Chapter 8
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Iris
“ D elores, we are lost.”
A little forlorn voice stops me in my tracks. Recognizing it, I round a corner into an alley to find that little blonde-haired girl I saw at the barbecue.
She’s sitting on a step, wearing a pretty blue dress that’s got big streaks of what looks like grease on it from some kind of engine—although what a kid would be doing around an engine is beyond me.
I should walk on. I shouldn’t be here, on this side of the city. I should be further up, toward where the boardwalk, the Townsquare, and the Council building on the Upper Side of Sabine.
But I had to get out. Facing the Monarch feels like too great a task, too much pressure, and my stomach is uneasy as it is.
I thought about taking a car to Violet and Stephan’s beach home, or even putting my toes in the sand by the boardwalk, but once I saw Mrs. Hyde chatting with Mrs. Jones in front of the corner market, I swung left before I could be spotted.
An Omega out alone, unchaperoned, during her Season? Unheard of. An Omega who is meant to be at the Council to meet the Monarch and her other Luxe-hopefuls but decided to run for it instead… Well, let’s just say I’d be a viral sensation on Stitch for the rest of my cursed life.
And as much as I don’t want to care about the Monarch and being this year’s Luxe Omega, bringing shame on my family is not something I want to do either.
So I hurried down the alley until the side streets started to twist and branch off into smaller ones. Soon, polished apartment buildings and artisan boutiques turned into crumbling facades and pot-hole ridden streets. Night clubs and seedy storefronts.
That’s where I’d found the girl, sitting on the stoop to a closed pawn shop with boarded up windows.
The little girl sniffs. “Oh, Delores,” she says, voice wobbly and breaking my heart. “What do we dos?”
She’s holding a threadbare, once bright soft toy owl, who I’m assuming is the Delores in question. She stamps her Mary Janes on the stone. “If we’re lost, we can’t eat. I’m hungry.”
The owl, of course, doesn’t answer, but she finally senses me standing there, and her head turns sharply up.
Those big eyes are the darkest of blue as they look at me, and her chin trembles.
“Look, it’s the pretty lady from the park.
” She turns the owl to me. “Delores wants to know if you’re lost, too. ”
What I am is on the edge of hiding.
But we’re both out of place here in this alley. The girl should be home, and I should be kissing Sophine’s feet. But here I am, and the little girl needs me.
As does your family.
I ignore the voice and squat down, careful not to ruin my dress in the dirty alley. I’ll do a lot of things, but ruining a dress I spent hours fixing up isn’t my jam.
“I’m not lost. I’m…exploring,” I say.
Her eyes light up. “I want to be an explorer.”
“You can be anything you want to be.”
Her nose crinkles, the almost-tears forgotten. Then she smiles.
“A space explorer pirate princess,” she says.
“Perfect.” I grin and hold out my hand. “I’m Iris.”
“Emmie. And this is Delores.” She shoves the owl at me and pushes the owl’s dilapidated hand into mine.
“Hello, Delores. Aren’t you wise and pretty? Almost as pretty and wise as Emmie here.” I look down. “Hello, Emmie.”
“You can hold Delores.”
I take Delores from her and make sure to be careful. This is clearly the girl’s favorite toy. Rue used to have a turtle she’d drag around until she was ten. Mr. Tiggles was his name, if I remember correctly.
The memory makes me smile. “Emmie, do you know where you live?”
She scoffs. “Of course I doos. So doos Delores. We live at the magical Black Briar. It’s a castle.” But then she frowns. “I don’t know where it is.”
“Well, how about you, me, and Delores find it?”
“It is gone.”
I smile. “Only because you haven’t found it yet. I’ll help. I’m good at finding magical castles.”
“You are?” she asks, gasping.
I nod. “I am.”
“Okay!”
I take her hand. “Why don’t you tell me all about it?” I ask as I pull out my phone and start typing in Black Briar into the search engine.
The Black Briar is tricky to find, but I follow the e-map on my phone. Emmie chatters the entire way.
By the time we draw near, I’ve learned a lot. Her favorite color—green. Her favorite food—chocolate ice cream, which is also Delores’s—the owl’s got good taste.
