Page 39 of The Morning Star
“My child, too,” I snapped at him. “I might not be the best angel-parent, but I’ve kept him alive this long. Doriel isn’t going to hurt him. She’s here as my guest in my home. Demons take hospitality seriously, and Ancients take it even more seriously.” I hesitated to let that sink in a minute, and felt the muscles in Gregory’s arm relax. “Now you’ve got two choices. I need to take care of some urgent business that came up, and I don’t expect to be home until midnight at the earliest. You can go over there, make nice with Doriel, eat the hamburgers Nyalla is about to cook, and spend some quality time with your kid, or you can take him and go out somewhere for the day. Doriel will be gone by five. You’re free to come back then and wait for me to return.”
He scowled, looking over my head toward the pool.
“Glaring at her isn’t helping,” I scolded. “I need her on my side. If you were nice to her, maybe extended the olive branch a bit, then I’d really appreciate it. I mean really appreciate it. Blow jobs for a month, appreciate it.”
“I faced her in battle, I—”
“Two-and-a-half-million years ago,” I reminded him. “They lost. You banished them. She probably wants you dead too, right after she’s done crapping her pants over seeing you unexpectedly like this. I need you to be the strong one here, the mature one. I need you to at least try to mend this fence. Whether that’s just giving her a civil nod before flying away with Lux, or sitting down to eat lunch with her. Your choice.”
Gregory took a deep breath. “Blow jobs? For a month?”
I snorted. Like he’d ever take me up on that. We’d done a whole lot of naughty things together, but deep down he was still a bit of a prude when it came to embracing physical sensation. “Yep. For a month.” I held up my hand. “I vow it on all the souls I used to Own. I’ll even swallow.”
His lips twitched, then he bent down and kissed me. “I love you. That’s the only reason I’m going to eat a hamburger, let alone eat one with that disgusting creature next to me.”
I winced. “I love you too. Just…just don’t call her that to her face, okay?”
Gregory looked over my head toward the pool, scowling once more. “I’m not sure I love you quite that much, Cockroach.”
Chapter 12
DuNoir Valley, Wyoming was beautiful. It was also in the fucking middle of nowhere. It was a good thing I could teleport, otherwise I’d have to have done like Rutter and take a plane to Denver, then connect with a plane to Jackson, then rent a car and drive forever, up and down mountains, around curves, staring at the gorgeous scenery and wondering if I was going to get where I needed to be in my lifetime.
Luckily I didn’t have to do all that. Bam and there I was. Well, actually I was in some one-horse, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it town called Dubois. I figured if I was going to bust in on a bunch of Rambo women, I better do a little recon first.
And the best place to do recon was at a bar. I ducked into the first one I saw which had the promising name of Whisky Moose. Two of the most Wyoming things I could ever think of right in one establishment. Upon entering, I saw a huge moose head mounted over the bar, a wide selection of whisky, a bored, bearded man behind the bar and three portly, fifty-something guys who looked as though their asses may have been glued to the bar stools.
The first thing I discovered was that if you pronounced Dubois like the French word it was, you not only branded yourself as a tourist, but you might get yourself laughed out of the bar. I quickly covered for my misstep by buying all three people in the bar a round.
“Fishing, hunting, or hiking?” the bartender asked as he slapped some generic warm vodka in front of me. The place was named Whisky Moose, not Vodka Moose, clearly.
“None of the above. I want to surprise a friend of mine who is living here with a…a friend of hers. They have a place up in DuNoir Valley. She’s an Asian lady named Leethu. Very beautiful. Very sexy. The woman who owns the place is named Red Bird.” I snorted. “What a stupid fucking name, huh? I’ve got no idea what this Red Bird looks like. Have any of you guys met her?”
There was silence while the three men on the barstools eyed me up and drank their whisky.
“Those lesbians?” the one at the end asked. “You don’t wanna go surprising them. Might get yourself shot.”
“They’re not lesbians,” the bartender told me. “Some of ’em come in every now and then. Cooper said he slept with one of them. The blonde one.”
“How many are living there?” I tried not to grimace as I sipped the horrible vodka.
The guys-on-stools looked at each other. “Six?” the one closest to me guessed.
“No, I think there’s eight,” the middle one said.
“Hard to tell,” the guy at the end told me. “They come and go. I think only three or four live there full-time like.”
“One of them Leethu?” I asked.
The closest guy to me nodded. “There is an Asian woman there, and wow is she gorgeous. I mean smoking. I’d hit that in a hot second, but she’s with that redhead and I wouldn’t wanna mess with her.”
“Redhead is pretty hot too,” middle guy commented. “Wouldn’t mind hitting that. Or a threesome with her and that other one.”
“Redhead’s the lesbian,” the far guy said. “You’re not getting any of that. Think the Asian woman might be okay with mixing it up a little, but none of you is gonna get in that redhead’s pants.”
“I take it the redhead is this Red Bird?”
The bartender shrugged. “Don’t know her real name. That’s what the Asian woman calls her. They’re totally doing it. But you’re still getting shot if you go out there unannounced.”
