Burning Dawn

CHAPTER FOUR

A BELLOW WOKE HIM. It was ragged. It was raw.

It came from him.

Thane jolted to awareness. He was in his room, in his bed, and it was dark. He was drenched in sweat, his lungs desperate for air. His muscles sore...from thrashing.

Bjorn and Xerxes were beside him, pinning him to the mattress.

He’d had another nightmare, harkening back to his time inside the demon dungeon. To captivity. Humiliation. Frustration. Pity. Sorrow. Rage. Helplessness. His eyes adjusted, and he glanced down, saw the bloody marks on his chest. As usual, he’d attempted to rip out his own heart.

Anything to end the torment he was so good at hiding, even from himself. Until his guard lowered...

Well, enough. He would take a lover today, he decided. He hadn’t done so since returning from the Phoenix camp, and he was feeling the effects of abstinence. He would exhaust himself so thoroughly, he wouldn’t have the strength to move when the next nightmare came.

And it would. They always did.

Bjorn and Xerxes sensed his change of mood and released him; he sagged, boneless, atop the bed.

“Thank you,” he managed.

“Defeating nightmares happens to be one of my many specialties.” Xerxes switched on the side lamp, a soft golden glow chasing away the shadows.

“What about the times you are the nightmare?” Bjorn quipped.

“I’m never the nightmare. I’m always the fantasy.”

Bjorn snorted.

A second later, the pair piled onto the bed, unwilling to leave. Thane knew why. They were willing to forgo much-needed rest in the hope of distracting him.

A man could not ask for better friends.

“Anyone else feel like girls at a slumber party?” Xerxes asked drily.

Thane’s heart calmed. Grinning, he sat up and leaned against the headboard. “If you start talking about cute boys and prom dresses, I might shoot you both in the face.”

“Wait. We’re having a prom?” Bjorn asked. He gave a fist pump. “Finally, a chance to be king.”

“If anyone’s going to be prom king,” Thane said, voice stern, “it’s me. Look at this face. It’s a moneymaker.”

Propping his hands behind his head, Bjorn said, “Hate to break it to you, angel boy, but even circus sideshows have moneymaking mugs.”

Thane kicked him off the side of the bed. Thud. Xerxes laughed as Bjorn came up sputtering.

Bjorn crossed his arms over his chest, and narrowed his eyes on Thane. “About that prom...shall we guess who you’ll crown as your queen?”

Thane stiffened. “Well played, my friend. Well played.”

Bjorn grinned. “That’s the only way I play.”

* * *

LIFE AS A BARMAID both rocked and sucked.

The plus: tips. Not that Elin had earned any of her own yet. Having shadowed the girls for the past four nights, she had seen the potential of her paydays, and was practically foaming at the mouth.

The minus: the uniform. A bra was trying to pass itself off as a shirt, and a piece of tulle was trying to pass itself off as a skirt. Elin was pretty sure she would cover more skin at a nude beach.

But, okay. Fine. Whatever. When in Rome...or, in her case, the clouds.

The clouds. Ugh. Even though Elin now resented the word splat, and fall was practically a curse word, she’d convinced herself to explore the backyard. There, she’d found a garden in need of major TLC and had spent hours pulling weeds, a chore she used to do with her mother in Harrogate, before her family had moved to Arizona.

It had been nice, but... How long should she stay here? A few months? A year?

No. A few weeks at most. The longer she stayed, the more likely Thane was to learn of her origins.

I would rather die than face his wrath.

But, there was a plus to waiting. If she were on her own, the Phoenix king would surely hunt her, then torture her for information, willing to do anything to learn what Thane had done with his people.

She sighed, hating the thought of living in limbo, her goals once again on hold. But at least she was safe for the moment. She wasn’t beaten for speaking the truth...or at all...and she wasn’t locked in a cage for some imagined crime, or buried in the sand, fire ants allowed to bite the only exposed part of her body, which always happened to be her face. She wasn’t treated like an animal because of her human blood.

She was fed regularly, had access to a television, a game station, and a computer—with surprisingly good internet connection, considering her distant locale—and she was getting to spend time with four of the most endearing women in the skies, each reminding her of her beloved mother in some way.

Elin smiled as she replayed a conversation the girls had last night.

Bellorie: So, get this. A gorgeous were-shifter stumbled into the bar. He was already drunk, and paused to stare at me like he’d never seen anything more beautiful. Because, of course, he hadn’t.

Savy: Until I walked in.

Octavia: I must have had the day off.

Chanel: I’m pretty effing sure I was hanging out with Octavia.

Bellorie: Wow. Could you guys be any more narcissistic?

Chanel: I’m not narcissistic. I’m perfect.

Bellorie: Anyway. He kissed me, only to pull back and mutter an apology. He said he thought I was his wife, ’cause I look just like her. I kneed him in the balls, and called him a lying, cheating son of a troll. He then said I sounded just like his wife.

Octavia: I bet you told him to bring the female with him the next time he visited the club, because she had to be the wittiest, smartest person ever.

Bellorie, blinking innocently: So you were there?

