“I won’t make that mistake again,” he promised. Sitting so close, he could catch hints of her emotions. He felt her go quiet, studying the flurry around her. It would have taken Sherlock Holmes to catch the slowing of her pulse, the softening of her features as she allowed her mask to slip. Everyone else probably thought she was teasing him but he picked up the subtle signs of relaxation.
“I half expected you to stammer and blush at the floor when I brought you back here,” she admitted quietly. “You impressed me, Professor.”
She kissed him. It wasn’t a subtle brush of his lips or a shy peck. Her mouth opened, demanding a reaction as her tongue teased his lips.
Part of him knew he should pull away, put up a boundary. They should be focused on Bernie and her brothers. But that part was stomped on and shoved into a closet by the rest of him. Deliberately forgetting all the reasons it wouldn’t work, he reached up and cupped her neck, sliding his fingers into the stiffened curls of her hair as he straightened, taking advantage of his greater height. The rest of the dancers, the audience chattering only a few feet away, all of it faded and all he cared about was the heat of her body against his. Her arms and legs were hard with muscles, throwing the soft pliability of her lips and curves into exquisite contrast. He could feel the depth of her fiery lust through the contact, and it sharpened the urgency coursing through his veins and hardening his groin. He deepened the kiss, his masculinity rising to the primal challenge of her femininity.
She answered his bid for dominance, knotting her fists in his shirt and pulling him close. Her internal strength blazed brightly, demanding he be as strong, if not stronger. A jarring thread of dissonance interrupted the perfection of their union. She wasn’t sure if he could match her.
He pulled her closer—he wasn’t intimidated. Rather than making the kiss into a display of combat, he found a balance, allowing them to overlap like architecture, building and enhancing the other to become more. His mouth and hands shared in her exultation, rejoicing in the sweetness of mutual exploration as partners.
Partners? It wasn’t a proper thought, as such, and it wasn’t Dani’s. It was something cold and alien awakening in her depths.
He became aware of it in a split second, something powerful, hungry, and completely amoral. It coiled in the shadows, preparing to strike. His first instinct was to push Dani behind him so that he could protect her, but he couldn’t stand between her and something lurking within her.
Dani jerked away from him, her chest heaving as she struggled to control her breath. Her eyes were wide with fear, and tiny flecks of red glinted at the outer edges of her irises. Something had gone terribly wrong. Michael tensed, unsure what was needed but prepared to do whatever would help her.
“Damn, girlfriend!” Opal hollered, her grin glittering against her mocha skin.
“Never thought I’d see the Stone Maiden fall,” Tanisha said.
Most of the performers were grinning and clapping.
Dani’s face settled into a mask, hiding the fear. “Ha-ha. Don’t you people have work to do?”
Michael settled in to watch the show from backstage. After a lifetime of being shown everyone’s most horrible secrets, it was difficult to shock him. Whatever was in Dani came close, though. He might not know what happened, but he was willing to bet Dani did. This time, he wasn’t going to let her evade his questions.
Dani was in trouble. Sensual energy crackled through her veins and snapped through her skin. Danger signals flashed all around. The people in the club were more animated, skin flushed and eyes dark. More than one would get lucky tonight in wild, no-holds-barred stranger-sex. Tips were going to be through the roof. It might be good business for the show, but desire and high emotions were not a good mix. Riots started in less tension than what charged this atmosphere. I have to bleed it off, but where? When?
She hadn’t faced this level of energy since her teens, and everyone here was an adult—there were no virgins to fuzzy up the fantasies playing out. This could be a bigger fucking disaster than prom. She’d gone overseas to lie low until the media stories played out.
It shouldn’t be happening. She’d just Hunted a few days ago. But the Huntress had awakened and demanded satisfaction. She could feel the psychic poison leaching out of her pores like a tangible mist and half expected to see the contaminating coils circulating through the club from her backstage perch.
She threw a kiss to the crowd, and her lips tingled, remembering the taste of Michael’s lips. Kissing him had been an impulse, a spur-of-the-moment decision. His mouth had been so tempting, so close, the scent of apples and clean woodsmoke stirring more than one appetite. It was more than any girl could resist. She’d half convinced herself it would be awkward. Every girl knew a bad first kiss was the best way to end a blossoming crush.
But it hadn’t been bad. It had been amazing. A kiss—just a simple, everyday kiss, and her body buzzed like a swarm of bees. She could still taste the tempting, clean sweetness on her lips. Could the rest of him taste that delicious, too? The thought of finding out sent her buzz ratcheting higher.
She glanced at Michael as she went onstage. His brows were furrowed and he’d bitten his lip in concern. Damn it. There was nothing “everyday” about what they’d shared, and then the Huntress ruined it by waking up to seek out prey.
Had he felt it, or had she moved away quickly enough? Her hands and body knew the dance routine, performing the steps while her mind chewed through the ramifications of the kiss. If she gave in to the desire flooding her body, the Huntress might devour Michael whole and spit out the pieces. Her hands shook at the thought, fumbling with the fastenings of her corset. If she let the energy level continue to build, next time she might not be able to step away, and the Huntress would still strip away his mind and soul. There were other people to consider, too—no one out in the club had come in asking to get stirred up into a violent frenzy tonight.
The idea of Hunting repulsed her. She didn’t want a stranger to paw at her—she wanted Michael’s hands on her, Michael’s body inside hers. Tanisha was right: the Stone Maiden had fallen and shattered.
Drawing a deep breath, she forced herself to calm down. Just get through the performance. Then they could get on with finding her brothers and his girl. Then he would be gone from her life, safe from the monster inside.
