Bastien rocked back on the heels of his boots and jammed his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “We’re meeting a potential liaison to the southeastern shape-shifter contingent at a bar?” Denal read the words off the rickety-looking neon sign. “It’s not just a bar. It’s Thelma’s Bar and Grill.” “Looks like a shithole to me,” Justice snarled. “Remind me why, again, I had to come along and babysit you?” Bastien’s lips twitched at the idea of Justice babysitting him. “Right. Your puny six-and-a-half-feet-tall self and what army?” Justice’s pale green eyes gleamed with power, and he raised one hand, palm up, to display a glowing ball of electricity. “None but the priest channel the elements so well as I do, buffoon. Standing nearly seven feet tall merely means you’ll make a bigger hole in the ground when I knock you on your ass.” Denal rolled his eyes. “Whatever. If you’re done playing, let’s get inside and meet this woman. I could go for a beer and five or six cheeseburgers, too.”
