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He wasn’t truly by himself, though, was he. Boo, the household’s black cat, was right there with him, padding along, supervising. Hell, the animal was arguably running the show, as somewhere along the line, Phury had taken to following, not leading.

Leading would so not be a good call. His blood alcohol level was way over the legal limit for anything other than brushing his teeth. And that was before you added on the numbing effects of a haystack’s worth of red smoke.

How many blunts? How much hooch?

Well, it was now . . .He had no idea what time it was. Had to be close to dawn, though.

Whatever. Trying to get a tally on the bender would have been a waste of time anyway. Given how fogged-out he was, it was doubtful he could count high enough, and besides, he couldn’t really recall what his hourly rate of consumption had been. All he was sure about was that he’d left his room when the Beefeater had run out. Originally, he’d planned to get another bottle of gin, but then he’d hooked up with Boo and started on this walkabout.

All things considered, he should have been passed out on his bed. He was polluted enough for the lights-out routine, and it had, after all, been his goal. Problem was, even with all the self-medicating, his head was suffering from the 4 Cs of heebie-jeebies: Cormia’s situation. The Chosen responsibility. The clinic’s infiltration. And Bella’s child.

Okay, the last one was a human term. But still.

At least the wizard was relatively quiet.

Phury pushed open a random door and tried to figure out where the cat had led him. Oh, right. If he kept going, he’d hit doggen territory, the vast wing where the staff stayed. Which would be trouble. If he was found wandering there, Fritz would pop an aneurysm on the assumption that the servants had somehow not discharged their duties properly.

As Phury hung a right, the base of his brain started to fire with the need for another hit of red smoke. He was on the verge of turning back when he heard sounds coming down from the third floor’s back stairwell. Someone was up in the movie theater . . . which meant he really needed to beat feet in the opposite direction, because running into one of his brothers would be a bad thing.

He was turning away when he caught the scent of jasmine.

Phury froze. Cormia . . .

Cormia was up there.

Letting himself fall back against the wall, he scrubbed his face and thought of that erotic drawing he’d done. And the hard-on he’d had while working on it.

Boo let out a meow and padded right up to the theater’s door. As the cat looked over his shoulder, his green eyes seemed to read, Go on, getcha ass up there, buddy.

“I can’t.” Try shouldn’t.

Boo didn’t buy it. The cat curled into a sit, his tail flexing up and down as if he were waiting for Phury to get with the program already.

Phury locked stares with the animal in a classic chicken challenge.

He, not the cat, blinked first and looked away.

Giving up the fight, he ran a hand through his hair. Straightened his black silk shirt. Jacked up his cream trousers. He might be totally cooked, but at least he looked like a gentleman.

Evidently satisfied with the resolve he was seeing, Boo trotted away from the door and brushed against Phury’s leg as if he were giving him an attaboy.

As the cat headed off, Phury opened the door and put his Gucci loafer up on a step. Then repeated. And repeated. He used the brass handrail to steady his big body, and tried to justify what he was doing as he ascended. He couldn’t. If you were barely in good enough shape to use Colgate, you absolutely shouldn’t interact with the Chosen female who was no longer officially yours, but who you wanted until your cock ached.

Especially given the news he had to share.

He got to the top of the stairs, rounded the corner, and looked down the gently descending rows of seats. Cormia was in front, her white Chosen’s robe pooling at her feet. Up on the screen images were flickering fast. She was rewinding a scene.

He breathed