The air is thick and hoarse here, plumes of smoke from the cigars coat everything in a dreamy haze. The moment we enter, I’m overcome by the warmth of the place, a blazing fire in the hearth only accounting for half of it, as the rest seems to ripple in hearty waves of laughter from my friends at the bar.
Rhain is hunched over the counter, one hand holding him upright as the rest of him animates what appears to be a hilarious and daring story of one of his many tantalizing escapades. Everyone around him smiles and gasps. There are a few unfamiliar faces among them, other noctis who have traveled far for a chance to participate in the Hunt, but a red-haired woman sits directly before him, and I halt before we go any farther.
"You failed to mention Renee would be here."
"You failed to ask," Ursulette says flippantly before leaving me where I stand and waving excitedly at Rhain.
He stops in the middle of his story just to greet her properly—and to shove his tongue down her throat. Caz practically has to tear them apart before they can start ripping each other’s clothes off. When he does, there’s a moment when it looks like Rhain might rip his throat out—after all, coming between two mated noctis is a risky endeavor, especially two who are so early in their devotion to one another.
Fortunately for us all, no one has seen me for almost an entire day, and the moment Rhain catches sight of me across the room, his hatred is replaced with eager enthusiasm.
"Malachi!" he hollers, fists pumping overhead.
He pulls me in for a hug, one that nearly cracks my ribs and makes me lose my breath. As I pat his back and try to dislodge myself, I notice Renee watching. There is a fury in her eyes that outmatchesany rabid beast. Or perhaps it's lust. The two are often easily confused when I catch her staring at me. Sometimes they're both present, warring with one another, and on occasion I've wondered if it would be easier if we just had the encounter she keeps propositioning me with. It's not as if Caz would care. He's told me as much, himself, though I have wondered if it wasn’t at her behest.
The only problem is, I'm not sure I've ever truly wanted her. I admire her fire, the fierceness with which she approaches everything. And she is of course beautiful, no doubt. I imagine between the two of us, we have enough experience in the bedchamber to keep one another entertained for a millennium. But I'm afraid that's where our opportunity for connection would end. And what's the point in tampering with a decade-long friendship for a few nights of fun?
Renee’s lips quirk, suggesting she's still willing to find out.
Clearing my throat, I give Rhain one final, hearty pat on the back and gently shove him away from me. My hands are the only stability he has until Ursulette slides back under his arms, holding the lanky weight of him. His eyes shine like gold amidst his bronze complexion as he gazes up at her.
That look. I thought I'd had that once. Of course, I'd been wrong. However, I can't help but still chase that feeling of being so utterly enamored with someone that anytime I'd gaze upon them I'd be oblivious to a tornado heading straight toward me.
Suddenly, Rhain sobers as if he's remembered something horrible. "Malachi! Fuck me 'til world's end. I didn't mean to tell him anything. It just slipped. You know? The man has that effect on a room, and I'd already drank an entire barrel of“—he glances up to Ursulette, brow wrinkling— "What have we been drinking?"
"You”—she says, reaching across him to shake the empty glass in his hand— "haven't been drinking a thing since dinner. I told them to cut you off. How is it you seem more drunk than when I left you?"
With a squiggly grin, he gestures to a room of people who erupt with a chant of his name.
Ursulette rolls her eyes despite herself and disappears into the crowd, leaving Rhain to battle with his balance on his own, though he seems confident he can handle it.
Now that I'm down here, I can see why Caz insisted I come. When I think of the Hunt, I think of the old noctis set in their ways and stuck living in a past that never worked for them or anyone. Like badges of honor, they wear the scars of being trapped inside the Shadowthorn no matter how long it's been since they were freed. They carry the weight of the soon-after noctis rebellion and the disdain the humans had for them in a time when they were as equally frightened and unsure of the future. They're a bitter, fearful, sordid lot that only ever talks about their prowess in battle and their plans for dominating the realm—with Tor Devonshire at the helm, of course.
But those congregated here, in our lounge, in our safe haven, they are of the newer breed.
We didn't choose this life. We were the bastard sons and unwanted daughters who were born into bloodshed. We know our nature, of course, but we are closer to our humanity than our elders ever can be again.
Whatever they endured in the Shadowthorn, it changed them for life, and what I endured as a small child changed me too. Sometimes I don't notice myself slipping into the darkness, the isolation. But Caz does. Just like I do when it happens to him. And when it comes, it's best to be in good company and not locked away in a room somewhere dwelling on the things that could've been and never will be.
I glance at Caz and send him a word of gratitude through the blood oath.
He nods and nothing more needs to be said between the two of us. Tonight isn’t about gloating. Tonight is about friends, family.
Before Rhain can launch into another drunken apology and waste what little time we have left of the evening, I grip his shoulder.
"All is forgiven, Rhain." Turning to Caz, I cock my head. "Now, you dragged me down here and I still don't have a drink."
"Oh, but don't you?"
Ursulette appears, somehow managing to hold four different glasses in her hands, and making it look effortless. She hands one to each of the boys, keeping the last for herself.
"To answer your question," she says to Rhain, hoisting her drink into the air by the thin stem. The red liquid dazzles in the firelight’s glow. "You'vebeen drinking shit wine that was likely made by the grotesque feet of peasants. Butthis—this is a new kind of drink. One fermented in oak barrels full of human hearts and veins and decadence."
My tongue pricks at the thought.
My mind, however, knows I should be repulsed. Normal humans would be. This is evolution though. This is our nature. That is the mantra that has guided us all through our guilt and to a place of self-acceptance, anyway. I’m not sure it applies to indulgences, such as wine, just like I’m not sure it applies to extravagant events like the Hunt.
But when my friends raise their glasses, I join them without showing my hesitation, anticipation heady in the air.
