But tonight I hadn’t been pushed to it. I could have simply tossed him out on his ass and gone my own separate way. Instead—I stare down at him.
Blood drips from his throat as his eyes freeze open, staring up at the ceiling.What did I just do?I shake my head, trying to clear the angry fog, but it sticks. Three vampires stand the closest, wide-eyed and staring down at the dead one bleeding on my floor.
“What the hell are you standing there for? Get him the fuck out of my bar,” I snap.
They move quickly, soundlessly blurring across the floor, and soon, he’s gone. As soon as his body is removed, the rest of the fog clears, and I realize what the hell I just did.
I killed a vampire in my bar.
In front of at least a dozen now terrified patrons.
Unwilling to show weakness in what could very well be a lion’s den, I meet the terrified gaze of the shifter. He’s young, too, maybe a handful of years outside of the change. He looks to the blood then back up at me, a hand on his throat.
It bothers me more than I care to admit. “Next time, take your altercations outside.”
He nods then turns and bolts out through the door.
Avoiding eye contact with Elijah, I shove past the bar and toward the back. Allie watches me, blue eyes wide with fear. “Clean that shit up.”
On any other day, I wouldn’t have let it get that far. I’ve dealt with plenty of assholes in my time of owning this bar, but that was the first time I lost control in here. It’s the first time I’ve gone after someone who was not actively trying to kill me.
I strip my blood-stained shirt off, using it to wipe the blood from my face and throat before tossing it to the floor, and plop down into my chair. I reach into the cabinet directly to my left and pull out a bottle of bourbon, not bothering with a fucking glass. Raising the bottle, I press my lips to the opening and down the alcohol inside. It slips down my throat, soothing the ache in my heart, if only for a brief moment, before my metabolism kills the buzz.
“What the fuck was that?” Elijah demands, slamming my door closed behind him.
“I don’t know.”
“What the fuck do you mean you don’t know? You just ripped him apart in your bar!”
“I lost control.”
“That’s a damned understatement, brother. I’ve never seen you that way. Your eyes—”
That gets my full attention. “What do you mean? What about them?”
A muscle in his jaw twitches. “They were black, brother. Black as fucking obsidian.”
Bronywyn, kneeling in front of me, eyes black, my blood dripping from her mouth.
“We need to get rid of Lucy so we can save Bronywyn.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
I meet his eyes. “We’re bonded.”
Mouth falling open, he gapes at me. “What the—when?”
“After Allison died. The blood bond between Bronywyn and me is the only reason I’m still alive.”
He’s completely silent. “That’s—fuck, Tarnley. That’s a big deal.”
“Apparently, it is.”
He sinks in the chair in front of me, so I offer him the bottle of whiskey, which he takes and tips up, drinking greedily. The silence gives me a moment to refocus, to recenter on what needs to be done in order to keep me in check.
Bronywyn said the magic would corrupt our bond.
That it would eventually come for me.
I’d be stupid not to admit that I felt differently back there. I mean, shit, look what happened. I fucking snapped. Lost it like I haven’t done in decades.
Is it more than probable that she is right?
We know that the more magic she uses, the closer she gets to losing it completely. So, if this bond is truly corruptible by the same power she’s hell-bent on using, what the fuck is going to happen to me after she kills Lucy?