Primal Pursuit

Declan is having his dick sucked while one of the girls massages his shoulders as he feeds on one of her breasts, and the others?—

Well.

It’s pretty fucking wild, and I’d probably be more interested if I didn’t have my upcoming trip.

I turn from the scene and look at Caelian, the other Del Rossa brother, doing something on his phone like the place isn’t full of fuckery. Since his older twin brothers are now married and pussy whipped, Caelian is here more often, keeping an eye out.

He liftshis head. “How’s your problem?”

“Problematic. But nothing I can’t handle.”

He nods. “We have some shit coming up after this. Things we need. Fowler related. Someone thinks our neutrality is weakness and upstarts need to be squashed.”

“I can do that today.”

But he shakes his head. “Fuck, no. We wanna see how it plays out first.”

“Get all the fuckers in one swoop?”

“Something like that,” he mutters. “Alexius would prefer you take care of your problem before then.”

Honestly, I don’t know if he wants me to kill her, make her disappear, or just smooth things out—somehow.

I get up because I need to get the fuck out of Myth. My rabbit is too embedded in my mind for me to enjoy the delights on offer, both physically and visually.

Not that I’ve told anyone here, and not that it’s anyone’s fucking business, but the closest physical contact I’ve had with anyone since Rabbit hopped into my life was when Candy tried to kiss me. And the most thrilling takeaway there was Rabbit shoving the shit out of her.

It seems my little rabbit has left me feeling…satisfied—when it comes to others, that is. She’s invaded my senses, fulfils every want I’ve had in a while and then some.

She’s intruded upon the darkest corners of my being. And I love every fucking moment of it.

It’s a quiet night, and I head home, but I’m packed—I’m not taking much, but I check over everything and head into the city.

Of course, I find myself at a bar near where Rabbit’s working. The hits over the pond need to be clean, and the trickiest is Alexius’ Scottish request. Not because I’m not into torture. It’s the logistics, the clean-up, the disappearing and making sure all the cogs turn just right.

I know people I can hire, but since this is a request from the king, I’m doing it myself.

In one corner, some innocuous piano music attempts to jazz up old hits, but in a lukewarm fashion.

Who the fuck comes here, anyway?

I shake my head and continue mapping out my plan of assault. The only way to do this without them picking up who’ll be next—except the prick in Scotland—is for it to be essentially a game of pick-up sticks. Throw down and choose at random. No pattern, no way for them to know. And if I do it right, I’ll be able to pick them off without them knowing. Until the last one. I want him to know. Have that fear be foreplay to torture.

My phone lights up and buzzes, but it’s not Rabbit. It’s not her style. She waits for me. Mostly.

Right now, she’ll be dragging her sweet ass through work, unable to stop obsessing over the tattoo that she’s going to be feeling every fucking second while it takes hold and heals. She already has some on her neck, which is a pretty sensitive place to have them, so she’ll know how to care for it. But obsessing over the tattoo is obsessing over me, and I want that.

The idea of her struggle with every damn contradictory emotion is so fucking hot I actually start to get a boner as I sit at the bar.

I read the message. It’s Tobias asking me where I am.

“Another,” I say to the bartender, and with a sigh, I respond to Tobias’ message.

After about half an hour and another drink, the good priest shows up. The fucker’s in black—a good look for him, which is handy—including his collar. His hair’s wet, and more than one woman gives him a glance, then they see the collar and sigh. I’m betting there’s more than one thinking of seducing a priest.

“What the fuck are you in this place for, Davian?”

“That’ll be a host of Hail Marys and a request for forgiveness from your Lord.”