Erik (Sons of Ymre #1)

Chapter 1

Bad Date

It was the last bad date she would ever have, but Liv Stellack didn’t know it at the time. If she had, she probably wouldn’t have allowed it to go on so long.

Or she might have decided to stick with it, considering the afterparty.

As it was, though, the guy had a strike against him the moment they sat down and he sent the hostess off for drinks. It was a Friday just after Thanksgiving and Liv had left the office early, but she was already wishing she’d stayed home.

“I prefer to order for myself,” she said, gazing levelly over her menu. “And I don’t like white wine.”

The Hobson was downtown, its restaurant on the ground floor heavy with leather booths, expensive light fixtures, and whiskey tastings on the weekends.

It had sounded like a great idea except for the cigar bar, but that section was well behind glass double doors and only the faintest tinge of smoke crept into the dining area.

“Really?” Neal—his last name was forgettable, but at least he’d put it in his online handle instead of choosing something stupid—gave her what he probably thought was a very charming grin.

Nice shoulders, good suit, his dark hair a little long on the top and mussed artistically just the slightest bit, he ticked all the boxes.

He’d held the front door for her too, that preferred first move of chauvinists and gentlemen the world over.

Even his chat game was on point—they’d texted, pretty agreeably, for about a week now. “I thought all girls liked white wine.”

“Not this one.” She attempted a smile, deciding she’d give him one last chance.

Maybe he was just nervous; even an attorney used to verbal sparring could be tongue-tied or anxiety-rude outside the courtroom.

“What are you having?” Maybe if she got him distracted about his own decisions he’d leave her alone to make hers.

“Steak. You want the farmer’s salad; it’s good for you.”

I’d prefer the lemon chicken, thanks. She leaned back in her chair, examining him. Well, he’d seemed nice over chat, but you could never tell until they got right in front of you. “I said I’d order for myself, Neal.”

“Women’s lib.” He grinned, showing expensively capped teeth probably whitened once or twice a year. “Speaking of which, I’m glad you didn’t dress up. You don’t need it.”

Well, this particular grey frock had a decent neckline and long sleeves to keep her from freezing to death; that was the same reason she’d worn tights and her beloved grey pashmina. She’d even put her hair up to balance out the rest of the ensemble.

The words even stung for a bare moment before she realized the technique—the bastard was negging her, for God’s sake.

As if she didn’t get enough of that at work. “Thanks.” She decided a taste of semi-insult could be good for the gander, too. “I’m glad you didn’t dress up either. We can be slobs together.”

His jaw loosened; he stared at her over the table for a few moments, blue eyes narrowed. A woman under thirty might have mistaken that look for interest. “Uh. Yeah, I guess.”

Well, now she knew. Liv was batting zero once more.

You have to try, at least, her friends said.

She’d agreed, grudgingly, once Mika pointed out a four-year dry spell after the man who had been Liv’s college steady took a surprise solo vacation to Cancun and popped the question to someone else entirely was long enough.

She’d gone along with the great roulette spin of online dating because her buddies meant well, especially Mika. But her bestie was a perpetual optimist even when it came to men. Usually it balanced out Liv’s caution nicely.

When it misfired, though, the event was a doozy.

The whole thing was depressing, but not nearly as bad as actually dating this guy would be—and now she was old enough to know that, too.

Maybe their text sessions hadn’t been as nice as she’d thought; he always brought the conversation around to himself, but men were just like that.

It was the cost of doing business, so to speak.

I should have ordered some DVDs. Or a new vibrator. Anything but this. “So, do you come here often?” What was the earliest graceful exit she could make? Maybe she’d have to suffer through an entire meal. Was it acceptable to ghost him after drinks?

And if it wasn’t acceptable, did she care?

“No, actually. First time.” The little double-blink he gave at the end of the sentence said he was lying; even a lowly paralegal could tell as much. “The, uh, the reviews are great. So where do you wanna go after dinner?”

After dinner was never part of the deal, sir. “I haven’t decided yet,” she said, diplomatically enough. He’d probably been lying about taking art history classes in the evenings, too.

“It’s a Friday.” The charming smile had returned, smooth and seamless. “We should go clubbing. You like that?”

I love dancing. But not with this guy, she was thinking. Besides, clubs were sonic assaults full of date-rape drugs and pushy men, and she’d been glad to leave them behind halfway through college. “Maybe,” she hedged, just as help arrived from an unexpected quarter.

As in, the waitress saved her. “Here we are.” A sprite in black and white, with a dyed-black pixie cut and a set, professional smile, the young woman held a pad of probably unnecessary paper with a pen poised at just the right angle.

She rattled off the specials with the ease of long practice. “Would you like some appetizers?”

Neal didn’t even ask, rattling right into ordering steak for himself and “the farmer’s salad for the lady,” with a wink and an ingratiating grin. Liv set her jaw and answered the waitress’s inquiring glance with the merest fraction of a shrug.

“Excuse me,” she said, barely waiting for Neal to finish talking—he wanted to order dessert as well, and thought port would go nicely with it. “Where’s your restroom?”

“Oh, the regular one’s being cleaned.” The pixie nodded sagely, pointing down a short hall ending in a pair of swinging doors. “It’s this way; I’ll show you.”

“Thanks.” If Liv could get up before the waitress left, Neal would be forced to sit here and wait, since he had arrogated the right and duty of ordering. Social judo wasn’t just for the predators in the room. “Excuse me, Neal. I just need to check my lipstick. Won’t take but a moment.”