Immortal divas were fun.

But the girls were more than beautiful—and more than aware of that beauty. They were kind, uninhibited danger junkies, and quite competitive. They were serious about their dodge-boulder league, which was exactly what it sounded like. Dodgeball with boulders.

If only they were members of a jazz club instead.

They practiced every day. Hard-core practicing, at that. Running for endurance. Throwing their bodies against slabs of concrete to increase pain threshold. Navigating complicated obstacle courses while dodging the weapons the other girls pitched at them. Things like knives, metal stars and hammers.

They were determined to become national champs.

Elin barely survived the practices—even though, for the time being, she was only allowed to watch.

A clatter of dishes snapped her out of her musings.

Mind in the game. Right. Tonight, a live band would be playing. The group of five Sent Ones—Shame Spiral—were in the process of setting up. Elin found her gaze constantly returning to the lead singer.

Sexy did not even begin to describe. He had a slow, sensual smile loaded with all kinds of naughty suggestions.

Mind in the work game, Vale.

She would soon be toiling at the tables, on her own for the first time. And she could do it. She knew she could. She’d learned a lot. The most important lesson? Find a niche and stick to it. Each of the girls had one.

Bellorie flirted outrageously.

Savy was a stern taskmaster.

Octavia acted shy.

Chanel pretended to be an airhead.

Elin thought she might go for plucky best friend.

The girls never seemed to mind when their butts were pinched, or when they were tugged onto laps, or when masculine hands traveled somewhere they shouldn’t. While Elin craved contact, she didn’t crave a mauling, and she wouldn’t be able to pretend otherwise. She would cry or freak out, and the patrons would be offended. She would lose her (probably substantial) tip and anger Thane. Therefore, it would be best for everyone if she stopped all potential groping attempts.

She drummed her fingernails against the mahogany counter meant to separate the employees from the clientele. The area had recently undergone repairs and now sparkled like new despite the dimness of the atmosphere. Alabaster walls were carved with intricate symbols. The marble floors were polished, and scattered throughout was all-new furniture.

Apparently, Kendra had tried to torch the entire building before Thane returned her to camp, but Adrian, Thane’s very fierce head of security, had managed to contain the damage.

Customers would arrive at any moment. Paying customers! The myriad of Phoenix-kebabs outside had drawn more and more gawkers every night. A few had even asked to have their picture taken in “the little yard of horrors.”

Don’t think I’ll ever get used to this world.

“Nervous?”

The gravelly voice shocked a gasp out of her, and she whipped around to face the intruder.

Adrian. A big mountain of a man she kinda sorta considered Neanderthal chic. He had a wide forehead and slightly overarching brows. A sharp, prominent nose. Stunningly lush lips. And a stubborn chin. He wasn’t classically handsome by any means, but he was somehow all the more beautiful for it. Maybe because every inch of him screamed male.

He was immortal. He radiated too much power to be human, the waves of it stroking across her skin every time he neared, startling her. But she wasn’t exactly sure what he was.

Should she try to use him for protection?

“Very,” she finally replied. As strong as he was, he might belittle her for requesting aid. Or, like the Phoenix, he might turn her fears and weaknesses against her.

“No reason to be. Thane doesn’t allow those under his care to be hurt without severe consequences. Which means, neither do I. Only a fool would strike at you.”

“That’s the problem. Alcohol creates fools. And I’m not like the other girls, able to defend myself against a roomful of sadistic man-sluts. Not that everyone here is sadistic,” she rushed to add. “Or a slut.” Crap! Her shift hadn’t even begun, and she was already spewing verbal vomit. “They aren’t. Really.” And besides, how would Thane know what anyone did to her? There’d been no sign of him, or his two besties.

Not that she’d looked—around every corner.

Not that she’d waited, eager. Not that she’d gone to bed disappointed every single night, feeling as if she’d been abandoned by him. Which was silly! She barely knew him.

“People never forget my consequences, drunk or not,” he said. “I’ve been told to take good care of you, and I will.”

“Thank you. But who told you to take good care of me?” Had the absent Thane been thinking about her, sending orders on her behalf?

“Xerxes.”

Oh. Won’t give in to any more disappointment. Especially since there was no reason for the emotion! Xerxes and now Adrian were looking out for her. For a former slave, that was a dream come true.

“I have to warn you,” she said. “I’m going to say the wrong thing tonight. Guys are going to assume my butt is part of their order, and I won’t be able to help myself. Fights will break out, and the moment they do, I’m going to curl into a ball and suck my thumb.”

His lips quirked at the corners. “I’ll handle it.”

Amusement? Really? “Won’t my behavior drive customers away?” And get me fired? Perhaps literally.

Did Thane practice burning at the stake, too?

Adrian reached out, as if he meant to pat the top of her head, but he stopped himself just before contact. “Silly human. I recommend thinking before you speak.”

Hey! Her questions were well thought out, thank you very much. “Insulting beast,” she muttered.

A rusty laugh barked from him. “Or don’t. I like your spirit.”

