Scarlet Night (Limited Edition) by Megan Parker Page A

needed a drink.

    The walk was torturous for Zane and, having the forethought to do so, he had brought along a bottle of Gregori’s old stock to numb the process. While he was sure the origins of the fantastic liquor had Zoey’s name written all over it, it had been Gregori who’d introduced him to his private stash—a pantry of unlabeled bottles that his mentor had always referred to as “Spirits for the spiritless”— a pitch-black liquor that reeked of petrol and tasted like a rotting therion’s asshole. While the experience of drinking it was nothing short of agonizing and a single shot of the stuff would probably kill a human in seconds, it was the perfect thing—hell, the only thing!—to get past a vampire’s superhuman system and get them drunk. Chugging down the last drop of the wretched nectar, he felt his face contort as the fire hit his gut and let out a pained-yet-satisfied groan as it started to take effect. Then, throwing it into the nearest trashcan nearby, he reveled in the sound of the shattered glass and the panicked shrieks and bustling of several rats that had been scavenging nearby.
    Satisfied that he had enough of a buzz going to make the scene in style, he stumbled into his favorite bar and cursed as the shift in light assaulted his drunken gaze for a moment. He blinked a few times and tried to coax his eyes to adjust faster for him. When he could finally see well-enough to navigate , he worked his way to his favorite stool and motioned to the bartender.
    The decrepit German behind the bar glanced wearily at him and shook his head. Zane smirked wickedly. The old man hated him, and if he hadn’t before, then the past few visits had definitely done the trick. Though he wasn’t sure if he’d try to call the cops on him after the outcome from his last visit, Zane was too invested on drowning his thoughts to consider going somewhere else. As his usual—a pint of the cheapest beer on tap and a shot of the bar’s best bourbon—was being set in front of him, the bartender leaned in close enough for Zane to smell the sauerkraut and scotch in his words.
    “We aren’t in for a problem t’night, are we boy?”
    Zane chuckled and shook his head, “You leave that bottle right here where it belongs and I’ll be quiet as a fucking mouse, Mein Fuhrer !”
    The bartender frowned at Zane’s choice of words but only gave a gentle nod before setting the nearly-full bottle of premium bourbon in front of him and turning away. “See to it that ye are! I want to be able t’ forget yer even here, boy!” then, as a second thought , “And ye’d better be able to pay for that, er else I’m pressin’ charges fer sure!”
    “Yea yea, Adolf! I got more than enough to buy this and the rest of your stock! Now get lost!” Zane grunted and rolled his eyes as he grabbed the bottle of A.H. Hirsch Reserve in his left hand as he downed the pint of Red Dog in a single gulp with his right. When he was certain the old man wasn’t looking he reached into his jacket and pulled out a small vial of concentrated “spiritless” that he’d snatched from Gregori’s stash and dumped the contents into the bourbon.
    Giving the bottle a gentle swirl, he watched as the dark vortex of elixir blended with the smooth color of the alcohol before the contents unified to a single shade of amber. He glared at the bottle and its contents then, hoping that his efforts wouldn’t be in vain and that he might actually be able to numb the curse. He’d been holding in his rage—holding back what the magic inside of him demanded to shift him into every moment of every day—a nd the ongoing effort and the recent turn of events were taking a massive toll on him. Though it had barely been a full day since he’d last lost control—a loss of control that had nearly leveled an entire city block and sent one of the biggest therions he’d ever seen crying home with piss-stained pants—it was becoming obvious that it had only whetted its