Page 63 of Bloodlust

"Hello?" I say into the receiver. "Hayden?"

"Mmm," he hums. "Say it again."

"What?" I ask, frowning.

"Nothing," he whispers. "Were you aware that beer is believed, at least in Western societies, to have been invented by a woman?" He lets out a low, defeated chuckle. "And Plato thought it was a wise man. He was an idiot, don't you think? Complete moron."

"Are you drunk?" I ask, sitting on the edge of my desk. A mixture of concern and entertainment flutters in my heart. "Hayden?"

"It's all a bunch of bullshit," he mumbles. "Plato, Socrates, all of them just spout this idealistic nonsense about moral character and justice and beauty, but it's subjective. It's all just fucking theories." He pauses, and I can hear glasses clinking. "It doesn't work like that in real life, you know. It's more...complicated than right andwrong. Good or bad." He chuckles again. "Perception and reality, it's interesting, no?"

"What—" I shake my head, confused as I check the time. It's past three a.m. "What are you even talking about?"

"So why were you so angry when you answered the phone, huh?" he asks, ignoring my question. I hear glass shattering through the phone. "Oh, shit... Fuck."

A faint, gruff voice is audible in the background. "Go home, man. You're done!”

“One more, come on!” Hayden groans. “One more."

Shuffling and grunts fill my ear until a voice says, "Whoever you are, come and get your fucking friend before he gets thrown into the tank. He's at Phil's Pub." And the line goes dead.

I stare at my phone screen. What the fuck was that? I grab my car keys off my desk and rush out the door, punching Phil's Pub into my GPS. Okay, it's not that far.

"Cami!" Zoey calls out, Frankie on her tail. "What's wrong? Where are you going?"

"For a drive," I say, waving Frankie away. "You should go home, it's late. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Drive carefully," she says, pursing her lips. "I'm tracking you!"

"Stalker!" I roll my eyes as I head out the back exit toward my car. I unlock the SUV and hop inside, starting the engine. Gripping the steering wheel, I take a deep breath. "What the fuck is happening right now?"

My mind races with unanswered questions about Hayden and The Dragons and fucking Alba as I drive to Phil's. Thankfully the roads are quite empty this late atnight. Seeing as how I don't remember the ten minutes it takes to drive to this dive bar on the edge of the city, I should feel lucky I'm alive.

I pull up to the side of the pub and get out of my car, frowning at the rundown establishment. What is Hayden doing in a place like this? Another question to add to the never-ending list. I pull the rickety door open, surprised to find the place is packed. Wincing from the foul odor of sweat and booze, I scan the pub, looking for Hayden. Hunched over the bar, chin resting on his palm, I find my wasted doctor.

"Let's go," I say, tugging on his arm. His elbow slips, and his head slams against the counter. I cover my mouth, laughing. "Sorry."

"Jesus Christ," he groans, rubbing his face. When he finally looks up, his eyes spring open. "Camilla?"

"At least there's no brain damage," I say, holding out my hand. "I'm taking you home."

He smirks. "It's against the law to take advantage of those under the influence, Miss Bianco."

I scowl at him. "Trust me, you'd want to be sober to be with me." I loop my arm around his torso and try to lift him. "God, you're heavy. Fuck’s sake."

"I'm fine," he says, stumbling as he stands up on his own. He looks down at me. "Are you really here?"

"Why areyouhere?" I ask, looking around. "This doesn't seem like your usual spot."

"I needed to—" he shrugs and swallows, "—be somewhere else for a while." He motions around. "This place seemed perfect." He sighs, his eyes fluttering as helooks at me again and adds softly, "It was unexpectedly perfect."

"Your version of perfection is a bit different than mine."

"I've recently learned that—" he sighs, his conflicted gaze flickering around my confused face, "—appearances can be deceiving, Miss Bianco."

"Recently?" I ask, letting out a cynical laugh. "I learned that years ago."

"Right," he hums, swaying. "Lucky you."