Novelas y relatos de The Night Deposit Whiskey Library

We go through the third door, entering a grand library that houses a whole wall of books—a deep mahogany desk and, lastly, a bar area that holds decanters of alcohol in amber and clear. The alcohol calls to me. It’s been an age since I tasted the fine distillation of whisky. “Drink?” Hati asks, looking in the direction of his collection. A confident smile covers his face as if he finds my interest amusing, but I ignore him and deny his request. “No, I am fine. Thank you, though.” “Very well, suit yourself, Celeste. I don’t mind if he does…” I watch whilst Hati pours himself more than his fair share of alcohol, only for him to down the tumbler In one go and refill it.

“Got any of that whiskey you spend all your money on?” “Course I do,” Booker scoffed, waving toward one of the chipped white cupboard doors, hanging on by a single hinge. “Help yerself. After the night ya’ve had, might as well drink from the bottle.” Returning to the armchair, a bottle of the finest whiskey clutched in his bloodied knuckles, Jon downed a third of the bottle. The oaky liquid burned his throat, spreading warmth down into his chest. “Was Harley there?”

“What is important is what’s been going on here since I’ve been gone. Are those infants about to crawl out of that woman or not?” “Not quite yet,” my Beta says. “We had a bit of a scare, but she’s fine now with some rest. The pups should be just fine.” I grunt and head over to my wet bar. The maids keep all my bottles of fine whiskey underneath the bar where I can reach them, and I pour myself a glass. I pause for a moment watching the one-hundred-year-old liquid swirl around in the sparkling crystal before I gulp it down. Perfection. “Your Majesty?”

* I followed Rogue towards the lit area, acutely aware of Silas trailing behind us like a brooding shadow. The space around the desk felt strangely intimate after the vast, threatening emptiness of the main warehouse floor. Rogue moved behind the desk, not sitting, and gestured to one of the armchairs. "Please." He turned to the sideboard, selecting two heavy crystal tumblers. "I hope you appreciate the water of life. This is a rare Dalmore, fifty years in the cask. Not something I waste on just anyone." He poured two generous measures, the rich amber liquid catching the light.

The bartender snorted, “We just haven’t had a group in a long time. And just so you know, that drink is damn strong. It will fucking kill you.” “I know. And we can take it.” The bartender dumped the piece of rag that he was wiping those glasses with and lurched to the back. “What is a Whiskey Ruined?” Aurora whispered. “It is how you ask for the ticket for the test. You will see.” Moments later, the bartender returned with 5 glasses of whiskey and 5 tickets. “Finish your drink,” he mumbled. “The entrance is in the back, next to the man’s room.” They exchanged a brief look, and each took a glass of wine and a ticket.

She hugs me again, quick and fierce, then disappears into the night. I walk. The streets are quiet for Lower East Side, Friday, but early enough that the real crowds haven’t spilled out yet. My heels click against the pavement. The whiskey is humming in my veins, blurring edges, sharpening memories. I pass a hotel I’ve never noticed before. Glass doors. Warm light spilling onto the sidewalk. A small bar visible through the windows, low stools, amber bottles glowing behind polished wood. I go in. The place is half-empty. Jazz playing soft. I slide onto a stool at the far end of the bar. Order a double Macallan. Neat.

Better to walk away than say something that couldn’t be taken back. Nick took another deep breath and turned to walk up the small street leading to the small tavern. He needed a drink. Running his hands through his hair in frustration, he pushed open the door, taking a minute to adjust his eyes to the brighter light within and found a corner table to himself. A tall blonde wolf wondered over. “What can I get you tonight, Nick?” “I think I need a whiskey, and better make it double. Thank you.”

We pass the library, and I’m grabbed by the arm, yanked through a crack in the doorway. Ryan kicks the door closed and shoves me toward the group of men lounging in various positions around the wide room. Three stories of bookshelves stretch to a domed ceiling while snow continues to fall in a bright, shimmering haze beyond the windows. I glance behind me and notice my mom and sister aren’t here, which is fine, I guess. They’ll join the ranks of the women, while I– “Drink up.” Ryan thrusts a glass of exceedingly fine whiskey in my hand before turning to the group, which includes Sydney, Evander, Declan, Ryatt, and… Duncan.

I still had some time. So, I walked over to a large trunk just two feet away from them, sat down, dropped my backpack just beside me, and pulled out my bottle of whiskey. I'll need to get a refill to take me through the night because it promises to be a very long night. I hadn't even visited Kex's pack yet, let alone Wes's pack to make sure they got my gift. Fuck. The night was full of blood and pleasure. I took a long gulp from the bottle before setting it down between my boots and looking up at the two guards, before I spoke again.

Bottles of high-end whiskey were lined up on the table. "Monique!" Don Antonio greeted me with open arms, his voice rich and warm, like the alcohol he'd been sampling. "You should have come yesterday. We did a wine tasting for my new bar. Tonight is whiskey night." He gestured to the display, a typical Friday evening for a Mexican drug lord. I shook my head, a tight smile on my lips. "You know I don't care for whiskey," I said, eager to get to the point. "And I don't know much about alcohol. I need to—"