Page 13 of The Satyr's Guilt
Galena opened the rolling door into thegarage hiding the portal. “I’ve got you.” She looped her armthrough Denim’s, touching her D-chip. They disappeared.
Chapter Four
Scath, Present Day
Ram was nursing a Black Bush at the BloodShed, the Firebrands’ favorite hangout.
Tyr strutted alongside. As usual, thewarlock was all jeweled up and dressed in bike leathers. A keydangled from one ear, a hoop from the other. A silver bar piercedhis brow while a metal collar ringed his neck and a crapload ofshiny shit circled his wrists. A sickle tat sat under his eye. Atwell over six feet, he was a seriously disturbed Firebrand.
When the bartender shuffled over, Tyrordered what Ram was drinking. He fisted his two fingers of BlackBush, gulped the whiskey, slammed the glass on the bar, andsignaled for another hit. “Hell of a week.”
Ram requested a second. “Yeah? You think?Were you nearly hellhound chum? Because if not, shut the fuckup.”
“Hellhounds? On the real?”
“Affirmative.”
“Cool. Nothing so exciting for me, but Kolepulled me in to lend an assist to Commander Nace in North Shelters.I’m assigned to work with the elusive but psycho vampire Dax. Seemsdrugs are running wild in the shifter region. When there’s aserious problem, who do they call?” Tyr tapped his chest. “Yep. Me.Super warlock.”
“Gotta be more talented mages out theresomewhere.”
“Kiss my glutes.” Slugging back his drink,he pounded it on the counter while he waited for another.Fortunately, most alcohol had little effect on Aeternals.
Brak, an Abrams battle tank, pulled up onthe other side, elbow-jabbing Ram’s ribs.
The huge carnal demon caught the barkeep’sattention.
“What’ll it be?” The guy refilled Tyr’sglass while asking.
Brak eyed the libations in front of hisfrerons. “Black Bush. Sissy drink. Give me some Macallan.The really old stuff.”
“You hit a jackpot?” asked Tyr. “That shitcosts.”
Brak was silent until the bartender servedhim. He raised the tumbler, took a pull, and shook his head,licking his lips. “Now there’s a drink.”
Finally answering the question, he said,“Nope. Just decided to go top shelf. I’m carving out my niche. Imean, look at our guy Ram here.” He waved his hand in theFirebrand’s direction. “His threads are slick, but I’m stickingwith my leathers. It’s not like I’m ever gonna be a pretty boy.” Heleaned around Ram to take in the warlock. “You’ve got the marketcovered on perverted Goth. Dax has scary locked down tight. Rein isa strong, silent, wicked powerful iceberg. Kole has the whole firething going for him. My trademark is gonna be top-shelfmerchandise. Only the softest, most expensive leathers. Weaponsmade by craftsmen. Pricey Scotch. A fast, sleek car. Got my peepson a special baby.”
Ram pivoted to survey the room, his back tothe bar. He listened to Brak’s rant while he glanced around for alittle in-and-out action. He was acquainted with most of thefemales giving him come-on winks as they strutted by his spot.Hell. He’d been inside most of them. A satyr needed arousalto feed, but tonight the whole sexual stimulation routine seemedstagnant. He needed to get in the game.
A grin tweaked his lips when a female whosename he couldn’t remember sidled alongside and squeezed between Tyrand him. She locked arms and grabbed a fistful of his hair. When hewas level, she smacked him with a kiss. He let her. She was okay.After all, a nymph was a nymph. His eyes shone green as he fed fromher.
An appetizer.
Next thing, Amylyn, a witch he’d screwed afew times, hauled up on the other side. Her fingers strolled acrosshis chest.
What’s a hungry satyr to do?
Her lips were kissable. She was available.He bent his head to lock onto her mouth, his tongue workinghard.
Maybe Amylyn and What’s-her-name would beokay with a threesome. That would really feed his hungry satyr.
****
Denim had been watching thegorgeous man at the bar. He was at least six and a half feet ofuntamed power with caramel-streaked hair flowing down his back likea waterfall. Her gaze traveled across his broad shoulders, anglingto his trim waist. She ogled the tan dress slacks molding to hisdeliciously taut buttocks.
Two menacing Aeternals had walked in tobookend the gorgeous guy. Any other time, they might have ranked asstars in an erotic dream, but tonight she reserved her fantasiesfor the sexy dreamsicle.
On one side of the hottie, a man clad inHell’s Angels duds and sporting spiked black hair chatted him up. Abehemoth who weighed in at nearly three hundred pounds of puremuscle in a tall package had parked on his left.
