“Sure am.” The lie slipped easily off her tongue. After they’d slept together and he’d chipped away at the despicable block of loneliness sitting in her chest, it would be easier to say she had a flight to catch than to explain that she didn’t date. Mortals eventually died on you. And it hurt. “What do you do?”
What the hell was she doing here?
Warren’s eyes were glued on the entrance to the pub where Esha stood, shaking the rain from her jacket. When she unzipped the leather, she revealed a plain cotton shirt that was too tight for his peace of mind. He swallowed hard and looked away.
Within seconds, his gaze was dragged back to her. She glanced around the pub, her amber eyes bright. She didn’t see him in the darkened corner, and he sat back, no longer intent on leaving.
There was nothing he could do tonight to ensure Aurora wasn’t released, and the idea of twiddling his thumbs at home had been unbearable. He’d come here because he wanted a place to think that was far from the university and devoid of Mytheans.
The White Stag had been fine for all of ten minutes. Then the witches had shown up. Initially, he’d been annoyed. They should be hard at work shoring up the aetherwalls of their prison. But then he’d noticed that they were the youngest witches in the coven. Still in training and likely more of a distraction than a help with difficult spells.
Either way, they ruined the anonymity of the place. As he’d been getting up to leave, Esha had walked in.
Now, his eyes tracked her as she sauntered across the pub toward the bar. He liked the way she walked. It was very her, with her chipped-shoulder, couldn’t-give-a-shite attitude. Her hips swayed in jeans molded to every inch of her. She was tall and lean, all strength and supple muscles that made him think she’d give as good as she got.
He shook his head. Not that it fucking mattered. He couldn’t let it matter. She was hell on his celibacy and peace of mind. Iron control kept him sane. She threatened that, and he did his damnedest to avoid her because of it. He’d been pretty successful for the ten years that she’d been at the university.
Until their work had thrown them temporarily together a month ago. Once, she’d asked him why the signals he sent were so hot and cold. She could see that he wanted her as easily as she could see that he resisted it. And she wanted him back. That day, they’d come so close to kissing that he could still feel the heat of her breath.
But he’d pulled away. He’d been an arse to her when she’d asked why. He’d thrown her species in her face. Blaming his rejection on the fact that she was a soulceress was a lie, but it had come out easily, pushed by the panic over what he felt for her.
He could still remember her words. “Always with the soulcery business. Like I have the fucking plague or something. I really thought you were different, Warren. What’s your problem, anyway? You’re a damned mystery monster. I don’t drain your power, so what have you got against me?”
He hadn’t known how to answer, and his words had only made it worse. He’d hurt her feelings, he knew that much. She’d said that she didn’t need him, that she didn’t need anybody. He’d almost believed it.
Warren snapped out of his memories of the past at the sight of Esha sidling up to another man at the bar. No matter how bad an idea it was, he couldn’t stop himself from becoming jealous. Which was a gods-damned worthless emotion, when everything between them was not only fucked up, it was impossible.
Though Esha lent one ear to the rumbling brogue of the man she’d approached at the bar, her attention was dedicated to scanning the room for enemies. It was a hazard of the job, but she didn’t mind, because it wasn’t like she left any of her assignments living. She smirked at the thought. But they sometimes had partners in crime who’d like to exact a little vengeance, so keeping a wary eye out was just good business.
She felt the smirk slip from her face when her gaze connected with that of a man sitting alone at a table in the corner of the pub.
No way.
Warren. The man she’d wanted for almost the entire ten years she’d been at the university.
Her heart shivered and goose bumps rose on her arms at the sight of him. The light from a cheery fire cast shadows over his harshly beautiful face. His fierce gaze was trained on her—probably had been since she walked in—and she kicked herself for not noticing.
The voice of the man speaking to her became nothing but a buzz. She licked her lips nervously, but managed to lean back against the bar and glare at Warren. What the hell was he doing here?
“Lassie.” The sexy Scot tapped her shoulder and she jerked back to attention, blinking stupidly up at him as her brain returned to the present. She should focus on the hot man who actually liked her, not on the elusive Mythean who treated her like a bug.
Because the mortal doesn’t know what you are.
But as she stared up into his handsome face, she could feel Warren’s gaze burning into her. Impossible to ignore. She really should try to make him jealous, but her heart wasn’t in it.
“I’m sorry. You know—” Shit, she didn’t know the Scot’s name. Whatever. “It was nice talking to you.”
She tried to smile at him, but all she could think about was the man whose gaze continued to light her up from across the room.
She wasn’t going to go over there. Avoiding him had been working out really well for her.
But she felt herself turning and her feet carrying her closer to him, her body weaving around raucous pub patrons. He was like a giant planet and she some puny little moon, helplessly drawn to him.
She’d thought there could be more between them, had wanted there to be. From what she could tell, he kept to himself and focused almost all of his energy on work. Where her isolation was forced on her by others—their loss—his was self-imposed. He was the only person she knew who was more isolated than she; it intrigued her.
And it had been a shitty night. If anything, he would distract her. True, he’d kicked her to the curb less than a month ago, and it had hurt, yet she’d slapped a bandage over that wound. She’d suffered worse.
As she made her way to him, she took in the olive sweater stretched over broad shoulders, which tensed as he watched her.