Why should she care if all these women were pawing Rune? Yes, Jo had a crush on him, but crushes could end.

The braid-y nymph said, “I’ll tell you, but only if you vow to the Lore you’ll attend our next Bacchanal.”

“Easy enough,” he said grandly. “I vow to the Lore I’ll be in attendance—unless an emergency crops up.” Tacking on that qualifier.

“You’ll wear traditional attire?” another asked excitedly.

“How could I attend a Bacchanal in anything but?” he said, slanting them all that grin.

One nymph swooned.

Filled with importance, the braid-y nymph said, “I know a storm demon named Deshazior. He used to be a pirate, but now he’s a transporter. He’s been all over Gaia.”

A pirate? Interesting!

“Where will he be, dove?”

“He and his crew like to hang out at a place called Lafitte’s. It’s in New Orleans.”

Rune looked puzzled, so Jo said, “I know where it is.”

Nymphs turned to her and frowned, as if they’d just become aware of her presence.

Braid-y nymph asked, “Who’s she, Rune?” No jealousy in her tone, just mild interest.

“Oh, me?” Jo buffed her black claws. “I’m just the chick who made him nut in his pants. Twice.”

THIRTY-SIX

Move . . . move . . . move. Outta my way,” Josephine ordered pedestrians as she and Rune strode through the Quarter. The sign for Lafitte’s was just ahead.

Mortals scattered. Sensing on some level she was a predator?

“Move . . . move . . . move your ass.” No polite excuse me from the vampire. As males made way for her, they stared, agog at her otherworldly looks and figure.

“I could lead,” Rune offered, increasingly irritated by their reactions.

“Got this. Clearly.”

He wouldn’t have thought he’d be this attracted to a brash female—especially not one who’d delighted in telling a covey he’d twice come with his pants on. Alone with her again, he’d grated, “Have your fun?” She’d shrugged. Yes, Rune. . . .

When the crowd thinned, she asked him, “Did you sleep with all those—what did you call them?—Nepheles?”

“Nephelae. I’m almost certain I slept with them all. I like to spread the love around. If I don’t, they feel slighted.” Important to avoid.

Hell hath no fury like a sexually neglected nymph.

Apparently he’d burned through every Dryad at Dalli’s covey except one, the comely Meliai, and she was fuming about the oversight. Before he’d left Dalli’s earlier, the nymph had stopped by, hoping to join in. When he’d blown her off, she’d told him she possessed a key that could get him around the wraiths—and she’d trade it only for sex.

His wrist rune still showed no alert from the nymphs at Val Hall. Until Nïx was in residence, the wraiths were a secondary concern. . . .

Josephine had stopped in her tracks, forcing him to turn around. “What?”

“Slighted? Spread the love? I go through cycles with you. Sometimes I think you’re the greatest thing since bagged blood. Other times, like right now, I can’t figure what I ever saw in you.” She passed him, heading toward one of the doors of the crowded bar.

He stared after her. She couldn’t lie; she’d truly meant that.

Just as information flowed to him, females flowed to him. All he had to do was be himself around them, and situations worked themselves out. Now was he to monitor everything he said?

No, no, once he started bedding the vampire, her attitude would improve. He caught up with her.

As they entered, he scanned the premises for enemies. The fey kingdom of Sylvan was a pocket realm of Gaia. Sooner or later Rune would run into either Sylvan bounty hunters or even King Saetthan himself.

He pictured his half brother’s face, one so like Rune’s own. Though Saetthan had inherited Magh’s blond hair and blue eyes, he’d gotten his tall build and features from their sire.

Saetthan was Rune’s most coveted target—of the fourteen left from Magh’s line—and considered himself a protector for the others. . . .

Rune spied no fey within, but in the shadowy back of the bar, a garrulous gang of five demons sat at a table. Each had a different shape to his horns, indicating his species.

“I believe that’s our contact.” Rune nodded toward the biggest one. The male had a colossal chest and the large forward-pointing horns of a storm demon. When standing, he’d be over seven feet tall.

Josephine breathed, “I’m going to meet a real-live demon.” Her steps quickened.

Rune followed. “You’ve been with a real-live demon. I’m half demonic, remember?”

“Yeah, but you don’t have wicked cool horns like that dude.”

I should. Rune had wished for them his entire life, just as he’d wished for red demon blood.

His gaze roamed over the vampire. What if his blood were red? As much as she loved baneblood, how could she crave another kind more? What if baneblood specifically attracted her? Later, he would demand to know which kind she preferred.

At the table, Rune addressed the storm demon, “You’re Deshazior?”

“Aye, that’d be me,” he said with an undeniable piratic accent. His huge paw of a hand curled around a tankard of brew.

“We heard you can assist us with travel.”

Deshazior ignored him, turning in his chair to face Josephine. “Are ye lookin’ for a ride, me beauty?” A thorough perusal of her body accompanied his words.