heating up the victim’s body temperature. They could cause anything from a raging fever to spontaneous combustion. Even with the advances of modern medicine, Finn had never known of anyone who’d been touched by a Surtur and survived.
As Phoebus stood before him, arms crossed over his chest, Finn made sure to keep some distance between them. He didn’t think the other demon would start anything, but he couldn’t be sure. While he wouldn’t call Phoebus his nemesis, they sure as hell weren’t friends, each holding an active dislike for the other. He curbed his natural inclination to reach out and pop the guy on his big schnoz. Instead, he tipped his chin in greeting. “Phoebus,” he muttered and started to walk around the other man.
“That’s it? No trading of insults? No veiled threats?”
Finn turned to look at Phoebus. The Surtur’s irises were almost completely yellow, which they hadn’t been until he’d gotten a look at Finn. Now his emotions were riled and it showed in his eyes. Finn figured his own eyes were probably showing a spark of his demon as well, but he didn’t have the time or the inclination to tap dance with the bastard. “Nope,” he said and turned back toward the club.
A hand fell onto his shoulder.
Finn stiffened. So far Phoebus was only touching him, but at any minute he could decide to let loose with a kind of heat not even Finn could take.
“Just one damn minute,” Phoebus said. “Since when do you let an opportunity go by to remind me of my place in the grand scheme of Lucifer’s domain?” His voice rasped with suspicion and animosity.
“You sound disappointed.” Finn glanced at the hand on his shoulder and then raised his gaze to Phoebus’s face. He lifted a brow and waited.
With a great show of compliance, Phoebus lifted his hand and shoved it into his front pocket. “Well?” he prompted.
“I’m letting you slide because I have better things to do with my time.” Finn headed toward the club again.
“So the rumors are true, then?”
Finn heaved a sigh and stopped. “What rumors?” he asked in a tired voice without turning.
“From what I understand, you’ve been telling anyone who’ll listen that you’re fed up with how restricted we are by Lucifer. By the council.” He paused and then, his voice thick with barely contained glee, said, “I also hear you and Lucifer are on the outs. That true?”
“Even if it was,” he grated, turning to shoot a glower the other demon’s way, “you’d be the last person I’d confirm it to.” The thought that Phoebus could be a viable connection to the rogue group flashed through Finn’s mind, and he dismissed it. There was no way in hell he could pretend to be chummy with Phoebus and have anyone believe it. Especially Phoebus. No, he’d just have to carry on as usual with the Surtur, which generally meant being snarly and trading insults. That was fine by him.
A smile tilted one corner of Phoebus’s mouth and a sly look entered his eyes. “Would you at least tell me if you’re his son?”
“No.” Finn folded his arms over his chest.
“No, you’re not his son? Or no, you won’t tell me?” Phoebus’s expression darkened with guile. “Come on, give me a little somethin’ here.”
“I wouldn’t give you my last mouthful of spit if you were on fire.” Finn dropped his arms to his sides and turned back toward the club. As he pulled open the door, he threw over his shoulder, “Think what you want to.”
He went into the building without waiting to hear what Phoebus’s comeback might be.
He headed straight to one of the tables near the pole area and settled into a seat. Two women halfheartedly danced around poles at opposite ends of the raised platform. He didn’t blame them for their lack of zeal; other than him, there were only three other guys in the place.
Little white bulbs lined the edge of the stage, only half of them working. Overhead colored lights blinked, spotlighting the dancers in blue, then red, then yellow. It didn’t help. He guessed the lights were an effort to make them more appealing, but to Finn it only made them look tired. Besides, he wasn’t there to watch the gyrations of exotic dancers.
Within seconds a pink-haired, eyebrow- and nose-ring-sporting pixie came over to him. She wore skintight black pants and a red halter top that barely covered her breasts. Finn had been here before; he knew her outfit was the standard