Immortals After Dark 05 - Dark Needs at Nights Edge

“Nïxie, you were on fuego!”
    Nïx tucked her black hair behind her pointed Valkyrie ears. “And your waif fu is as diabolical as ever!”
    As predicted, the chits are in a great mood now.
    Seeing the show was over, Rydstrom rose to go collect the pair, which meant Cade rose as well. “Nïx?” As Rydstrom strode to her, even hardened denizens of the bar dived out of his way. Nïx and Regin had to crane their heads up to look into his face.
    “King Rydstrom,” she said with a smile, “and behind you as usual is your guard Cadeon the Kingmaker.”
    “Why don’t you have a seat with us?” Rydstrom led Nïx to their back table, with Regin and Cade following.
    “Excuse Cade’s mercenaries.” Not bothering to hide his disapproval, Rydstrom indicated Cade’s crew. “Some of them are in town. Indefinitely.” Rydstrom could be just as ruthless as Cade and his men, but he never wavered from his personal code.
    Cade wondered where Rydstrom had gotten that code, because his own was missing.
    Nïx gave them an exaggerated howdy wave, yet they all scowled. She seemed to recognize two of the five: the smoke demon Rök, a fugitive in two dimensions living under a “terminate with extreme prejudice” order, and Grimslade, who sat in the chair closest to the darkened corner.
    Grim, one among a warrior breed of demons raised underground in the most hellish conditions, looked to have a heart attack when Regin sat beside him. She was unaware that Grim had only two aversions—one to bright things and one to beautiful things. Regin was both.
    As Nïx took a seat, she said to Rydstrom, “Mariketa the Awaited told me you wanted to speak to me.”
    “Aye, I need your advice.”
    “My advice.” She pressed her fingers to her chest. “But didn’t you recently say that I was a ‘mad creature’ who was ‘soft in the head’? Sniff, sniff, Rydstrom. Sniff, sniff. I was so crushed that I ate a gallon of Ben & Jerry’s, except I didn’t because Valkyrie don’t eat.”
    Rydstrom narrowed his eyes. “Bowen told you I said that?”
    “Ever-knowing here.”
    With uncharacteristic smoothness, Rydstrom said, “Then you also know I said you were a beauty.”
    She was a comely bit, but then, was there ever a Valkyrie who was hard to look at? Cade had seen his first one when he’d just turned nine. He’d been fascinated with them ever since.
    Nïx fluffed her long hair. “Though you merely observe the obvious with your aggressive flirting, you’re still forgiven.” Exhaling as if in resignation, she said, “I suppose that now you’ll want to sleep with me.” Over Rydstrom’s sputtering, she added, “Alas, big guy—I am taken.”
    “No, you’re not,” Regin said.
    “Am too,” Nïx said. “Mike Rowe, the star of Dirty Jobs, is soon to realize I’m his beloved.” She sighed dreamily. “He even got his lawyers to contact me on the pretext of a”—she made air quotes—“‘restraining order.’”
    Returning her attention to a bemused Rydstrom, she said, “So about this advice... do you want to find your fated female or defeat your usurper, Omort the Deathless? Which would you prefer to have? Your queen or the crown that your brother lost for you?”
    Cade slammed his drink to the sticky table. He’d fucked up. He knew it, was reminded of it hourly. He did his damnedest to rectify the situation—and always fell short. “Am I never livin’ that down?” he snapped, his lower-class demon accent standing out sharply. He usually masked it better than this.
    He wanted to be like his older brother—he truly did. He often imagined what it would be like to be respected and sought out for his wisdom and evenhandedness. Instead, he was “violent, impulsive, and misguided,” according to Rydstrom.
    Cade’s crew made money doing the things the bad guys would wince at. He just didn’t have those moral checks on his personality.
    But it isn’t like Rydstrom doesn’t have his secrets. And Cade was inadvertently privy to several. There were certain things that made King Rydstrom lose his cool in a catastrophic way.
    “No, I checked. You’re not going to live it down,” Nïx said, with all the authority of a soothsayer who’d never been proven wrong—not once in at least three thousand years.
    The other demons smirked, except for Grim, who was casting tense looks at Regin and absently puncturing claw marks into the table.
    Rydstrom freely blamed Cade for losing his crown, and Cade had never apologized.