by Eve Langlais
“Why?”
“To remove the blood link.”
“Are you sure you want to do that?” Stefan tossed Titus a sharp look.
No, he wasn’t. If given a choice, Titus wouldn’t break the blood tie with Adara; however, neither did he want her to feel forced into a relationship with him.
Knowing they belonged together was one thing. Adara had to feel it, as well. If Titus had to remove his mark, so be it. When she was ready, then and only then would he reapply it.
“It’s what Adara wants.”
“There’s a word for a man who just keeps giving.”
“Happy?”
Stefan grimaced. “Who are you and what have you done with my master?”
“Nothing wrong with caring. I care for you, don’t I?”
“If by caring you mean, ‘don’t fuck up or I’ll rip your head off.’” Stefan dropped his voice in imitation.
Titus offered a tight smile. “Just trying to encourage you to do the best job possible.”
“Money would provide better incentive.”
“Only if you’re alive to spend it,” Titus said much too pleasantly.
Stefan didn’t take offense. “What is the master’s plan for this evening?”
“I’ve had dinner but find myself in need of dessert.”
“I thought you said you were going to the club?”
“I am. I am not in the mood to eat at home.” His regular stable of blood donors didn’t appeal. Time for take-out.
And he knew of only one place that catered to his kind.
Chapter Five
The bouncer took one look at Adara and shook his head. “We’re full. Move aside.”
Rejected, Adara sidled away, hands shoved into her pockets, the red glare of the flashing, neon sign lighting the sidewalk. She wasn’t even sure she’d find what she wanted inside, yet the name of the place, Fang Cocktail, and the graphic—a martini glass with amber liquid and a bobbing eyeball—seemed promising.
Just her luck, she’d arrived too late.
A woman swept past Adara, her blond hair teased, makeup thick, and her dress short.
Something so small and tight wouldn’t protect her from the chilly evening weather. It truly wasn’t appropriate, given her nipples practically tore a hole through the skimpy fabric.
But it wasn’t the woman who raised Adara’s ire, it was the bouncer saying, “Right this way, ma’am.”
Adara whirled to see the blonde sashaying her way inside.
Not so full, after all.
Adara clenched her fists by her sides. So unfair. Perhaps if she wore fewer clothes, she too would get in. Although, in fairness, she probably should have tried for something a little more presentable. Her jeans—rather well worn but clean—and her shirt under the jean jacket didn’t exactly scream night out clubbing. Her budget didn’t stretch to buying anything fancier. Even if it did, the idea of flaunting herself, of showing so much skin and being ogled…
The shiver had little to do with the cold but more the terror that wanted to rise.
She wouldn’t allow that fear. Just like she wouldn’t let one guy keep her from doing what she’d come for. She tapped the bouncer on the arm. He looked down at her.
“I need to get in.”
He sneered. “We don’t cater to the homeless.”
“I have a home.” Of sorts. If squatter’s rights counted. She glared. It did nothing to dissuade the guy, who let in another scantily clad girl.
Whirling around, determined to find another way in, Adara came face-to-chest with white silk. But it was the scent she recognized.
Titus.
He stood taller than her, and his voice—familiar, commanding, and smooth, so velvety smooth—cut through the din. “Move aside for me and my companion.”
Who was his companion? The heated jealousy rose fast and furious. Surprising, too.
More shocking, the sudden grip on her arm as Titus led her past the now cooperative bouncer into the club proper.
Only once they were inside, the vestibule dimly lit and offering a coat check, did she shake herself loose.
“What are you doing?” she asked through a hank of hair.
He reached to brush it out of her face, giving her the full impact of his eyes. Those mesmerizing, clear blue eyes.
“Hello, Adara. Imagine seeing you again so soon.”
“Don’t hello me. You followed me.” Her glare was aimed at Titus and encompassed his lackey, Stefan, at his back.
“Actually, I didn’t. What a coincidence we ended up at the same place.”
Nice to know she’d actually found a club that catered to special people. Were vampires people? Titus certainly acted like he was better than most.
She scowled. “You shouldn’t have interfered.” Which was just her being stubborn given the fact that, without his aid, she never would have been given entry to the club.
“Can a friend not help another friend in need?”
“We’re not friends.”
His nostrils flared, and his eyes flashed. “You’re right, dearest, we are more than that.”
Her lips pressed into a tight line. “Not for long if you were telling the truth.”
His lips curved. “I was.”
“Did you make an appointment?”
“Stefan is handling it.” Which led to Stefan smirking at her.
“When?”
“I’ll be in touch when I have a time and date. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get on with my evening and leave you to yours.”
Titus walked away.
She might have gaped in surprise at his back. Especially since he didn’t ask her to join him or turn to look back.
Which left her standing just inside the club, a hopping place of loud music and bright lights, of which she only now took notice.
Someone jostled her from behind. Odd how that didn’t happen when she stood with Titus. People knew to give him a wide berth.
She slid farther into the club, doing her best to avoid touching too many people. It proved almost impossible given the number of bodies filling the space.
