Page 45 of Wanted: Rogues and Bards

“From now on, I would advise not taking on items from certain heroes.” Fenric’s tone was pleasant but his smile was as sharp as the blade he’d just hidden away. “I’d hate for you to run into another true owner who is far less understanding than me.”

Calder nodded several times before clutching his box of goods to his chest and practically running out of the bar, knocking over a chair in the process.

One problem was done. Now to deal with the second.

Fenric shoved to his feet and moved one table over to drop into the empty chair across from Lirion. The pink-haired man flashed him a sexy smirk, as if he’d just known Fenric would come to him, but his eyes were still full of old anger.

“Why are you stalking me?” Fenric asked. No reason to beat around the bush. The first time in Cartwright’s house was unfortunate but forgivable. This was now the third time he’d stumbled across the guy. It was looking decidedly less coincidental.

“Stalking you?” Lirion choked out, as if the word had gotten caught in his throat. “I want nothing to do with you after that fiasco in the brothel. Do you have any idea how much you have hindered my plans and set me back?”

“It’s not my fault I’m constantly tripping over you!” Fenric shouted, but only because a scuffle had broken out near the bar. Crockery shattered. Ale splashed across the floor. And then there was the loud smack of flesh hitting flesh. Fenric sighed. This was why he would never, ever be a tavern owner. People were dumbasses.

“Trip…” Lirion stopped and jerked his head toward the fight for a second before looking back at Fen. “Tripping over me? You’re—” His mouth twitched and his eyes briefly darted in the direction of the fight. “You’re the one who is obsessed with me.”

“Obsessed?!” Fenric hissed, sitting forward in his seat to the point he was nearly leaning across the table. “You kissed me!”

A loud roar echoed through the bar, and Fenric groaned, rolling his eyes at the heavens for blessing him with a stubborn, short-tempered barbarian. Belstrom had clearly joined the fray. Some idiot must have pissed him off and the barbarian was determined to teach them all a lesson with his fists. This was why they couldn’t go anywhere.

The thing about Lirion’s nature was that any powerful emotion could get him wound up very quickly. Normally a good thing, he used it to his advantage when it came to sex, fighting, and life in general.

But when the emotion happened to be anger and an active bar fight was going on, then it wasn’t a good thing.

Lirion dodged a tankard as it flew past his head, close enough he felt the whoosh of displaced air as it nearly grazed his cheek. Even as he ducked, his eyes watched for the next random item to come flying in his direction, be that either fists or another mug.

Still, the press of the surrounding people, their emotions heightened, became a battering ram against his own senses. He didn’t have to even brush up against someone to feel the strong anger anger anger mixed in with pain.

Lirion had to get out of here before he got too tangled up with this—or hurt, of course—but the emotions were clouding his judgment. His skin felt too tight on his body and nerve endings tingled. It was as if his entire body was becoming charged, like the air seconds before a lightning strike. Everything was overloaded and he couldn’t pull together a single clear thought. He was too sensitive; every brush of their energy felt like a slap to the face.

There… There was the door. A tangled of limbs, fists, and anger blocked him from reaching it, but Lirion had to get through that open door somehow. He was still vaguely aware of Fenric sitting across from him at the back of the tavern, but he wasn’t even sure if the other man was still talking. Lirion needed to escape.

Anger.

Anger.

FEAR FEAR FEAR.

Lirion flinched from that one in particular and felt his already amped-up emotions do a double war beat against his chest. He breathed in short, harsh breaths, felt his heartbeat skitter as an all too familiar zing of anticipation and adrenaline rushed through him.

He shoved to his feet, swaying and unsteady. Each step felt like he was slogging through a swamp. Too many bodies. Too much sweaty flesh, the scent of fear and excitement mixing in his nose.

Shit, no. He didn’t want to feel like this here, of all places. Lirion wished soggy bread and impotence upon all the assholes who had started this fight.

He ducked another arm, slid through a tight opening when he saw one, and kept pushing for the door.

Must get out.

Had to leave. Had to leave right now.

It honestly felt like he was dizzy with a heatstroke by the time he put a hand on the doorknob, he was so high from the emotions. His face felt unnaturally flushed, like a fever under his skin, and the entire world was fuzzy around the edges. The cool metal of the knob was a relief to him, and he almost wanted to just stand there and hold on to it for a while, but no. Instead, he wrenched the door open and threw himself out of the chaos, then made it several steps along the porch, away from the door entirely. The bright summer sun was searing, and he wished for the blessed coolness of dark night.

Fetching up against a post, he stood there and breathed in harsh pants, trying to get his racing heart back under control. It wasn’t working. Even being away from all of that madness inside wasn’t enough. He was too turned on now, pushed far past his limit.

He needed sex.

Rough, hard, angry sex to purge this need out of his blood.

A hand landed on his shoulder, not hard but heavy. “Hey, you doing all right?”