Page 38 of The Satyr's Guilt
So many balls to keep in the air. Cerberuswas confident in his ability to be the best juggler in the threerealms.
Dante leaned forward in the chair beside thefire to flick an ash from his cigar. “How are your two guests? Jaceand Celene?”
“They are being taken care of nicely. Theystaged a hunger strike, but Lort, my new general, handled it. Ihave added a few more Blood Coven descendants to their small group.Since they can be difficult to manage, I keep them separate.” Hemuffled a laugh.
Cerberus swished Scotch in the tumbler,sniffed the golden liquid, and took a sip. “Delicious.” He glancedat Dante, wishing his need of the human was over. But it was whatit was. For now. “The Ministry of Well Being is buzzing. My sensestell me it has to do with descendants.”
“The hunt persists, though. My man, Mars,continues to monitor medical records, finding potential candidatesfor you to check out.”
“Thank you. We test their blood as you findthem, bringing only verified descendants to Scath, where they areprotected in lavish surroundings until I need them.”
“How many of the twenty or so identified byMars have panned out?”
“Several in addition to Jace and Celene.”Cerberus did not intend to share the exact number. He emptied histumbler and rose from the comfortable chair. Despite his smile, hewas eager to return to Scath. Being among so many inferior humansweighed heavily on his mind. Bugs. No better than the billions ofinsects which crawled, flew, or swam in this realm. His glory wasapproaching. He could taste it as vividly as the Scotch. Perhaps,this self-important human would be one of the first to feed him.After his money was used, of course.
****
Denim’s gaze shifted to theentrance as energy sizzled through the Blood Shed. A hand pushedopen the exterior door. Owning the room, a male strode into theFirebrands’ favorite hangout, his thick forearms exposed by therolled-up sleeves of his black silk shirt. His face, a Greek god’schiseled in marble, forced every woman to lick her lips. His paleeyes scanned the crowd like a big cat seeking its prey. With sleekgrace and power, he muscled through the mob who scurried out of hispath when they sensed danger. Caramel-streaked hair caressed hisshoulders as he pitched from side to side, stalking toward thebar.
He was dressed for attention in designerpants, shirt, shoes. The satyr was the total package. Sharpdresser. Killer smile. Lethal build.
When he reached his destination, womensighed but returned to their own business. Resting his elbows onthe bar, he leaned forward. Once the bartender shoved a drink intohis hand, he pivoted around as he had the first night Denim methim. A spectacular grin crawled across his lips when he caught herstare.
The DJ was playing Macklemore’s“Firebreather.” The words “Do you know who I am?” blasted out whilethe satyr scrutinized her. He was her kryptonite, her AchillesHeel, the chink in her armor. She could go on and on, but no matterhow she fought it, her knees turned to Jell-O. Even though he was amisogynistic, egocentric A-hole with a huge need to protect herwhen she didn’t want to be caged.
Denim dropped her gaze, the heat from hisfixed stare too much.
He shoved off, heading her way while noddingat the DJ. The music changed from the heavy-beat rap to somethingslow and sexy.
Nods, heys, and pats on the shoulder fromhis Firebrandfreronsmet him at the table.
With greetings out of the way, Ram set downhis drink. Unexpectedly, he reached out a hand to Denim.
She studied it.
“It’s an apology.” Ram waited, hisexpression irritating, confident.
She intended to refuse, but her heartpounded faster than the music. Louder, too. Finally, her fingerspossessed a mind of their own. She slipped her palm into his. Hersofter flesh contacted his calloused skin, formed from a lifetimeof holding weapons, she guessed.
He pulled her to the dance floor and whatshe suspected was disaster.
“‘Let’s Get It On’ by Marvin Gaye?” Denimtook a little skip in her too-high heels to keep up with his longstrides.
“A male can dream, can’t he?” His voice wasa husky whisper, heard above the din of voices.
“It’s not very subtle.”
“Hmm. Subtlety has never been my strength.You won’t mind if I lead, will you?” His arm wrapped around herwaist.
“Not at all. As long as you don’t mind if Istep on your toes,cher.” While Denim tried to keep hervoice honeyed, dripping with sex, her words came out in a throatyrasp.
On the dance floor, Ram spiraled her around,rested her back against his chest. He began a sultry sway with hiships rolling from side to side. His arms circled her waist. Slowly,one hand rose to cradle her breasts while the other dropped tocaress her stomach. She was locked firmly against all his sensuouspower.
Her head drifted to settle just below hisshoulder. He was a solid pillow of hard muscle, making her feelpetite, desirable. Denim inhaled and exhaled to the rhythm of theirmovement. She was intoxicated, but it wasn’t from the single beershe’d finished.
He twirled her. In his arms again, they werebreast to chest. His palm glided to her lower back. When shestretched out her right hand to take his, he clasped it, kissingher knuckles. He brought it to rest against his heart.
Denim sighed, the warmth from his touchseeping into her bones.