She did her best not to flinch, reminding herself this was just like riding the subway. No one cared that she was here. The many patrons weren’t all about to turn around and attack.
Once she started to believe her words, reinforced by the fact that no one even met her gaze, she relaxed and glanced over the crowd.
Most patrons, like the women allowed entry earlier by the bouncer, were dressed scantily, their youth as powerful as their desperation to have fun. The men weren’t much better, their shirts skintight and molding to their physiques. Their pants practically painted onto their legs. Piercings abounded: ears, eyebrows, noses, lips, tongues. The jewelry glinted in the strobing lights. Tattoos provided artistic contrast.
More than ever, Adara felt overdressed, her body too pristine. She didn’t even have a scar marring her skin.
Flesh undulated on the dance floor as those with the most revealing outfits gyrated to the beat—while others watched.
Having done a quick sweep of the place, she did another, slower this time, and noticed that not everyone appeared dressed to get laid.
Some men, like Titus, chose to be more elegant, wearing dress shirts and slacks. Some women, rather than baring as much cleavage and skin as possible, lounged in classy cocktail dresses. They appeared out of place, yet she’d wager those were the folks she was interested in. The higher-end predators. Predators who cast sly glances at her. She ducked her gaze rather than engage in a staring match. Because of Titus, she knew some had the power to mesmerize. And she wasn’t about to let anyone mess with her mind.
But at the same time, she couldn’t exactly ignore them.
I need to find someone who knows about demons. Not just any fiends. Time to track down a smart one.
Thus far, the demons she’d managed to hunt were stupid creatures, such as the one eating the fish. Talking to them was as useful as talking to a dog. All bark a
nd bite. They couldn’t answer her questions; therefore, she needed someone, or something, that could tell her about the field and the woods.
First, though, she needed to find a demon who did more than slobber and grunt, and what better place to do that than a club that catered to the Underworld. A place where a demon could go for a beer. Where a fiend wouldn’t appear out of place. Where a vampire could bargain for a fresh drink.
Her lips pressed tight again. Was that why Titus was here? To feed? There certainly were enough willing women.
For some reason, it irritated. Rather than focus on the inexplicable jealousy, she chose to blame it on the drinking of blood itself. Never mind that he’d never attempted to feed on her; the knowledge that he was a leech feeding on others bothered her.
Yet it didn’t seem to bother anyone else. Not here, at least. She caught sight of more than a few pairs of fangs on display. Some of them fake. It didn’t take a super nose or second sight to notice the artificially filed incisors. But others, those with cool composure and slightly amused gazes, did exist for real. They emitted a certain vibe that drew the scantily clad to them, whereupon they adjourned to a quiet corner.
Was Titus, at this very moment, in a corner with his lips latched to someone’s neck?
Her nails bit into her palms.
I am not jealous. A strong emotion and rebuttal that she couldn’t contain. Was it her, or did she imagine Titus’s amusement?
“Anytime you want to take their place, dearest.”
She clearly heard his voice.
“Stay out of my head.” She imagined walls slamming down around her emotions and thoughts, and the mirth ceased. But she couldn’t forget the words.
I won’t be anyone’s lunch.
She waded through more of the crowd, one of the few not swaying in time to the deep, throbbing beat. Her eyes remained clear and unglazed. She eschewed a drink.
She kept scanning faces and realized they all looked human to her because, of course, the monsters would be hiding. Demons wouldn’t dare show their true and ugly faces.
Fangs and pale skin barely caught her attention. Ethereal beauty, while lovely, didn’t hold her gaze for long. She kept looking, hoping to find something else. But she didn’t catch a hint of anything other than sweat, soap, and cologne. No brimstone. No rot. No green, scaly skin or black, leathery wings.
Had she come here for nothing?
A body brushed against her back but didn’t move on. She turned, ready to shove at the person invading her space, more angry than scared, which proved how far she’d come in the last month.
The plaid material she encountered seemed out of place amidst the silk shirts and tight tees. A glance upward showed the half-shaven jaw and hooded gaze of the handsome Logan.
What a surprise. Not.
She scowled. “Are you going to try and feed me a line about this being a coincidence?”
He bent close and spoke to her alone. “Nope. I’m here to keep an eye on you. This is a rough place to hang out.”
“I can handle rough.” Sassy words spoken just as someone elbowed her hard enough to make her stumble against Logan.
He steadied her, a hand on her waist, and for a moment heat flared at the contact, then panic. She pushed away from him.
“Don’t touch me.”
He might not have shown the hint of pain at her words, but she sure as heck felt it through their tie.
She ignored it.
“I’d never hurt you, honey.”
She angled her chin, ready to blast him. Only to recall something the doctor had said.
“Are you really mad at him or is he just an easy scapegoat because you know he won’t retaliate?”
He wouldn’t. Adara could beat on him as hard as she liked, and he’d probably stand there and take it.
The jerk.
Rather than reply—or forgive him, or hug him, or slap him for hugging her back—she turned away from Logan and began searching the crowd anew.
