Chapter 120 Bourbon and Dancing
By the time we crossed back into the human quarter of New Orleans, the air felt lighter.
Not safer.
Just… less judgmental.
The vampire escort peeled away without ceremony, their black vehicles disappearing into side streets like they had never existed. The red moon still loomed overhead, but neon signs began to outshine it as we entered a stretch of bars and late-night music venues spilling noise onto the sidewalks.
Jazz drifted through the humid air. Laughter followed it. The scent of fried food, spilled beer, and sugar replaced the metallic tang of old blood.
I hadn’t realized how tightly I’d been holding myself together until I felt my shoulders loosen.
Darius glanced at me.
“You want to go back to the hotel?” he asked.
I shook my head immediately.
“No.”
He studied my face.
I didn’t want silence. I didn’t want space to think. I didn’t want to replay Queen Isolde’s voice in my head again and again until it carved permanent lines into my memory.
“I want noise,” I said. “And something that burns going down.”
His mouth curved slightly.
“Dangerous choice.”
“I’m dangerous.”
“Yes,” he agreed smoothly. “You are.”
We slipped into the first crowded bar we found,low ceiling, brick walls, colored lights strung haphazardly across exposed beams. A live band played near the back, trumpet wailing over a heavy bass line while bodies packed the dance floor.
Humans.
Sweaty. Loud. Blissfully unaware of treaties and bloodlines.
No one looked at me like I was evidence.
No one measured my existence against political stability.
They just moved aside when Darius’s presence parted the crowd, his hand at the small of my back guiding me toward the bar.
The bartender barely glanced up.
“What’ll it be?”
“Whiskey,” I said immediately.
Darius raised a brow.
“For her,” he added calmly, “something lighter.”
“I can handle whiskey.”
“You cannot,” he replied without missing a beat.
I narrowed my eyes at him.
The bartender set down two glasses anyway, amber for him, something citrus and deceptively sweet for me.
I took a long swallow.
It burned.
Perfect.
For a moment, I let the music drown everything else out. The crowd pressed around us, warm and alive, and for the first time since stepping into the vampire court, I didn’t feel like a symbol.
I felt… twenty-something and reckless.
There was a pool table near the back corner, half-occupied by a group of laughing college students.
I nudged Darius.
“Game?”
He glanced toward it.
“You’re going to lose.”
“Arrogant.”
“Experienced.”
“Scared.”
He smirked.
We claimed the table.
At first, no one paid attention. Just two strangers lining up a casual game.
But then I sank three solids in a row.
Someone whistled.
Darius’s eyes flicked to me in mild surprise.
“Lucky.”
“Skill.”
The crowd began to gather slowly, humans love competition, especially when it’s close and unspoken tension hums between the players.
He lined up a shot, smooth and precise.
Missed.
The crowd oohed.
I leaned on my cue, grinning.
“Alpha King defeated by a hybrid pet,” I murmured sweetly.
His gaze snapped to mine ,dark and amused.
“Careful.”
I lined up my next shot and sent the eight ball cleanly into the corner pocket.
The table erupted.
Strangers clapped me on the back. Someone raised their drink in salute.
I threw my arms up dramatically.
“I win.”
Darius stared at the table like it had personally betrayed him.
“You hustled me.”
“You underestimate me.”
“That will not happen again.”
The alcohol began warming my limbs, softening the sharp edges of the night. Someone shoved another drink into my hand. I didn’t even see who.
I drank it.
Mistake.
The band shifted songs, something louder, faster. The crowd pulled toward the dance floor like a tide.
I grabbed Darius’s wrist.
“Let’s Dance.”
“I don’t dance.”
“Coward.”
His eyes flashed.
He followed anyway.
The dance floor was packed ,bodies moving without rhythm, just energy. I let myself get swallowed into it. The music vibrated through my ribs, through my bones. I raised my arms, hair sticking to my neck in the humidity.
For a few glorious minutes, I wasn’t a hybrid.
I wasn’t a political scar.
I was just a girl in a bar in New Orleans, laughing too loud and moving like no one was watching.
Darius stood at first, arms crossed, observing.
I pointed at him.
“Stop being intimidating.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re scaring the humans.”
“I am standing.”
“Menacingly.”
He exhaled through his nose.
Then, slowly, he stepped closer.
His hands found my waist.
Lightly.
The contact sent a jolt through me sharper than the alcohol.
“You’re drunk,” he murmured near my ear.
“I am liberated.”
“You are swaying.”
“I am dancing.” I snapped.
He huffed a quiet laugh,the real kind.
That sound alone made my chest tighten.
I turned in his hold, pressing closer without thinking. The music slowed slightly, bass heavy, rhythm pulsing low.
He didn’t retreat.
His hands remained at my waist,not possessive. Not controlling.
Steady.
We moved together without effort. The world blurred at the edges. The lights. The noise. The strangers.
There was just him.
His eyes weren’t guarded right now.
They weren’t calculating treaties or scanning for threats.
They were warm.
Focused on me.
“You’re smiling,” he said quietly.
“So are you.”I teased.
I reached up and traced the edge of his jaw with one finger, alcohol making me braver than I should have been.
“You’re handsome when you’re not threatening people,” I informed him.
He snorted softly.
“High praise.”
“I’m serious.”
His hands tightened just slightly at my waist.
“You’re beautiful,” he replied, voice lower now.
The word didn’t feel political.
It didn’t feel like strategy.
It felt simple.
True.
Alive.
I swallowed.
The music slowed further. The crowd shifted around us, but it felt like we were standing still in the center of something spinning.
His gaze dropped briefly to my mouth.
Heat flared.
I leaned closer without fully deciding to.
His forehead nearly brushed mine.
“You’re still desired,” he said quietly. “No matter what they say.”
The words settled deep.
Still alive.
Still wanted.
Not evidence.
Not insult.
Me.
I felt the moment tip.
That charged, fragile second where everything narrows and breath thins and you know what’s about to happen.
He leaned down.
I rose up.
And then,
My stomach flipped violently.
Oh no.
I had exactly half a second to realize what was happening.
“Darius…”
Too late.
I vomited.
On his shirt.
Directly down the front of his very expensive, very dark, very ruined shirt.
The music kept playing.
The crowd parted.
I stared at the damage.
Then at him.
Silence.
“I….”
He looked down slowly.
Then back at me.
“You’re done,” he said calmly.
Mortification flooded me.
“I am so not…”
He scooped me up before I could finish, lifting me effortlessly as the crowd reacted with sympathetic groans and laughter.
“I hate you,” I mumbled into his shoulder.
“No, you don’t.”
He carried me out of the bar like I weighed nothing, one arm under my knees, the other steady at my back.
The night air hit my face, cool and sobering.
“I was winning,” I muttered weakly.
“You were vomiting.”
“Details.”
He set me down beside the car but kept an arm around my waist as I swayed.
“You cannot hold your alcohol.”
“I can hold many things.”
“Not whiskey.”
I squinted at him.
“I like Shaina.”
He blinked.
“What?”
“Shaina. The bartender. She had sparkly eyeliner.”
He stared at me for a full second.
“Noted.”
“She was pretty.”
“You are drunk.”
He opened the car door and helped me into the seat, buckling me in despite my half-hearted attempt to swat his hands away.
I frowned.
“You look good with vomit.”
He shut the door.
“I regret bringing you here.”
“You had fun.”
A pause.
He didn’t answer immediately.
Then, as he walked around the car, I heard him murmur just loud enough..
“Yes.”
And even through the haze of alcohol and embarrassment, that felt like a victory.