Turner woke up in an unfamiliar bed. Lying on top of the covers, he was still fully dressed, but someone had removed his shoes.

Kian.

The bastard had goaded him into drinking too much. Except, Turner knew his limits and what he’d consumed shouldn’t have made him pass out. What’s more, there was no headache. If he’d drunk excessively, he should’ve been suffering from one hell of a hangover.

Instead, Turner felt better than he had in a long time. Perhaps he’d been sleep deprived, and this short nap had revived him. Lately, worry about the future had been keeping him awake at night, and he’d been having trouble falling asleep and staying asleep.

The fatigue must’ve accumulated, and the alcohol was just the last straw.

Had the nap been short, though? Turner felt as if he’d slept for hours.

Lifting his hand, he looked at the time.

Damn, it was almost morning. He’d missed the entire party. Hopefully, someone had told Bridget where he was. She would be furious at him for getting drunk, and for passing out, and leaving her alone at the party.

He’d better think of a good excuse. Appeasing her was going to be difficult.

Blame Kian. After all, it had been his fault for pushing Turner to drink. Except, she’d be right to point out that he could’ve said no.

After using the bathroom, Turner put on his shoes and tiptoed to the living room, heading for the front door. The sound of low murmurs coming from the backyard made him stop and change directions.

He found Bridget and Kian sitting next to each other on a couple of outdoor armchairs, while Kian’s wife was sprawled on the couch and sleeping.

“Victor.” Bridget rose to her feet and pulled him into her arms. “How are you feeling? Do you have a headache?”

She wasn’t mad?

What a relief!

“No, surprisingly I don’t. I feel great.”

She leaned away and looked into his eyes. “That’s good.”

“Come, sit with us.” Kian pointed to an ottoman.

Turner wasn’t sleepy or tired at all, and he wanted to ask Kian a few questions, but Bridget was probably exhausted.

“I’m sure Bridget wants to go home and sleep.”

“I’m fine. By the way, the party is still going. I don’t know if there is any food left, but I can check.”

Not wanting her to leave, Turner was about to say that he wasn’t hungry, but his stomach chose that exact moment to rumble loudly.

She patted his shoulder. “Go, sit with Kian and give him hell for getting you drunk. I’ll go scavenging for food.”

He caught her hand. “I’ve troubled you enough as it is.”

Bridget smiled. “Don’t worry about it. You’re going to pay me back. From now until further notice, I want cappuccinos in bed every morning.”

“Done.” He would have to learn how to make them.

Rubbing the back of his head, Turner sat in the chair Bridget had vacated. “I don’t understand how I got plastered like that. I didn’t drink that much.”

Kian lifted a cigarette pack from the side table, and then put it back. “I forgot I’m not supposed to smoke around you.”

“You can smoke. I don’t mind.”

“Bridget will have my head.”

“You can be done by the time she returns.”

“Are you sure?”

Turner shrugged. “At this point, it doesn't matter, and besides, secondhand smoking from one cigarette is inconsequential.”

“True.” Kian lifted the pack again and pulled out a coffin nail. “Women are irrational creatures, though, even Bridget, who is one of the most logical ones I know.” He lit the cigarette and took a long drag. “Fuck, I enjoy this too much.”

It must’ve been nice to be an immortal who could do whatever he pleased without worrying about health consequences. Kian could afford to smoke and drink to excess.

“How many drinks did I have? I remember four martinis, but that doesn’t explain why I passed out. That’s not enough to knock me out.”

“I made them potent. They were mostly pear vodka and just a few drops of juice.”

That didn’t explain it either. Four shots of vodka, even straight up, would have caused him no more than a buzz.

“It must’ve been a combination of things. I haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

Kian seemed relieved by the explanation. “That must be it.”

The guy probably felt guilty, as he should.

“Still, I’ve drunk when sleep deprived before, and I have never passed out.”

“Maybe it was something in the food? Did you eat the sushi?”

“I did.”

Kian waved a hand. “There you go. That must’ve been the culprit. None of us would get sick if there was something wrong with it, but you’re a human.”

Turner arched a brow. “Wouldn’t your superior sense of smell warn you not to eat it?”

“Normally, yes. But there were so many food smells and people smells that it was confusing.”

A logical explanation, but Kian was lying.

Turner didn’t need Andrew’s special talent to detect it. Kian wasn’t a good liar. His pupils had given him away by dilating.

But what the hell was he lying about?

“I found leftovers in the kitchen.” Bridget walked in with a loaded plate. “People are still dancing out there.”

Was it a hint? Did Bridget want to go dancing? After all, he’d practically stood her up.

“I’ll just grab a few bites, and we’ll go join them. If you’re up to it, that is.”

“Are you?”

“Yeah, I am. I feel like I could dance the night away. That nap I took was surprisingly rejuvenating.”

Bridget laughed. “There isn’t much left of the night, but I’ll gladly dance until the sun comes up.”

From the corner of his eye, Turner saw Kian’s face split into a wide grin as if he’d accomplished a major coup.

What the hell was the guy’s story?