From the corner of her eye, she spotted three Fae males entering the club, each with the pale hair and blue eyes quintessential to their race, dressed in colorful feathered tops and skintight pants.

As they selected a table in back, Adrian faded into the background, and Elin’s nervousness returned, now jacked up several notches. Her insides were practically showering in acid-coated ice.

At last the band eased into their first song. A love song. Actually, a sex song, and sweet fancy, goose bumps broke out over every inch of her. The lead singer—what was his name?—had the voice of a born seducer.

“Son of a troll,” Bellorie muttered, suddenly at her side. “The craptastic trio has arrived.”

Savy appeared at her other side. “Don’t be a hater. They’re only craptastic to you—and everyone else. But there’s no need for either of us to be subjected to that tonight. We have to throw our little E in headfirst, and this is the best way.” Her gaze settled on Elin. “The Fae are regulars. They’re also pretentious and infuriating. The most any of us has ever gotten out of them tip-wise is ten measly bucks. If you can get a penny more, I’ll give you every jewel I earn tonight.”

“Me, too,” Bellorie said, clapping. “Oh, this is going to be fun. I love winning, and this is a sure thing. Like Chanel after a few drinks.”

Elin rubbed mental hands together. Take their jewels? Yes, please. Her nest egg would start off with a bang.

“What do you want if I lose?” she asked. “Remember. I came here only with the dirty clothes on my back.”

Savy’s grin was evil. “If you lose, you have to serve those Fae for the rest of your stay. No exceptions.”

“They’re seriously that bad?”

“Yes,” the girls said in unison.

“The tall one called me ugly,” Bellorie said, her nose going in the air.

Jerkbag! “You’re gorgeous. You’re also on,” Elin announced. Gathering her courage, she shuffled her way to the table. “Hey, ya’ll.” She offered her biggest and brightest plucky-best-friend smile. “I’m Elin, and I’m here to serve you tonight.”

None of the males looked at her. They continued on with their conversation.

“The new king and queen want to do what? No, they must be stopped.”

“Who can stop them? Kane is a Lord of the Underworld and Josephina is a drainer.”

“Three words. Long. Distance. Rifle.”

Please. Pretend I’m not even here. It’ll be fun.

“I’d love to get you something to drink,” she said.

Again, she was ignored.

Frustrated, she glanced over at the bar and caught Bellorie grinning like a loon. Elin stuck out her tongue.

Bellorie played show-and-tell with her middle finger.

Coughing to cover a laugh, Elin considered her next move. Put her head between the males closest to her, and risk becoming the night’s entertainment? Or walk away, come back later, and risk losing her tip because of “slow service”? Finally, she placed her hand on the shoulder of the guy on her right.

He stiffened, then flicked her arm away with so much force she stumbled backward. “Touch and die, bar wench.”

“Noted,” she managed to squeak past the lump growing in her throat. Run. Now.

Victory. Jewels. Bakery.

She remained in place. A stroke of power against the back of her neck had her spinning—and facing Adrian’s chest. She gulped, waiting for the end to come. When he didn’t lash out at her for daring to touch a patron without permission, she turned back to the Fae and breathed a sigh of relief.

They were staring at Adrian with terror in their crystalline eyes.

“So, um, yeah. What can I get you to drink?” she asked.

The guy closest to her seemed to blink a thousand times before saying, “Ambrosia-laced whiskey.”

She lifted her hand to write it down, only to recall pen and paper weren’t allowed. They were “too human.” She was to memorize every order and refill accordingly without being asked. “And you?”

“Ambrosia-laced vodka.”

She remembered the stern warning Bellorie had given her only this morning. Don’t sample the ambrosia. It’s immortal brew and you’ll die. “You?”

“Surprise me. And it had better be a good surprise.”

Wonderful. “Of course. I wouldn’t know how to do a bad surprise.” She stepped back, expecting to bump into Adrian—except he was no longer behind her. Frowning, she returned to the bar. Bummer. Bellorie had wandered off.

She told the bartender what she needed. “Whatever you make for the third drink, put a rainbow-colored umbrella in it.” That was a “good” surprise, right?

The tattooed hottie with pink hair glowered at her before filling three glasses. He did not add an umbrella.

O-kay. Note to self: bartender is not one for idle chitchat...or suggestions.

Chanel had mentioned his name was “effing McCadden,” and he was a fallen Sent-One-slash-cold-blooded-murderer. Oh, and that he had a serious case of love ebola for the minor goddess of Death, whoever that was. He was also Xerxes’s prisoner—and strangely enough, his friend—and he was not to be messed with.

She loaded up her tray. “How am I supposed to know which glass has which liquid?” Everything was black.

McCadden strode to the end of the bar, snubbing her.

Wonderful. Just great! She turned, her gaze automatically dusting over the stage. A crowd had arrived, seemingly between one blink and another. Women now crowded the edge of the stage, throwing their panties at the band and begging for one night in “Merrick’s” arms.

“The singer is Merrick, I take it,” she said as Bellorie came up beside her to fill an order.

“Yes, indeed. He collects female hearts just so he can break them.”