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coming in. August s eyes turned dark again.
 Do you want to be a freebie? I asked.
He rolled his shoulders, and the muscles visible through the
thin shirt he wore rippled in the most interesting ways. He licked
his lips, touched his throat, and leaned even closer to me. I didn t
want him, but my cock ached in my jeans. When he opened his
mouth to speak, he shut it again, quickly.  I felt a little blood in
you, but it seemed so weak I thought it latent. I should have
known.
I shrugged.  Sorry.
August cleared his throat.  So, no, he said.  I don t. I didn t
ask to be summoned by a sweating, fat man. I certainly didn t ask
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to be lost in a game of chance to a brothel, and as cute as you are,
Cy, I d rather not be forced to fuck you.
I put up on my hands, trying to show it was the last thing I
wanted, too. My dick wanted to discuss the issue further.  Baxter
put you up as collateral?
 Yes.
 Yes? It wasn t a lie to not continue.
August stood up.  Ask the fat sweating man. He put his hip on
the bar and swung his legs over it so he stood next to me.  So, do
you want to? I hear the battery pack you found doesn t like it up
the ass. Pity.
 Patrick is not just an energy source. And I thought you didn t
want to fuck me.
 I didn t want to be forced. Now that you re not forcing me,
why shouldn t we?
I didn t answer him.
 God. You foolish humans. It would have been great.
 I need the old man, I said.
August made another disgusted sound.  Even with that ticking
time clock in your head, you ve picked this week to find yourself
the tiniest bit of nobility. It will be the death of you. Wait upstairs.
I ll be sure to have the old man brought up when Diesel is finished
with him. He never takes that long.
The first elevator door opened. The bar had been so dark the
bright cheery light from inside the car hurt my eyes. When I
looked back, August had disappeared. Time wasted, but I couldn t
tell Patrick that I d left his father in the brothel.
The elevator door remained open. After a while, it occurred to
me that it waited for me. I went to it, half expecting a death trap to
spring once I stepped past its threshold. Instead, it took me up a
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single floor. This bar, on first glance, could have been any bar on
any Friday night in any strip mall in town. The mix of genders
looked about fifty-fifty. The couples gyrating on the dance floor
contained all the different combinations and permutations possible.
The music sounded dulled, however, and the conversations the
barflies had could be heard whispered.
Real power thrummed over the music and conversation. It felt
muted, too. The people here felt more like me than Gwen, or even
Patrick. All except one.
Scott Underhill was far better looking than his photograph,
even now. A group of almost as pretty never prettier, I noticed
young men and women gathered around his table, in standing room
only. In a bar where everyone else needed to be quiet, the entire
table boomed.
Someone had their claws in Scott, just as they had Gunnar, but
the drain felt noticeable.
 Do you like what you see?
I turned. Pan stood behind me, holding a cocktail glass. The
alcohol in it looked ruby red, but far too translucent to be blood.
Not that I thought it would be, but my mind goes literal sometimes.
Pan had changed into some kind of shirt that shimmered when he
moved. He didn t have a clipboard or any lackeys that I could see,
but I knew they both could be summoned with a snap of the finger.
 I thought they were patrons, I said.
Pan laughed. It should have been a high-pitched trill, but
instead it sounded low and guttural.  Everything is for sale here,
darling. I opened my mouth to protest, but he put his hand on my
chest.  No, not you. You are already bought and paid for.
I closed my mouth. He had a point.
 So I could arrange a meet, between you and your boy. Play
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your cards right with the right sort of stakes and you could win him
right out from under me.
 Stakes? I asked.
Pan waved his drink in a don t-be-foolish gesture. In slow
motion, the liquid came up over the edge in a perfect, ruby wave
but then it rolled back into the glass without spilling a drop. I
recognized a mesmer attempt when I saw one. I still had to pull my
gaze from the liquid to Pan s face. He grunted, obviously
disappointed in it failing. It had taken a huge amount of energy.
Scott Underhill stopped talking mid-sentence. His entourage
stopped breathing. When Scott came back to himself, his groupies
laughed like he d just cracked a good one.
Pan cleared his throat, pulling my attention back to him.
 Stakes. You have access to Karl Gunnar s son. That s all the
stakes you need. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]