She tells me all about her daddies, too.
Daddies. Plural.
Emmie has two fathers.
Two gay men? Here? In Sabine?
I know there’s a gay community on the island, but like most things the Council doesn’t approve of, they stay hidden.
It’s not illegal, just…frowned upon, which is stupid, if you ask me.
I’ll never understand why the Monarch feels the need to poke her nose into other people’s personal lives. But that does seem to be her specialty.
Man, it must be lonely at the top of her perch.
Two gay men who own a bar and have a daughter? It’s so different and unlike anything you find on the Upper Side that I’m suddenly eager to meet them.
And what about the Delta woman I first saw her with? How does she fit into all this?
I’m intrigued.
We close in on the Black Briar bar, deep in the heart of the Lower Side.
The e-map’s a little convoluted, but Emmie seems to know where we are. At least the area, but it becomes clear the little girl is as confused by the unnamed cross streets, the way things twist and turn, as I am.
Emmie squeezes my hand and tugs me along a crooked street. There are more people out and about as the late afternoon closes in. Then she turns, crosses the street, and pulls me around a corner before stopping.
She looks at me and says, “What if we never find it?”
“We—”
“Emmie!” A man storms up and scoops her up into his arms. His too-dirty blond hair is a stylish mess on the top of his head, his eyes the same blue as Emmie’s.
He’s in a black tee and jeans, both darkened by water stains.
They’re the clothes of a man who works for a living, most likely in the bar we’ve been searching for.
There’s dark scruff on his jaw and upper lip, and a stud earring in his ear.
But it’s that darkness that clings to him, of a seedy underbelly that offers illicit good times, thrills, and charm—along with a broken heart.
Not that I know a thing about those things, but I read; I watch movies. What hits me the hardest is his scent. The sweet tang of blackberries and sun-kissed lemons filles my senses, making my head fog. No blockers? He can’t be wearing them. The scent’s too strong for him to be.
Is this something normal for the people living here?
Wearing their natural scents? But since blackberries are a natural fragrance, that answers my next question—he’s an Alpha.
Only Alphas and Omegas have scents that occur naturally.
And the way my heart’s beating rapidly tells me that the possibility of him being a male Omega is a firm no.
As he holds Emmie close, the muscles of his arms flex. I try not to stare. He’s tall, too. Like really tall. Maybe not as tall as my silent dance partner but almost.
He’s…sexy.
It’s somehow even sexier seeing him holding a little girl in a girly dress like she’s his most favorite thing in the world.
Like he’s her father.
Because I know the look.
Dad used to look at me that way, at my sisters. Like we were his little jewels.
But when this man’s gaze hits me, there’s nothing platonic about it. The look is a powerhouse of sexual energy, and I burn from its heat.
I want that look aimed at me always. Fuck…
Oh, that’s right—is he gay?
“This is Daddy!” Emmie hugs him and kisses his cheek. “I’m hungry, Daddy. Icy brought me home. She knows Delores. See?”
She points carelessly in my direction and then tries to get free like she’s sorted it all out. But he doesn’t release her.
“Emmie,” he says sternly.
“Daddy? I was good. See?”
“You ran off. Papa is looking for you. Freya, too. Maybe I should send you to bed hungry.” He gives her a stern look, even as his eyes sparkle. It’s clearly all for show. “What do you think?”
“Nooooo.” She laughs uproariously. “No, Daddy, you won’t. You never do.”
“God, you’re a menace, Emmie. You’re lucky I love you. Come on, I’ll make you something to eat.” He tosses her over his shoulder and starts to walk off, but then, as if remembering I’m standing there, he turns.
The look he gives me is like the sun coming out. It melts me down.
Which is crazy. I don’t even know him. I can’t be losing it over some hot man.
“Your name is Icy?” he asks.
“I-Iris,” I say.
He doesn’t introduce himself. “Come in. I’ll get you a drink.”
What I should say is no. What I should do is make excuses and race off, back to the Upper Side.
“That,” I say instead, “would be lovely.”
His gaze moves slowly over me, and there’s nothing safe about it. I’m struck by the notion that he can see into me, see how he’s making my heart throb, my inner thighs tense, and I shiver, like a whisper of air’s blown gently against my skin.
