Page 58 of Marked
She snorts. “He’ll show up. It’s one of the main reasons I drove you here, honey. Let him worry about where you went and with who. He’ll turn up. Now, get that pretty tail back to work.”
Chuckling, I finish prepping the bar and grab my rag to wipe down the tables. On the illuminated dais across from me, Aberoth the Great, also known as Larry ‘The Druid’ sets up his cases and does a sound check for tonight.
It’s quiet in the blood-red lounge but for the Druid’s voice and the occasional microphone shriek. Raina keeps up her own steady banter as she makes calls to suppliers and a missing cook for tonight.
I polish the tables and right the chairs. Just idly straightening here and there. I bend down to pick up a small leaf from the carpet when a low whistle sounds. “Look at that ...glass.”
I look up and turn around.
Larry shoves his hand over the mouth of one of his—honest to god—shrunken heads. He glares at it. “Simon. Stop.”
The little head wriggles free, and my eyes go wide. It bounces on the case top and seems to wobble a bit in place. Tufts of crinkly dark hair stick up at odd angles from its scalp, and faded black thread rests at the corners of its emaciated mouth. “I was remarking on her cleaning ability. What wereyouthinking about?”
I laugh as Larry’s freckled face flames. It makes his short ginger hair even brighter and the clash is terrible. But he’s cute, in a boy next door way.
“Sorry,” he calls to me. “You would think two hundred years would give these guys better manners.”
Still smiling, I approach the stage. “So … aretheyreally talking?” Druids are not super common in the states, but their power is legendary.
Simon huffs. “Of course we can talk.”
Larry rolls his eyes. “But do they say anything? No, not really,” he says behind his hand to me.
“I heard that,” Simon calls.
Larry and I dissolve into laughter, and the cases all along the stage rattle and move. Simon continues his snide repertoire as Larry climbs down to stand next to me.
“That was incredible,” I say, and mean it.
He beams, highlighting the freckles scattered over his cheeks. “Thank you.”
“How did you find so many willing acts?”
He chuckles, and runs a hand through his copper hair, pushing the styled strands back. “Not sure if you can call them willing, per se. Honestly, most of them have been in the family for years. Simon ... I found him in the Middle East when I spent a few years abroad. He wanted out of the box the shopkeeper had him in, and I wanted a comedy act.”
I fold my arms and lean back against the stage. “Comedy genius in the making,” I tease.
His eyes glance my way as he shuffles a little closer. One warm arm brushes mine. “I know you’re working tonight, but if you get a chance, I’d love for you to watch us perform. You have a great laugh.”
My face heats. “Thank you, but–”
“But she will be busy.” Ruin’s voice cuts through my words with a hint of finality. I turn to find him in ultra-tight black jeans, the shirt I wore to bed, and his thick leather cuffs over his wrists. It’s badass, young, and so masculine it makes it hard to breathe.
Or maybe it’s the heat his presence creates.
Larry straightens next to me, gaze going from the vampire to myself and back. “Hey, Ruin.”
Ruin nods. “Lawrence.”
I peer at the druid under my lashes. “Lawrence?” I tease.
“Shut it,” he quips, but the smile is still in place.
I snicker. “No wonder you go by Aberoth.”
He elbows me gently and I giggle. “Smart ass.”
Ruin coughs.
