Chapter Three
Hale
I spend the next morning in full avoidance mode.
I stay locked in my hotel room, sketching and watching Court TV. Judge Judy is that bitch. And I am absolutely not avoiding the asshat in the room across the hall.
Around three in the afternoon, there’s a knock on my door that sounds exactly like We Will Rock You, and I know Eric has finally snapped after hours of unanswered texts.
He keeps it up for a full minute, belting out the lyrics in the hallway without a shred of shame or concern for innocent bystanders.
I’ve had enough. I yank the door open and scowl. “Can you shut up and come inside before Aks-hole opens his door to investigate who’s torturing a cat?”
Eric sashays past me, utterly unbothered. “Get ready.
We’ve got a lot to do tonight.”
“Like what?” I ask, eyeing him suspiciously.
“It’s a surprise, grumpy pants.” He flashes a coy grin. “Now hurry up and change out of those dirty clothes and into something appropriately grungy so we’re not late.”
“I wasn’t planning on leaving my room,” I mutter, but I still pull my AC/DC shirt over my head and swap it for a plain dark gray one.
Eric lifts a clean pair of jeans, gives them a polite sniff, then tosses them at me. “Oh, I know. Your schedule today is packed with avoidance.” He rolls his eyes. “We’re in Vegas. You need to let loose and get laid. That’s not happening if you keep hiding in here.”
Unfortunately, he has a point.
I jam my feet into my boots and sigh. “Fine. But I really don’t want to see you know who tonight.”
“Voldemort’s not even here,” Eric says breezily. “I saw him leave around lunch while I was flirting with the front desk clerk.”
I pause, running a hand through the disaster on my head. “Are you sure?”
“Oh my Gods,” he groans. Then, before I can stop him, he flings my door open, marches across the hall, and knocks loudly on Aksel’s door, shaking his ass to the rhythm he’s invented.
“See?” he says triumphantly, grabbing my hand. The door opens.
Aksel stands there, rumpled and sleepy, like he just rolled out of bed.
“Can I help you with something?” he asks. Damn it.
“Oh fuck,” Eric says.
He immediately turns puppy-dog eyes at me, mouthing sorry before pivoting back to Aksel.
“I thought you were out. Honest mistake. Sorry for disturbing you. I was just trying my best to convince this homebody over here to come out with me.” He punctuates the words with a jut of his thick hip and a dramatic thumb jab in my direction.
If my eyes rolled any harder, they’d detach and skitter down the hallway. “I thought you said he was out.”
“I said I saw him leave,” Eric corrects.
“I never said I waited around to see if he came back. The front desk clerk really wanted to show me their filing system. Who am I to turn down such impressive organizational skills?” He doesn’t look even remotely sorry for getting me into this situation because he wanted to get laid.
Aksel snorts, an unflattering, surprised sound, and Eric beams like he’s won an award. Sometimes I truly don’t know what to do with him. I love him, but also? I might kill him.
“Oh! Idea!” Eric lifts a finger like a cartoon nerd and gives Aksel a sly look. “We’re having a crazy night on the town. Wanna come with?”
Correction. I definitely want to murder him. With my bare hands.
“Crazy, huh?” Aksel says slowly, like he’s genuinely considering it. “I don’t know. I don’t want to make Hale even more mad than he already is at me.”
I choke on absolutely nothing, making a noise somewhere between a crow and a dying engine. Eric thumps my back far too hard as he answers for me. “You can’t make him madder than when you ‘stole’ the apprenticeship from him a million years ago.”
“Whose side are you on?” I mutter, shoving him away before he cracks a rib.
“Very true,” Aksel says, amusement lacing his voice. “Give me a second to throw on some shoes.”
Eric suddenly finds the framed art print on the wall fascinating. Probably easier than meeting the death glare I’m aiming his way.
Aksel’s back in under a minute, and we awkwardly migrate toward the elevator. For the world’s fastest elevator, it’s taking a painfully long time to arrive. Eric whistles a tune I don’t recognize. Aksel is dead silent. I contemplate faking my own death.
Finally, a loud ding announces the elevator’s arrival, and a bachelorette party spills out. A cloud of perfume follows them, and somehow Eric ends up wearing sunglasses and a pink feather boa.
I don’t ask.
A quick ride down, a pass by the massive fountain, and we’re out the front doors and into a cab. Eric claims the front seat immediately, chatting up the driver like they’re lifelong friends. Aksel sits quietly beside me while I do my very best to pretend he doesn’t exist.