“Okay.” Neal reached for his wineglass, settling back in his chair with an indulgent gesture. It clearly never crossed his mind to wonder why his date hadn’t brought a coat, just the pashmina—and why she was still wearing said shawl inside.

“I’ll show you,” the waitress repeated. Her nametag read Fiona, and she looked every inch of it. Her hips moved with an aggressive switch that was part youthful exuberance and all business; Liv hid a smile.

Past the swinging door with its round portholes was a short hall, clearly not meant for customers since the floor was bare, polished concrete.

Fiona beckoned her through, and as soon as it swung closed her smile turned conspiratorial.

“Go all the way down and to the left; there’s the stairwell.

If you turn right just outside the door, the alley will take you to Sixteenth. You want me to call you a cab?”

“Nah, I’ve got it, thanks,” Liv muttered.

Bostwick’s was only a block or two north of here, and she could hide in the smoking section if Jada or Lou were on duty.

Either of them would find this hilarious and pour her a shot to take the edge off; college buddies laboring under the same student loan debt and depressed hiring market were a fantastic resource. “You must see a lot of these.”

“At least he didn’t put anything in your drink,” Fiona said cheerfully. “We had another one of those last week. I hope she presses charges.”

I guess this guy just didn’t have time. “Me too. Thank you.” Liv dug for the cash she’d intended as a rideshare tip and pressed it into the woman’s hand. “Put that order in before he realizes I’m gone.”

“You know it.” A laugh, a wink, and Fiona was gone, the swinging door giving a tired wheeze on its hinges.

The stairwell exit did indeed give onto an alley, which even appeared fairly clean—at least, she hoped it was.

Early winter dusk had crawled over the city, and it just might have been too cold to smell anything rotting.

It was, however, dark as sin, and she set off for the gleam of passing headlights and shimmering streetlamps to her right.

A hum of traffic whispered down the alley’s throat, and she shivered as she wrapped her pashmina and yanked pins free of her chignon. Her hair would keep her neck warm.

Halfway through, she heard a clatter. She glanced uneasily to her left—the alley grew another leg there, and voices floated past the bend. Probably another kitchen; the Hobson wasn’t the only restaurant in the Wellington Building or the Haze Mutual skyscraper next door.

Liv turned hard right; once she was out of the circle of incandescent light from the fixture over the Hobson’s stairwell door she had to blink hard, her eyes adjusting with reticence. She’d read somewhere it took about twenty minutes to really get your night vision on.

Pretty soon she’d be home with a pint of ice cream and her phone, bringing everyone up to date on the latest fiasco.

It would make great self-deprecating fodder to trot out the next time anyone started making let’s set Livvie up noises.

Especially Mika, who had made it her personal quest to bring Liv to a more perfect union, so to speak.

I just want to see you happy, Mika would chirp. Well, that was a noble cause, but Liv was beginning to think spinsterhood was the golden path to that hallowed state of being.

For one thing, it meant you didn’t have to share a bed or clean up anything other than your own bathroom mess.

“And to think,” Liv murmured as she picked her way cautiously down the alley, “they have a whole separate exit for girls to escape before drinks.” It was a good story, one she could deploy over mimosas at Sunday brunch, and she grinned with satisfaction.

The minor business of blocking Neal’s number—and ritualistically swearing off dating apps yet again—could wait until she was home in her pajamas.

The only fly in the ointment was her heels, definitely not meant for this type of urban rambling.

She kept to what seemed the driest portion of pavement, and wished she was home already.

This was a killer outfit, and she wasn’t even that cold since the striped tights were insulated, but she should have worn boots.

No, she wasn’t shivering, but she was unsettled. And who wouldn’t be, sashaying down a downtown alley after dark?

It was a very long alley, too. Thankfully, her footsteps didn’t echo against the brick walls; still, she wondered how long it would take for Neal to come looking for her.

Assuming he could be torn away from his goddamn white wine.

Who drank that stuff, especially with bourbon around?

Liv shivered, snuggling her chin into the pashmina.

A thin thread of anxiety wormed through her chest, banishing any amusement at the prospect of telling her crew about this failed date.

Later, she would wonder if somehow, some dormant part of her had known.

As it was, when the light of Sixteenth Street dimmed ahead, Liv’s chin came up and she froze, caught between one step and the next.

There was a sound like a rubber tire ripping from its rim and a sudden wave of nauseating stench so bad she almost reeled.

It hit the back of her throat like a Jagerbomb and she gagged, catching her balance and standing, stock-still, trembling in her pretty grey suede heels.

What the hell? Gooseflesh poured down her back.

“Civilian!” someone yelled; something hit her from the side. One of her shoes went flying, and so did she—right into the Wellington Building’s ample, brick-buttressed ass.

A brief, starry jolt of pain, like hitting a rock and soaring over the handlebars of her beloved Huffy Pink Princess when she was eleven.

She hadn’t broken anything or even chipped a tooth, both common side effects of bike wrecks she was later glad to have avoided, but she had come back to consciousness facedown and stunned on a grassy verge, her bike’s wheels spinning lazily as it lay on its side, a beached sea creature.

Liv surfaced only briefly, hearing a deep, throbbing growl and another shout, a clattering and that awful smell swallowing her once more.

It was undoubtedly a mercy, for the shadowbeast would have eaten her whole.