Queen of Death

Chapter 23

Solana

After my mom left my intention was to go downstairs to the main bar and help serve. Something to busy myself with so I could think.

The last several weeks have been filled with many nights thinking over things. At first I thought about how to get out of the deal my dads made with Death, how to make their lives miserable so they'd renege on their agreement. When that proved fruitless, and it was obvious I had met my match with Ace, I thought a lot about how I felt about him and Hunter and admittedly the rest of their pack.

Loving Hunter isn't a choice, it's written on my soul. As is my love for Ace. It may have taken longer to manifest, for me to accept that my feelings for him matched my feelings for Hunter, making the thought of leaving unbearable.

Besides them, I thought Tate would be the hardest one to get to know. The hardest to love. Turns out it was easier than I thought. Once I recognized in him what I myself was struggling with everything fell into place and our hearts clicked like puzzle pieces. Oddly enough the same is true about Dean. We balance each other's need to take care of the other.

I don't know if what they feel for me is love, but I know I'm inexplicably drawn to them nearly as much as I am to Ace and Hunter. My matebond with Ace may always supersede any other bond but it doesn't make the others any less real or intense.

I just need to figure out what my bonds with Tate and Dean are. Is it just physical for them? Or do they feel it, too?

I'm standing in the middle of the club when I give up on the idea of working the bar. Taking drink orders is hard enough without adding the mental gymnastics my thoughts are currently engaged in. So I stay put. In the middle of the floor surrounded by bodies who are saying "fuck thinking," and allowing the heavy beats of the music to sweep the intrusive thoughts away.

Songs come and go, but I remain fixed where I am. That is at least until the bumping of bodies around me starts to feel a little more intentional. No one accidentally cups an ass. Brushes against it? Sure. But I know an ass grab when I feel one.

I step away from the owner of the hand that grabbed me. If his unsolicited physical contact wasn't enough of a deterrent then his foul scent certainly would be. He reeks of perspiration and cheap cologne. Not even close to the scents of comfort and home that Ace and the guys all carry. And judging by this asshole's relentless determination to piss me the fuck off, he may very well end up being the second guy I kill on this floor.

Mom will be pissed if I get blood on the floor again, so I'll have to make it discreet or lure him outside. Which, admittedly, is not an appealing option tonight. Not only am I simply not in the mood to exert that minimal level of effort, Ace or Tate would follow me and do their whole "don't touch my woman" routine and steal my kill. If he's smart, he'd piss himself and accept a quick death. If he's not... well, he's in for a painfully long night.

His breath is hot on my neck, making me cringe and recoil away from him. I ready myself to turn around and punch him in the kidney — no blood that way — when Eli pushes himself between me and the clearly-not-smart-guy.

The guy takes a step back, having to look up to meet Eli's eyes from the three inches of height Eli has on him. As he goes to take another step back he inexplicably slips as if on ice, reflexively sprawling his arms wide but snagging on another girl's dress and ripping it down to her waist on his way down to the ground.

The girl's boyfriend is so mad he lays into the guy right there on the floor. Screaming at him like a wild dog frothing at the mouth while the girl and her friends scurry away to salvage her dress.

When Eli turns to me with his chocolate brown eyes I don't feel the chill of his ice. All I feel is molten warmth like a hot fudge drizzle trailing in the wake of his eyes as they roam everywhere over my body.