The cab pulls up in front of a neon sign advertising
PIXIE STRIPPERS.
Eric kisses the driver on the cheek, slaps the sunglasses onto his face, and launches himself out of the car. Aksel and I follow at a much slower and significantly less enthusiastic pace.
A strip club?
A straight strip club?
A straight strip club filled with teeny-tiny pixies? Why the hell would Eric think this is a good idea?
It’s not even five o’clock yet. What could we possibly be doing here?
All of my questions are answered within five minutes of walking through the front door.
A massive screen dominates the back of the stage, and instead of a pole, there’s a pixie in full drag holding a microphone and hyping up a small but enthusiastic crowd. Splashed across the screen in glittery pink letters are the words:
Two hours and several buckets of beer later, we’re crowned the grand prize winners of Miss Sassy Sprite’s Trivia Night. She plops a cheap plastic crown on each of our heads while the crowd cheers like we just cured some obscure magical disease.
Shockingly, the intense trivia showdown does a decent job of breaking down the walls between me and Aksel. We aren’t friends by any stretch, but we’re… fine. Better than fine, even. Comfortable in a way I didn’t expect and absolutely didn’t prepare for.
The trivia crowd slowly thins out, replaced by beings far more interested in exposed skin than obscure magical anatomy. I’m still riding the high of answering what minotaur horn is made of. Keratin. Same as rhino horn. No idea why I know that, but it won us a round, so I’m not questioning it.
We’re rewarded with a bottle of vodka, which Eric immediately takes as an invitation to become the evening’s main attraction.
He’s on stage now, sharing said vodka with the pixie strippers while they work him out of his clothes to loud cheers from the mostly female crowd. He’s down to his jeans and feather boa when they shove him into a chair and swarm him like very enthusiastic glittery piranhas.
“How does that guy always manage to get all the girls?” Aksel asks.
He doesn’t sound annoyed. Just genuinely baffled.
“Eric has this… thing,” I say, watching as a pixie straddles Eric’s lap to pour vodka directly into his mouth. “I swear he’s a witch who casts love spells, but he insists he’s just a regular human beta. I think people can feel when someone’s genuinely good.”
Aksel hums thoughtfully.
“How did you guys meet?” he asks, casually, like he’s not poking at something sensitive.
“We met when I moved to Louisiana,” I say. “Lived together for a while.”
I keep it vague on purpose. He doesn’t need to know I was homeless. Doesn’t need to know Eric saved me from doing a lot worse than crashing on a stranger’s couch.
“Were you ever…” Aksel hesitates, words slurring just slightly. “Together? Like a couple?”
I laugh. Loudly. There’s probably a snort in there, too, but I’m choosing to ignore that. “No. Never. We’d kill each other.”
I take another sip of my drink. “He helped me through a couple of heats when I couldn’t afford suppressants, but that’s it. Strictly platonic.”
A low growl rumbles out of Aksel before he can stop it.
We both freeze.
He clears his throat, cheeks faintly pink. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to…”
I’m already grinning. His embarrassment makes a tiny dimple appear in his cheek, and before I can stop myself, I reach out and poke it with my finger.
“There it is,” I say lightly. “Still cute.”
His skin is even softer than it looks, no stubble at all, and his teal eyes are wide with shock, like he’s still bracing for me to slap him instead of touch him.
The realization hits me harder than I expect.
I’m tired. Tired of being angry at him. I know, logically, that none of what happened to me was his fault.
He was just the easiest place to dump all that rage when my life went to shit.
A convenient target. And now that the anger has burned itself out, all that’s left is this quiet, unsettling curiosity about the man who absorbed my wrath for years without ever really fighting back.
Aksel clears his throat, the sound pulling me out of my spiral. “I’m glad you found a friend like him,” he says softly. “He’s… pretty great.”
“Hey,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him in a faux glare. “Find your own best friend. That one’s mine.”
He laughs, and we both look back at Eric, who is currently giving a pixie a very enthusiastic lap dance in nothing but rubber ducky boxers. He looks completely unhinged. The pixie, however, is eating it up like this is the highlight of their week.
“Fine,” Aksel says with a chuckle. “You can have him.” He glances back at me, something warm and tentative in his expression. “I’ll settle for being your friend instead.”
The word friend lands hits me like a truck.