Only Logan wasn’t so easily deterred. His hand under her elbow in a firm grip had her following him as he commandeered a table—by growling at its lone occupant—and offered one of the stools to Adara.
A scowl on her lips, she sat. He didn’t look bothered at all as he raised two fingers to draw the attention of a waiter, who nodded, sending the chain that ran from the stud in his nose to his nipple jiggling. One didn’t have to guess too hard where the second chain from that same nipple down into the waistband of his leather pants went. Her nether regions cringed at the thought of anything piercing them.
“I almost didn’t recognize you. Smells like you bathed in a tub of vanilla,” he remarked.
“It’s called perfume.” And she’d used it to mask her scent. Logan had mentioned, more than once, just how good she smelled. And she still remembered the avid interest his buddy showed after getting a whiff.
Now, she wore perfume everywhere and had practically dumped on a bottle before coming to the club.
Leaning forward, with her elbows on the table, she hissed, “Go away.”
“I am not leaving you alone, especially not here.” Logan’s reply was firm.
“Titus did.” Not the right answer.
His lips flattened. “I don’t give a damn what that leech has done. I know better than to abandon you.”
“Back to calling him a leech?” She arched a brow. “What happened to your truce?” A peace they’d once managed because of Adara.
“Once a selfish bloodsucker, always a selfish bloodsucker.”
“I don’t know if I’d call him selfish. He’s the one offering me a way to free myself of you both.”
Logan’s brow creased. “What are you talking about? The blood bond we formed is unbreakable.”
Nice of him to remind her why she still simmered at him. “Not according to Titus. He says it can be removed.”
“He lies.”
“Or you are.”
The accusation hung between them, and for a moment, Logan said nothing as he stared at her, his gaze brooding. Which made his laughter all the more surprising. “Oh, honey, I am many things, but a liar ain’t one of them.”
The waiter arrived bearing a pair of beers on a tray. Not her favorite beverage, but she clasped the sweating golden-hued bottle rather than look out of place. She even pretended to take a swig and did her best not to grimace as the bitter brew left a taste on her lips.
Logan felt no such qualms and tilted the bottle back for a deep swallow. She found herself watching the smooth column of his neck. The pulse at the base of it. Tic. Tic. Tic.
She wondered what it would feel like to press her lips against it. Nibble it.
The direction of her thoughts startled, and she looked away, checking out the crowd, which had grown denser since her arrival.
She still hadn’t quite figured out how to tell a possible demon from everyone and everything else in this place. Surely, there was a mark, a tell to separate the hiding monsters from the humans.
“You won’t be able to spot them. Smell is the only way. And even then,”—he grinned—“they might have stolen your trick.”
“But I am in the right place to find a demon or someone who knows about them?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. Until I met you, I didn’t even know about demons.”
“But you knew of the one under the bridge?”
“That slug? Was it a demon, or just some ugly fuck?”
Her lips pulled into a disapproving line. “If you’re not going to help, go away.”
“Nope. Since you seem hell-bent on finding trouble, I kind of feel like I should stay close by.”
“I can handle myself.”
“Thus far, and against minor foes. They won’t all be that easy.”
He called those easy? She didn’t let his words deter her. “I will find answers.”
“You haven’t been looking for answers. You’ve been taking vengeance. Being a vigilante won’t solve your memory problems,” Logan remarked a
s she remained silent.
“No, but it does wonders for my anger issues.” She peeled at the label on the bottle.
“Hasn’t your shrink been able to help you with that?”
No surprise he knew about her therapy, but the fact that he actually dared mention it drew an irritated, “None of your business.” He didn’t need to know how often his name came up.
“Keep shoving me, honey. I still ain’t going anywhere. Whether you like it or not, you are my business.”
“Because you infected me with your blood.”
“The blood mark has nothing to do with it.” He leaned across the table, his expression intent. “I care about you.”
“You only think you do. If you knew the things that were done to me...” The taint they’d left behind.
“Do you think me so shallow? You are a victim, Adara.”
“So you admit what you feel is pity.”
He reared back in his seat, brows pulled into a mighty frown. “No, it’s not bloody pity. I care. Why is that so hard for you to fucking believe?”
“None shall ever extend a hand in friendship, for you are forsaken.”
She did her best to pretend that the ghostly words hadn’t been spoken. Because Adara knew only she could hear them.
“I can’t give you what you want,” she said.
“I’m not asking for anything.”
He wasn’t. Not with words. Yet his very presence, the fact that he stuck close by, the emotion she could sense through the bond he’d created… She couldn’t handle it.
“I need to go to the washroom.” The one place he couldn’t follow.
She shoved through the swinging door, and the moment it shut, the music was instantly muffled.
The washroom proved to be a large space with a counter running the full length of one wall, along with a massive mirror. There were a handful of sinks, all in use by women with too much mascara and not enough fabric covering their bodies.
Adara looked out of place in her cleanest pair of jeans—without a single hole—and a buttoned blouse—up to the neck.
While she preferred to tie her hair back, she’d chosen to leave it loose. The research she’d done had advised not making her neck a temptation for vampires.
