The Drunkard

A Blade at His Throat

Elias did not sleep that night.

He and Selene had barricaded themselves in a dilapidated inn on the edge of town after the fight in the alley. The air was filled with the stench of wet wood and stale cigarettes, the mattress creaked, and the door's working lock barely fit, but it was the best they could manage at short notice.

Elias sat in the window, observing the rain run down the pane, cigarette smoldering low between his fingers. Selene reclined on the bed, not resting but still, her muscles strained even when at rest.

Both of them did not trust the quiet.

Then, sometime around dawn, Elias sensed it.

A change in the atmosphere. A tickle down his back.

And then.

A chill blade against his throat.

He did not stir. Did not inhale.

A low chuckle came after, the tone dark and smooth as velvet.

"Well," a man's voice whispered, "I thought more of a struggle from the great Elias Thorne."

Elias let out a slow breath, fighting not to respond. His fingers curled into a fist, prepared to act if an opening was presented.

Selene, though, was quicker.

Before the intruder could cinch his hold, she darted like lightning, her dagger slicing through the dark room.

The ring of steel on steel echoed as the stranger parried her attack, the knife at Elias's throat disappearing in a flash.

Elias sprang forward, his own knife in hand as he faced their unwanted visitor.

And then—he stopped.

The man standing before them was grinning.

Tall, with a black coat flowing over his broad shoulders, his face too handsome for a man with so much evident wickedness. Dark hair spilled loose waves over his brow, his eyes sharp, chiseled like he was meant for a ballroom, not a brawl.

But his eyes told a different tale.

Too light. Too pointed. Almost supernatural.

And he wasn't alone.

Two others stood in the doorway, waiting and shadowed.

The man in black spun his knife between his fingers, his smile spreading. "Well, isn't this nice? The two of you always sleep together, or was it a special night?"

Selene's hand tightened on her sword. "Who the hell are you?"

The man cocked his head, as if weighing his options. Then he sighed, feigning disappointment in his voice.

"Ah. Where are my manners?"

He bowed, slow and exaggerated.

"Call me Alistair. And I think you have something that is mine."

A Dangerous Proposition

Selene struck first.

She flashed out with her knife as quick as a striking viper, but Alistair was quicker.

He dodged with ease, catching her wrist as she swung and twisting. Selene winced in pain, her knife falling to the floor.

Elias attacked next for the kill, but before his blade could strike home, Alistair's men moved forward.

A gun cocked.

Elias froze.

The second guy, a hulk of a man with the face scarred in a patchwork of patterns, had a pistol pressed hard against Elias's chest.

Alistair sounded disapproving. "Tsk. Tsk. No sense of courtesy, I think." He loosened Selene's wrist from his grip, stepping back like they weren't about to lose blood.

Elias clenched his teeth. "If you wanted to negotiate, you didn't exactly pick the best entrance."

Alistair smiled. "Oh, but this is the way I speak, yes." He waved a careless hand toward the room. "You possess something I desire, Elias. And I've come to bargain."

Selene massaged her wrist. "We're not selling the amulet."

Alistair laughed. A low, mellow sound, as if he was actually smiling.

"Sell it?" He shook his head. "Darling, you don't understand. I don't want to buy it. I want to take it—off your hands, off your soul, off your very existence."

Elias felt the amulet chill against his skin.

He forced a smirk. "Well, that's kind of you. But if you have any idea about this cursed thing, you know it doesn't just vanish."

Alistair's smile didn't waver, but his eyes darkened.

"Oh, I know how it goes," he said softly. "Better than you, I bet."

Elias bristled. A warning knot formed in his stomach.

Alistair advanced another step. "You're running low on time, Elias." He spoke softly. "I can see it written on you."

Elias ground his teeth.

The son of a bitch was right.

He had sensed it, the amulet growing heavier in his chest, the close calls narrowing. The Collector had almost gotten him last night.

His good luck was fading away.

And Alistair realized that.

Selene jumped in before Elias did. "What do you want?"

Alistair came back at her, his grin softening to something close to sincerity.

"I want to help," he declared.

Elias snorted. "You want us to trust you?"

Alistair huffed. "I want you to be clever enough to hear me."

A pause. And then suddenly he rummaged inside his coat and produced something tiny.

Elias furrowed.

A coin.

He flipped it once, catching it smoothly. "You know what this is, don't you?"

Elias's blood turned cold.

The same coin Selene had used.

Alistair smiled. "Yes, I know Vasquez. And yes, I know exactly what she told you." He made the coin spin over his knuckles. "You don't want to pass the amulet to someone else. Fine. Noble of you. But what if I told you there's a third option?"

Elias's eyes narrowed.

Alistair's smirk grew.

"I can shatter it."

Silence.

Selene's face remained impassive, but Elias sensed the tension emanating from her in waves.

Elias, on the other hand, laughed. "Sure. And what's the cost for that minor miracle?"

Alistair's smirk turned cutting. "Ah. Well, that's where it gets… interesting."

He moved closer, voice going lower.

"The amulet lives on luck. It exists by drawing strength from fate itself." He locked eyes with Elias. "And to shatter it… you have to do the one thing it doesn't permit."

Elias swallowed. "Which is?"

Alistair grinned.

"Lose."

The Gamble of a Lifetime

The word lingered in the air like a sentence of death.

Lose.

Elias had never lost.

The amulet had never permitted it.

Selene's voice was strained. "You mean to say.

"I mean to say," Alistair cut in smoothly, "that Elias has to bet his luck itself. One last gamble. One instant of real loss, where he puts his very life on the line."

Elias let out a slow breath, running a hand over his jaw. "And if I lose?"

Alistair grinned wider.

"Then you're free."

His tone grew silky.

"No more amulet. No more curse. No more Collector."

Elias didn't answer right away. His pulse pounded in his throat.

Because he was in the know.

If the amulet dictated his destiny…

Then could he possibly ever lose at all?

Or would it pervert the game once again until the debt was repaid in blood?

Alistair eyed him intently. Waiting. Grinning.

Selene spoke softly. "Elias. Don't do this."

Elias looked at her.

Then, at last, he turned to Alistair.

And sneered.

"What's the game?"