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With drinks in hand, Rune weaves through the tables and chairs and other patrons. I don’t realize I’ve fallen behind until a strong grip on my wrist pulls me to a stop.
“You looking for a good time?” The vampire asks, trying to pull me down to sit with him on the couch he occupies. “C’mon baby, sit down and join me for a drink.”
My heart thunders in my chest when I can’t get out of his hold, but in the next second, Rune is there. “She’s with me, Quincy. Unless you want to snack on your own teeth, I suggest you back the hell off.”
“It’s not very nice to keep such an exquisite thing to yourself, Rune. At least give me a taste—just a sample.” The vampire bends his head toward my wrist still caught in his grasp and Rune growls, his eyes flicking to a murderous red.
“I’ve got this,” I tell him, passing him my drink before turning my gaze back to the stranger.
“You want a taste of me?” I taunt, leaning down and placing a palm against the vampire’s chest.
Rune stiffens behind me but doesn’t interfere.
I send him a blast of the same sun spell I hit Sebastian with last week straight through my arm to where he’s holding me.
Quincy sneers at me, pushing to his feet, and advancing on me with his full size. “You little bitch.”
The murderous growl that rumbles through my chest like a bass drum makes me feel protected and sends a warm pool of heat to my core. “Get the fuck out of here before I really lose my temper, Quincy. And if you don’t want me tracking you down later to give you a piece of my mind, you’d be smart to settle up my tab before you go.”
Quincy narrows his gaze, but doesn’t argue.
Smarter than he looks.
“And remember me the next time you think about being a creep and grabbing a woman without invitation,” I add.
With a snarl of fangs, Quincy retreats to the bar, still holding his injured arm.
When the vampire is gone, Rune sinks into the now-vacant seat. “I’m gonna have to keep a closer eye on you.” He hands back my drink as I sit next to him on the bench seat.
“I think I displayed how capable I am of taking care of myself.”
“Maybe. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have the urge to secure you in a bubble to make sure nothing ever hurts you.”
The sentiment is both kind and terrifying. The thought of being locked up for the rest of my life has been at the forefront of my mind for the last few weeks, as I realize the growing likelihood of that.
After a moment, he sends me a coy smile. “How about you and I take off and hide somewhere no one will find us?”
“Where?”
He shrugs. “Pick a place.”
“I think the top of my list is the Emerald Isle. It’s supposed to be stunningly beautiful.”
He blinks. “You’ve never been to Ireland? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Nope.”
“But it’s only a three-hour train ride from Leeds.”
“I know.”
“And yet you’ve never gone.”
I shrug. “I felt stuck, I guess. Both by my responsibility to my grandmother and my anxiety. Believe it or not, the fact that I came to New Orleans at all is the most adventurous thing I’ve ever done.”
“You really haven’t lived much.”
That’s an understatement.
