ELIAS
I drowned the glass of Demon’s Brew in a single swallow, relishing the way the bitter liquid seared a path down my throat. It tasted like ash and liquid fire, unpleasant but burning meant strong. Strong meant numbness. Strong meant silence.
I had already downed three glasses of the potent toxin, enough to knock out a lesser immortal, so why was my mind still screaming? Why were those strange eyes still haunting the darkness behind my eyelids?
I had hoped the alcohol would drown her out. I had hoped to wash away the scent of her that still clung to my memory. But she was stubborn. She refused to leave.
Dammit! It’s not enough.
“Another one,” I growled, shoving the empty crystal glass toward Melissa for a refill.
Rather than pour, the witch frowned, her delicate hand covering the
