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“Well, maybe I wouldn’t be causing so much trouble if I had a job. Did you ever think of that?”
Jasper sighed loudly, and Vivian shot Fey a victorious smile.
Setting her bag down on the bar, Vivian hopped up onto the stool next to Fey. Her feet didn’t quite reach the floor.
“What’re you drinking?” she asked, looking at the glass in Fey’s hand and cocking her head.
“A Shirley Temple,” Fey lied, taking a sip and shooting Jasper a glance, daring him to correct her.
Vivian leaned forward and sniffed the air. She scrunched up her nose. “Doesn’t smell like a Shirley Temple to me… smells like alcohol… and the stuff Uncle Jas uses to clean the windows.”
“It is alcohol, which is why you shouldn’t be here, Viv,” Jasper started. “Grab your bag. I’m taking you home.”
“Please, Jas,” Vivian pleaded. “Just let me talk to Alastair. I know he’ll understand. I don’t have to serve drinks or anything. I can just… clean up, or help Mara at the door. Or maybe even help Ferus beat people up. I know I’d be good at it. I’m so much stronger than the other Wolves my age. Please.”
Jasper opened his mouth to argue again, but before he could, another voice cut through the quiet of the bar. A voice that sent a delicious tendril of heat through Fey’s body.
“Well, hello Vivian,” Alastair said in a voice dark as midnight. He came down the stairs from the upper level of the club slowly, hands in his pockets. Fey turned to watch him. He moved like a predator, full of coiled energy and menace. It was a joy to watch him move. “It’s always such a fun surprise when my bouncers let a child into my club.”
Alastair wore his usual work attire—a black suit and tie—though the tie hung open and unknotted at his collar, like he’d dressed in a hurry. Fey would have bet all the gold in their bank that the sun had just set seconds ago, and Alastair had used every bit of his preternatural speed to rush to see her.
“I’m not a child,” Vivian insisted. “And I’m here for a job, so it’s not like I snuck in to get drunk or anything. I just want to help clean up or run security. I promise I’d do a good job.”
“I can’t hire minors,” Alastair explained, reaching the bottom of the stairs and crossing the empty dance floor toward them. “Even ifthey are just cleaning.” He glanced away from her, eyes locking on Fey’s. Hunger danced in those golden eyes.
Vivian pouted.
“Come back when you’re eighteen, and then we can talk about a job,” Alastair told Vivian, a clear dismissal.
He came to a stop next to Fey, standing so close she could feel the heat from his body. Smiling down at her, he reached up to run a finger down her cheek.
It was such a small thing, such a tiny gesture. And it shouldn’t provoke such a reaction. Still… Fey’s eyes fluttered shut as his finger traced down her skin, leaning into that touch. It was automatic, this reaction to him.
“Hello, Witchling,” Alastair greeted her. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”
Chapter 6
ALASTAIR
He’d felt her the moment he’d woken up. The instant the sun had gone down and his eyes had opened for the night, he knew she was nearby. It was like waking up in a lightning storm. Like waking up to a tornado in your home.
Fey.
His Witchling was here.
Alastair hadn’t bothered with showering. Hell, he hadn’t even bothered to dress properly. Her presence pulled him to her like a vortex, and he was oh so happy to be pulled under.
“I’m so glad to see you,” he told her, voice husky. He touched her cheek softly, brushing his fingers lightly over her pale skin. He couldn’t stop himself from touching her whenever she was around. He was addicted to the feel of her skin.
Goddess, she was beautiful.Fey’s eyes slid closed, and when she leaned into his hand, it took all of his admittedly limited self-control not to prop her up on the bar and take her right then. To show her how he really wanted to touch her…
“Why do I have to wait until I’m eighteen? That’s a stupid fucking rule,” Vivian was saying, crossing her arms and glaring at them.
He’d almost forgotten they were there. Alastair managed to break his attention away from Fey, and look to Jasper instead, raising an eyebrow.
“Language,” Jasper scolded Vivian, and she glared at him instead.
“What?” she asked. “You say it all the time, Uncle Jas. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck.”
