Page 156 of Love & Heart Braking

“Fine,” the man grunted. Stepping into the conversation, he rotated his head to the right, popping his collar. Why was he doing that?

I frowned, then trailed my gaze over his shoulder to find a blinking camera.

Shit.

He didn’t want to be seen. This guy wasn’t here to deliver a letter. Where was my tote bag? I had a couple of curse balls in there.

“Hold on,” I called. “I have a message for you to deliver after.”

“Not available for hire,” he called, closing the gap.

I sent the three cupids behind me a wide-eyed gaze, mouthing, “Watch out.”

The thing about my type? We were used to thinking everyone was out to drain us dry. The trio struck up a conversation, drifting over to the cocktail table.

I bend down to my tote.

“Look, lady—”

He was right behind me. I reached my bag and swung it in a circle, catching the descendant smack-bang across the face.

A growl echoed from him.

My eyes popped as I raced to put a table between us. “You’re a berserker!”

His eyes morphed from green to blue.

“I’m with Dev Vincori,” I blurted.

He advanced. “And I don’t give a fuck.”

But I’d seen the flicker in his gaze. “You know him. All the berserkers know each other.”

“So what? We all gotta do what we all gotta do.”

Mars alive. This guy wasn’t mucking around. I dug in my tote, latching onto the first thing in there. “What did the twelve tell you?”

The berserker’s gaze flickered again. “To bring you in.”

I gasped, hearing my shock echoed by the other cupids as he flipped the table between us, shattering it against the closest wall.

“I have a bond here,” I told him, pointing up over my shoulder. “And I’d like it back.”

The berserker looked, then growled when he realized he’d taken the bait and looked directly at the camera. I smirked, then promptly lost it when he picked up a candle holder and hurled it at the camera.

“Not the candle holders, please,” I told him. “We’ve used the same ones since opening this business.”

“Shut it,” he growled in a savage voice that told me his predator had more of a foothold.

I backed up. “Why are you doing this? Berserkers stick to themselves. What do the twelve have over you?”

In my tote, I adjusted my grip on the bottle.

The berserker flipped another table, swiping away the bar stools. “I can’t afford more Abitaverus for my kids.”

Oh. My expression softened. “I can understand that. There’s nothing scarier for your type. You never know when they may need it.”

“They need it all the time,” he snarled. “They’re getting worse. They need a constant supply.”

---