Everything she’d worked for had gone down in flames—all the worse because she had no one to blame but herself.
Two nights ago, she’d secretly assisted a covert mission with Lucan Thorne and the Order, willfully withholding information about that mission from her colleagues and superiors at JUSTIS, well aware that in so doing she was gambling with her career. Thankfully, the Order mission had been a success. They’d struck a major blow against the terror group Opus Nostrum, taking out a key player in Dublin and unmasking another in London. Brynne’s cooperation had been instrumental in making that happen.
Unfortunately, JUSTIS didn’t see it that way.
Her superiors had no quibble with the Order exterminating the Breed male in Ireland. Fineas Riordan was a known criminal and underworld figure, but the human councilman who killed himself in London rather than fall into the hands of the Order was a scandal that JUSTIS could not afford.
Never mind that Neville Fielding had been corrupt and secretly on the take with Opus Nostrum. Never mind that the two men, along with the deadly cabal they belonged to, had declared themselves in war against the rest of the civilized world.
And never mind that Brynne had done what she believed was right—the result being two fewer problems for the world to worry about later.
None of that mattered, because in aiding the Order on their clandestine operation, she had willfully defied JUSTIS command. She’d broken the organization’s trust.
For the first time ever, she had followed her heart instead of her head.
Unfortunately, the price was her career.
If that didn’t call for a few shots of single malt and a rare, blindingly hot one-night-stand with someone she’d never see again, she didn’t know what did.
Wrapping her fingers around the small glass the bartender had generously filled to the rim, Brynne tossed it back. She felt his heated gaze on her, felt the ripple of his sexual interest thicken the air as he watched her swallow the fiery liquor then wipe the back of her hand across her parted lips.
“Another, please.”
His answering smile was slow, charmingly crooked. Framed by those endearing twin dimples. “Careful now, luv. Take things too fast here tonight, and you’ll leave me no choice but to carry you home.”
Was he serious? She stared at him, realizing he had no idea what she was. To anyone who looked at her now, she wasn’t identifiable as Breed. At a glance, she was merely a tall, athletically built, green-eyed brunette.
Her fangs only appeared when she was emotionally provoked in some way, be it hunger, anger, or desire. That was when her other Breed characteristics manifested too, from the fiery amber glow of her irises and the vertical narrowing of her pupils, to the awakening of her dermaglyphs—color-changing skin markings that every member of the Breed had on their bodies to varying degrees.
Right now, she felt nothing but the pleasant buzz of the alcohol seeping into her bloodstream. Well, that, and the lingering sting of useless, self-directed anger. What she wanted was to feel less sting and more buzz, thank you very much.
“I’d like another shot, please.”
“Jamie,” the bartender said, still holding on to the bottle. “And you are?”
Brynne smiled. “Thirsty.”
He chuckled as he leaned in close and poured more liquor into her glass. “All right, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Not that I’d mind carrying a pretty lady like you home. In fact, I’d consider it my chivalrous duty.”
Flirting. God, he was flirting with her. Or trying to, at any rate.
She had no skill in that area, had never imagined she’d have a use for it until this very moment. She licked her lips, casting about for a witty comeback or better yet, something to show him that she was ready, willing, and able to take him up on whatever he had in mind.
Except she couldn’t.
She wasn’t—interested in him, that is.
And that was a shame, because none of the other men leering at her in the club stirred anything more than shades of boredom in her.
Lamely, she thanked Jamie for the further shot, then breathed a sigh of relief when he was summoned down to the other end of the bar to wait on other patrons. The place was crowded, practically elbow-to-elbow with people jockeying for spots at the bar or at the twenty-odd pub tables in the area at Brynne’s back. Out on the dance floor, bodies bounced and gyrated and swayed to the relentless thump of the music.
With the bartender swamped by customers placing drink orders, Brynne sipped her shot and tried to convince herself she was there to have a good time. She may not have much experience with flirting or seduction—and okay, maybe that was putting it mildly—but she could do this. She wanted to do this.
God knew, she needed some kind of outlet tonight or she was going to lose her mind.
Still nursing her drink, she pivoted around in her seat to watch the crowd. Not long afterward, a waitress carrying a long-stemmed martini glass approached her from the other side of the club. The bright blue cocktail glowed like neon and had some kind of lacy sugar stick of candy resting in it.
Brynne frowned when the server stopped right in front of her.