When I swallow, he smiles. It’s beguiling, seductive, and, of their own accord, my feet move when he does, making me follow him around that corner and down the street, just off the main road.
The Black Briar is at once non-descript and something compelling.
I don’t know how else to explain it. The name is in smooth black brushed-steel letters on the wall.
Not big, just there if you notice it. And the building, all two stories, is painted a sleek black.
There’s a glass window that takes up a part of the wall, but it’s frosted so the outside can’t see in.
I want to go in automatically because I’ve never in my pathetic life been inside such a grown-up establishment. Especially alone.
Quinn is gonna freak when I tell her about this.
My brother’s gonna bury me alive if he ever finds out.
I’ll just make sure that doesn’t happen.
We step inside. I expect gloom, messy floors, and sloppy drunk patrons, but it’s none of those things.
I blink at the low, soft glow of the lights that add warmth to the place.
Everything inside is made of dark polished wood and rustic metals.
At the far end is a massive bar that takes up most of the back wall, and behind it, a mirrored wall and shelves upon shelves of liquor.
Very masculine, very understated, very cool.
The man sets Emmie down, and she runs up, hugs my legs, and holds her hands up. I give her Delores. “Thank you for watching me and Delores, Icy. I love you.”
My chest warms. I never thought I’d miss my sister being young, but Emmie brings back those fond family memories I’ve long pushed to the back of my mind.
She careens off across the floor and out a back door.
“Should I card you or ask what your poison is?” the man asks as he walks to the back of the bar.
I’m about to say starshine, but he beats me to it.
“Don’t say starshine. Be creative.”
“Poison that won’t kill me.” Taking one of the stools in front of the counter, I try and think of something, but I don’t drink that much. What does Heath drink? “Scotch.”
I try and sound confident but fall short.
He raises a brow and that soft, well-shaped mouth turns up in a smile at one corner. “Scotch?”
“Yes.” I don’t even know if he drinks that. Maybe it’s whiskey. Or…something… “I love Scotch.”
He pours some and hands it to me. I breathe it in and almost choke.
It smells disgusting.
Boiled leather. Smoke. It’s gross. But I take a big swallow and cough, half spitting it back out.
The man’s there, laughing like a monster and patting my back. He takes the drink and presses water into my hand instead. I know it’s water because I smell nothing at all, just coolness against my hand, and I drink it down.
Definitely not my finest moment, but fuck it.
He leans against the bar, the smile quickly spreading into a grin. And even though I tell myself I don’t like him, my heart stammers and spins.
“That was mean.” I glare.
He comes in close, and his citrusy scent fogs my thoughts. He smells divine, like a warm summer day, and I want to swoon.
He leans in, his mouth hovering near mine. “You asked for it, Icy.”
“It’s Iris.”
He straightens, chucking, and stalks away from me. It’s only when I go to throw the glass at him that I realize he took it.
“I’m not in the mood to clean up broken glass, and you’re not really dressed for cleaning floors. Although…” He pauses. “I can think of some interesting things you can do on your knees in that dress.”
Heat engulfs me.
Okay, he’s definitely not gay.
“Like castration?” I ask.
“Touché.” He suddenly laughs and nods. “I’m Killian, by the way. And for a price, I can get you an actual good drink.”
“A price? I brought your kid home safe!”
“Or maybe,” he says, amusement threading through his voice, “you kidnapped her.”
“I’ll let you keep your balls. How about that for a prize?”
“Here.” He turns back the bar and leans over it, pours something into a low-ball glass. It’s dark until he adds some soda from the gun, and it turns magnificently magenta. He hands it to me. “Try this.”
I do and it’s delicious. I go to take a second sip when he moves right in, taking the glass, and brushing against me. Every single nerve ending is immediately alive and buzzing.
I can barely get air into my lungs.
“It’s time for payment.” His words are soft, and they unravel something in me. In this moment, I’m anything he wants me to be.
His mouth slides down my throat, and I arch my neck, giving him access, and when he closes his lips on my jugular and sucks, I think I lose my mind.