My bartender peeks her head in. “Boss?”
“What, Allie?”
“We need you up front.”
“Why?” As soon as the word leaves my lips, glass shatters, and I blur past her and Elijah both and into the main room. My hand closes around the throat of a shifter before he even has the chance to see me. On my left, a vampire blurs toward us, so I throw out my other hand and catch the fucker before he can reach us. “You motherfuckers want to take it outside?” I growl, my voice completely audible, despite the low tone I’m using. “I don’t do violence in my house.”
The bar is silent. So silent you could hear a single drop of blood hit the floor.
Which I do, as crimson slips from the nose of the shifter and hits the wooden floor of my establishment.
“He started it,” the shifter croaks out, clawing at my hand.
Elijah moves into the room alongside Allie.
“That true?” I ask the vampire.
He snarls at the shifter. “You shouldn’t let wolves into a blood den. They’re bound to get hurt.”
In the blink of an eye, I drop the shifter and focus all of my attention on the mouthy fucking vamp who just reignited my earlier rage. Anger burns hot as I slam him back into the wall, sending sheetrock dust into the air and the patrons dining at a nearby table scrambling to their feet. “What the fuck did you just say?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Elijah move closer to me. My friend ready to intervene should any of this vampire’s buddies choose to have balls of steel.
“You. Shouldn’t. Let. His. Kind. In. Here,” he chokes out, barely able to speak given the hold I have on his throat. “This is a vampire establishment.”
“First of all, fucker, this is a place for all supernaturals. Second, I’m incredibly interested in hearing about why you seem to think calling my bar a blood den is a smart fucking move.” I squeeze his throat.
His eyes widen as he realizes his insult.
“I will not have my establishment compared to a fucking hostile, hostage holding, nightmarish excuse for vampires to get their fucking rocks off.” Leaning in, I tip my head to the side, letting my canines slide down. I’m older than this mother fucker by a couple hundred years—or more—making his freshly turned ass still smell like a newbie. “Do I make myself clear?”
He nods frantically, so I wait a beat then drop him to the floor and wipe my hands onto my slacks. Elijah stands close by, arms crossed, glaring at the vamp.
“He still shouldn’t be here,” the vamp croaks.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath before turning back to him. “Do you have a death wish?”
“The Accords—”
“Are fucking parchment meant to keep us enslaved to the councils.”
“Places like this and the siren’s—”
His words are drowned out by a heavy drumming. Red blurs into my vision, and I clench my fists, fighting for control. My entire body burns for violence, for the feel of blood dripping from my mouth. My fingers twitch, itching to reach out and grab this fucker by the throat.
“They’re abominations.”
That does it. Temper snapping, the restraints on my beast dissipate, and before I fully understand what I’m doing, I blur forward and grip the young vamp by the throat.
Blurring back, I slam him into the wall, again and again, then yank him forward and sink my teeth into his throat. He screams and thrashes, fighting against my hold.
Keep fighting me,a voice in my head whispers.
Someone bellows my name, but I’m too far gone with the copper slipping down the back of my throat.
I rip, sending blood and flesh flying across my bar. The patrons scream, scrambling from their seats and pressing their backs to the wall, as I drop the vamp and stare down at him, more animal than man.
Rage burns hot through me, making it impossible to see just how badly I fucked up. For decades, I’ve run this bar, dealing with assholes of all factions, and still keeping the peace. Violence has never been something I sought, though if pushed to it, I will stand and fight.