates from him and I know I struck a chord. “H-how do you know about that?”

  “You’re about as subtle as you are charming. Still, with all those extracurricular activities spreading you thin, I guess you finally bit off more than you can chew. Pun intended.”

  “This is bullshit,” he growls, a spark of anger flashing in his eyes. “Vinny. That vitaari scum, I told him in confidence!”

  “I guess even in your circles there are limits to what’s acceptable, and no one likes a wild card. Your little midnight cravings make you a wild card, Stan, and the quenari get nervous when one of their own goes feral. That’s a recipe for loose lips and deep pockets.” I tsk. “Can’t say I’m not surprised, though. You seem like the straight-laced type. But we both know the truth, don’t we?”

  “I can’t go back to prison, I can’t!”

  “Who said anything about prison?” I raise an eyebrow and point to the medallion at my feet. “That marker’s for a blood bounty. The name of the target—your name, in this case—bound in blood by the one who ordered it. Its reaction to your touch practically sealed your fate. Whoever put the hit out on you wants you dead.”

  “That’s murder! You’re not above the law!”

  “Since when did you start caring so much about the law?” I shrug. “Besides, I’m a godsdamn hunter. I’m the one the law turns to when they don’t want to get their hands dirty, and a rabid fera stalking humans right under their noses is bad for publicity.”

  “I-I have friends in high places!”

  Gods, he’s really playing all his cards. Unfortunately for him, though, fate dealt him a losing hand tonight. “Oh, come on, Stan. You can do better than that.”

  “No, seriously, lady. I have information on high-ranking officials, information that’s worth more if I’m alive. They’ll pay whatever you ask. Name your price!”

  Like no one’s ever used that line before.

  “You have no pack and now no gang to turn to. I’m afraid you burned all your bridges, pal.” I lift the whiskey to my lips. “Lone wolves don’t have any friends.”

  The bar stool crashes to the ground as he pushes himself up with a snarl, baring his teeth as his inner garul starts to emerge.

  ‘I think you struck a nerve.’

  Fucking wolves. Always so temperamental.

  “You bitch!”

  His outbursts are beginning to attract unwanted attention and I silently curse. I don’t need to cause a scene in here, not with too many innocent bystanders around, and the last thing I need is another incident on my hands. I need to get him outside.

  “Better hurry.” I take a sip, my eyes burning into his as the liquor trickles over my tongue. The marker never made mistakes, and now that his identity has been confirmed there is no escape for him. “All that dancing has made me very thirsty.”

  He hesitates for a moment, his yellowing eyes darting around, and instinctively my free hand moves to my hip. If he was thinking about shifting forms, then I was prepared to drop his ass here and now. The reputation of the Blades Society hinged on just three things: stealth, efficiency, and the least amount of unnecessary casualties during a mission. I’m not about to let some pompous asshole ruin that image now.

  I take another slow sip, my focus never faltering as my fingers dance over the hilt of a dagger concealed at my side. Just try it, you cocky prick.

  His glare suddenly snaps down, drawn by the movement at my waist, and without another word he turns around and elbows his way through the crowd in search of an exit. Looks like he decided to use what little brain he has, after all.

  ‘That went well.’

  No shit. I let loose the small breath that I was holding in, air whistling through my nose as the bartender reappears.

  “I take it you’re on duty tonight?”

  I nod, pivoting on my stool only to be met with his stern gaze. “Oh, calm down, Jorrik,” I groan. I know that look. “You’re always worried that I’m going to wreck your bar.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time, Ashe. Remember the Balduri brothers?”

  “I was twenty-one and it was my first official assignment. Besides, it happened over four years ago and you’ve repainted the walls since then. Seven hells, how long you plan on holding that one over my head for?”

  “Until it’s no longer any fun for me.” He snorts as he wipes down a glass. “So what’s your excuse for last week?”

  I wave a dismissive hand. “That was an accident.” Mostly, anyway. I may not have started that bar fight, but I sure as shit finished it.

  Jorrik only grunts in reply, then flicks a thumb over his broad shoulder in the direction of the back door. “Well, you gonna go after him or what?”

  ‘Yes, can’t have the dog slipping away so soon. And after all the trouble we went through to find him.’

  “He won’t get far.” My lips curl as I take another sip. “Besides, it wouldn’t be any fun for me if I didn’t at least try to make him think that he stands a chance.”

  “You hunters are so twisted.”

  I shrug. “If I’m not getting laid tonight, then I might as well get paid.” But he’s right. I down the rest of my whiskey in a single gulp, grimacing at the burn it leaves behind as I toss a gold coin on the bar top. “He forgot to pay his tab.”

  No stranger to dealing with the Society, the bartender nods and discreetly slips the embossed coin into his pocket. “Fair enough,” he says. “But, Ashe, you’ve had a lot to drink tonight. You sure you’re up for—”

  “I’m fine, Jorrik.” My buzz has long worn off by now, the excitement thrumming in my veins eliminating any traces of alcohol. I always did love the thrill of a good chase. “Pour me another. I’ll be back before last call.”

  Jorrik doesn’t argue.

  Wiping my mouth with the back of a hand, I crack my neck and stand. The hunters’ mantra echoes in my mind as I take a deep, steadying breath: ‘As deadly as a blade, as silent as the grave.’

  Let the hunt begin.