Most of my past bosses would have just sheared off something vital. Slade was a fascinating combination of snide commentary, brute force, and calculated action.
It was effective. The fight seemed to drain out of the owner. The fact his face was now blue from lack of oxygen might have had something to do with it.
“Am I clear?” Slade inquired.
The male tried to nod. He certainly couldn’t speak. Slade dropped him, and he hit the chair so hard it rocketed into the wall.
Slade stood over his slumped form. “To make up for currency you scammed off us, I am collecting your oldest daughter. Got a whorehouse that is looking for a barmaid. She will work there for the next year.”
The faintest spark of outrage fired in the owner’s eyes. “She is due to wed in a month. A profitable match.”
Slade shrugged. “Should’ve thought of that before you cheated Victor. She will be returned to you at the end of the year.” He pushed his face closer, and huge fangs dropped from his upper jaw. “Ifyou behave.”
The male shrank from him, but still managed an outraged, “He won’t want her after that!”
“Not my problem,” my new boss pointed out. “You have two other daughters. I have more whorehouses—and they aren’t all looking for help at the bar…”
The owner lowered his eyes. He was beaten, and he knew it.
Slade strode to a cabinet on the wall. It was locked, but he inserted a claw and broke the hasp. The door swung open to reveal neat rows of racks. The vials housed within them were filled with a pink fluid.
Slade selected a handful of vials and turned away, tossing one to each of us. “Spread the love,” he ordered, and we followed him back out.
The rest of his men awaited us in the street outside. The vials were received with enthusiasm as Slade picked up his cloak, shook it off, and backtracked, heading for thecasa de puntaswe’d so recently tuned up.
I handed my vial off to the Dire walking closest to me.
“Don’t you want any?” he asked.
I was suddenly hyperaware of Slade, who strode along just in front of us. And my memory replayed something useful—he hadn’t kept a vial, either.
“Don’t need it,” I stated.
The Dire barked a laugh. “What, your superpower is a six-hour hard-on?”
Sixhours? “You’ll wear the skin right off.”
He laughed. “Rapid recuperation is my gig. Of course, you ain’t a shifter.” He popped the lid off the vial.
My attention was on Slade, and as a result, I only saw the Dire through my peripheral vision as he dumped it onto his palm. And I didn’t see it at all when he jerked his hand toward me?—
Nemi offered a warning chirp, but she was too late—the Dire poured the last of it onto my bare arm where it extended past my cloak.
His eyes gleamed gold as I slammed him up against a building wall. The hummingbird hovered near his face, scolding him.
“I fucking told you I wasn’t interested,” I said through clenched teeth.
“Hey, it’ll help you loosen up,” the Dire squeaked. “It’s not a big deal. Back off.”
I glared at him, but it hadn’t been much. Perhaps it would just give me interesting dreams.
“You’re lucky you still have a dick to dip,” I snarled, and released him.
Casting me a sour look, he drifted to the outskirts of our group. I’d taken four strides to catch up with Slade when I found out why Poletuber juice was so revered.
Between one breath and the next, a pulse of pure heat swept through me. And in that instant, I was so painfully horned up I could barely walk.
By the staggering gait of the mercs around me, I wasn’t alone. Slade just cast me a glance from beneath lowered lids. I thought one corner of his lips curled up.
