He waited until his head—or the room, one or the other—stopped spinning before he tried to stand. He didn’t even want to consider how much whiskey it had taken for him to hit the state of numbness he’d found last night. But, judging by the raging hangover he was contending with, it must have numbered in cases rather than bottles.
Oh dear Jesus, his mouth tasted as if something had crawled in there and died. By the swollen, furry feel of it, the something was his tongue.
Groaning, he braced a hand first on his dresser and then the wall as he staggered to the bathroom. Once there, he splashed water on his face. It took a long while, standing over the sink with the water running, before he could work up the effort, or the courage, to look in the mirror. Squinting against the sight that met him, he groaned, then winced at the pain that small sound had caused.
One step at a time, he reminded himself.
He brushed his teeth. Twice. Just as he reached to turn on the shower, his phone began its shrill serenade once more. Gideon cringed. Niklas’s ringtone this time. Grimacing, he ignored the phone and peeled his clothing off, not even wanting to know what had made them so crusty they could damned near stand up and dance on their own.
He could have conjured himself clean, but he needed the steady pounding of hot water against his battered flesh. Besides, conjuring would take far more energy than he had right now.
The spicy, citrusy scent of shampoo revived him little by little. By the time he’d cracked open the bottle of body wash and lathered from head to toe for the third time, he felt almost human. Almost was pretty damned good, all things considered.
As he was toweling dry, Sebastian’s ringtone screamed through the bedroom. Growling, he considered crushing the phone. Or stomping on it. Or throwing it against the wall. Or out the window. Anything to make the damned thing shut up. Lord knew muting it was no longer an option, courtesy of Mikhail and whatever it was he’d done to the damned thing. Despite a serious lack of social skills, that bastard could do some crazy shit with electronics.
The phone continued to ring. Can’t they take a damned hint?
Checking up on him? Making sure he hadn’t gone off the reservation, were they?
Well, too damned bad for them, ’cause that ship sailed. Three weeks ago, to be precise.
Or had it been much longer than that?
At least he didn’t have to worry about Mikhail calling. The Demon of War wasn’t exactly the babysitter type. If you weren’t helping him kill something, or weren’t the thing he was killing, then he didn’t have time to waste on you. Dude was so cold penguins would drop over dead of hypothermia just standing in the same state.
Gideon pulled on a pair of jeans and, despite the pain using his powers would cause his already splitting head, he conjured himself a caramel macchiato—the grande the better. He took the first sip and groaned appreciation.
Bliss. Pure, undiluted bliss.
With a great amount of effort, he made his way down the grand staircase, intent on the big kitchen at the back of his Civil War era plantation home deep in the heart of Tennessee. For the first time in weeks, he actually looked around. The once majestic house he’d taken pride in, the inviting home where he used to find peace and comfort, his haven, was an absolute wreck.
Priceless period furniture had been overturned and tossed about, shattered in fits of rage and despair. One-of-a-kind oil paintings had been slashed or ripped from the walls altogether. Luxurious window coverings sagged to the floor, pooling on one side of the window. Mud and only God knew what else had been tracked over once gleaming floors and expensive carpets. The place looked as if it had been invaded by a hostile army.
But Gideon knew the sad truth. He was the only thing to have crossed that threshold in months. He’d done this. He’d wrecked the beautiful oasis he’d once called home.
Sadly, he couldn’t find it in himself to care.
Gideon pulled up short three steps across the foyer. He did nothing to temper the nasty snarl he aimed at the blurry disruption of air near the front doors. Half a second later, golden blond hair, piercing blue eyes, and a powerful body took shape.
“Nobody’s home,” Gideon snapped as he walked right on by the Demon of Vengeance without a second glance. “Go away,” he growled over his shoulder for good measure.
“You didn’t answer your phone.” Undeterred, Sebastian followed him toward the kitchen. Gideon heard the Demon of Vengeance swear beneath his breath as he stepped over the splintered pile of what once had been an expensive side table. And, once again, he couldn’t muster up the energy to give a damn.
Gideon ignored the pained disapproval on Sebastian’s face. If he didn’t like the mess, he could damned well leave. No one was keeping him here. In fact, no one had invited him in the first place.