Free Desires of the Otherworld 2: Darkest Hunger by Aline Hunter Page A

nothing overcame the allure of the needing.
    Lifting her face, she stared at the white orb lighting the sky above, and her stomach sank.
    Nothing.

Chapter Seven
     
    Trace Locke entered Matilda’s Juke Joint in a foul mood. The night before had been a wringer, creating complications for his family that none of them had ever seen coming. He ordered a drink, went to the back of the establishment, and took a seat at an empty table.
    At any moment his brothers would join him. They had a lot to discuss. Their brother, Eric, was in the shit up to his neck after finding his Chosen—Runa Charon, a fucking sidhe fae who was half human. The Fates had done something none of them would have ever believed possible by pairing their races together. He felt his anger return as he considered a future without Eric, a certainty if his brother mated a mortal woman. Draigen mated for life, which meant when she died, Eric would follow soon after.
    “Maybe that’s what the Fates want,” he grumbled absently, rubbing his neck. “To see us all disappear one by one.”
    Someone placed the drink he ordered in front of him, but he was so swept up in trying to find a solution to Eric’s problem that he didn’t bother looking up. There had to be some way to keep Eric away from Runa Charon. Even if it was ordained and impossible to deny, there had to be some way to make his brother see that mating the female was the wrong thing to do.
    “Trace Locke?” a deep voice inquired, forcing him to stop contemplating the future.
    “That depends,” he answered, snagging his drink. “Who’s asking?”
    The large male pulled a chair from the table, flipped it around, and took a seat. “Dominic Ward.”
    He lifted the mug to his lips. “And that name should ring a bell because?”
    “Willow Miloradovic.”
    The beverage didn’t make it to his mouth. Trace looked over the rim of the glass. The visitor wasn’t a visitor at all. He was a Lycae, the enemy of Bridon Walkyr. Trace kept his face blank, a skill honed over the years. Bridon, an old friend of his for centuries, had told Trace of his plan to retrieve his Fated. If all had gone according to plan, Bridon would have already accomplished his goal. Bridon had warned Trace that Lycae might come sniffing around.
    There was no way in hell he was going to betray his friend’s trust.
    Shrugging, he replied, “What about her?”
    “Don’t play coy.” Dominic growled and shifted closer.
    Trace’s own temper slipped, and the dragon inside his skin began rising to the surface. Tonight was not a night he wanted to be fucked with. His brother could be dead in the span of one mortal lifetime, too fucking soon if you were an immortal. And the cockbite mongrel in front of him apparently wanted information Trace wouldn’t give the hairy fucker even if the goddesses he worked for demanded it.
    “If you’re looking for answers of some kind, I don’t have any to give you.”
    “I’m not looking for answers.” Trace glanced at Dominic, and the Lycae whispered, “I’m here to share information.”
    “Is that a fact?”
    Dominic’s irises changed colors, becoming a light-hued gold. “You’re close to Bridon Walkyr.”
    Nodding, he placed his drink on the table and attempted to keep the serpent inside him under control. “That’s the rumor.”
    “Then you’d better listen to me if you don’t want to see him dead.”
    So much for keeping the beast contained.
    The dragon came to life, brushing under the surface of Trace’s skin. He knew his eyes had taken on their own eerie glow, a bright green that would be impossible to ignore.
    “I wouldn’t recommend threatening those close to me, Lycae .”
    “I’m not threatening anyone.” Dominic didn’t move away, but the anger in his tone was gone. “I’m here because I need you to get a warning to the vampire king.”
    Trace couldn’t help himself—he laughed. A Lycae wanting to assist Bridon? That was rich. Everyone knew the males of the