“Dani? Are you okay?” Becca asked quietly as they stepped offstage.
“Yeah. Guess I have the jitters.” Dani tried to brush off any concerns.
“He’s cute.”
“Yeah. He is.” She nodded as Michael helped one of the part-timers hold her headdress steady while she pinned it in place. Her Professor had come a long way.
“And he likes you a lot.” Tanisha joined them.
He won’t. The realization sharpened her tongue. “This is starting to sound like fucking high school.”
“He’s a good man,” Tanisha said.
“Which is why he won’t be around long.” Dani bit hard on her lip to keep from snapping. “We have other things to worry about. Either of you spot Redneck Whiskey tonight?”
“I thought I saw him, but when I looked again he was gone,” Tanisha said with evident relief.
“Maybe he finally left town,” Becca said, patting Tanisha’s shoulder.
“We can only hope.” Tanisha’s shoulders and jaw were tight. She’d spent too long being afraid to be reassured by a single evening.
“Too bad. I’m in the mood to deliver a spectacular ass kicking right about now,” Dani muttered as they took their places for the next performance.
Karan stood in the shadows. No waitress approached to ask if he wanted a drink. No patron tried to muscle past him to get a better view. No one even looked at him. Their eyes slid over his particular patch of the floor without pause.
His talent for invisibility was a large part of why Dalhard hired him. It wasn’t a true psychic gift, of course, but rather the innate ability to adjust his demeanor and behavior to remain unnoticed
and unremarkable in almost any circumstance. His boss had needed someone inconspicuous who would observe what he could not, go to the places where he did not dare to be seen, someone who could manage the vast reaches of the corporation—both legal and illegal branches—while giving Dalhard plausible deniability. He had never been subjected to Dalhard’s persuasive influence. His boss knew it would have triggered a fierce reprisal, and it allowed him to be the one person who could tell the boss when something was a bad idea.
He was beginning to believe he would have to exercise his privilege soon. Dalhard showed signs of obsession with the Harris brothers and their mysterious sister. He was ignoring the progress of the other prospects, not to mention the rest of the business. Karan would ensure Dalhard Industries remained profitable and secure, even if its CEO strayed. Dalhard was useful as a front man. He had patience with the public side of the business, patience Karan would never match. But Karan had spent too long building the company to allow his boss to waste it all on a frivolous obsession.
The club was an example. It had seen better days, likely as a movie theater or vaudeville stage in the thirties, and gone steadily downstream since. The crowd clearly had money, despite the poor location. He made a mental note to examine the business opportunities in these types of performances. Plenty of people and companies could not afford the New York tourist market in the city, but here was a golden opportunity just waiting for someone to shine it up.
The lights dimmed and a new set of performers took the stage. Karan discreetly removed his phone from his pocket, waiting for the right moment.
The women teased the crowd with their feather fans and extravagant accessories, but Karan was not interested in bared flesh or cheap thrills. He studied the woman called Onyx, snapping pictures subtly. He compared the image on screen with the yearbook shot until he was certain. He left the club, rejoining the shadows. Once outside, he sent the text.
She is here.
Chapter Twenty-One
“You want us to kill a man.” Eric repeated the words flatly.
Dalhard paused to check his phone. “He’ll be in shortly.”
“Dude, this is the worst joke I’ve ever heard.” Vincent shook his head and turned away.
“I’m quite serious. Think of it as a demonstration. A test of your speed, strength, and ferocity. Properly documented, it should create a great deal of demand.” The smoothness of Dalhard’s patter slipped. The brothers no longer held his full attention.
Eric studied him, desperate for any information that could help them survive and escape. “What’s in it for us?” he demanded.
“Money.” Dalhard seemed genuinely surprised by the question, his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. “Lots of money. I make money, you make money. Mutual benefits. I’m not a villain from a comic book or some overdramatic film. This is all part of a business plan.”
The door to the hall opened and a scrawny, filthy man covered in tattered clothes was shoved in. The only thing intact was an old T-shirt with a Superman logo on it. He muttered to himself constantly, wide eyes flickering across the room so quickly it seemed impossible that he could really see anything. The stench of stale urine and booze settled deep in Eric’s throat.
Both the brothers frowned and moved away. Vincent covered his nose and made gagging noises.
“This is Mr. Rogers. Kill him,” Dalhard instructed quietly.
“No,” Eric’s answer bounced back reflexively.
“What if I threaten to put a bullet in your brother’s head if you refuse?” Dalhard asked, adjusting his cuffs.
“Then you need to rethink your fucking not-a-villain speech,” Vincent snapped.
Eric shifted his weight slightly. Whatever the glass was made of, he doubted it would hold against a feral’s strength and speed. His mind flickered over the guards’ positions in the hall, the brief glimpses of the layout. Could he trust Vincent to follow, after what Dalhard had done to them?
“No! NononoNONONO! Get them off! Get them off!” Rogers began to scream, flailing wildly. Eric and Vincent both moved to the edges of the room, staying well out of his way.
Dalhard nodded to himself. “It’s a noble instinct, protecting others. But things are rarely simple, are they?”
“He’s crazy. He can’t be a threat to you.” Eric stepped back, flexing his shoulders.
“Would it make a difference if I told you he was killing pets? Cutting them up for food?” Dalhard offered details as if they were of no consequence, but Eric noted the interested gleam in the man’s stone eyes. Eric had to stay focused on their real enemy, not the distraction. Dalhard continued. “Would that make it morally acceptable? What if it were children? What then?”
“I’m not killing someone on your say-so!” Eric yelled.
“Demons!” The crazy man screamed, yanking out a knife and charging at the brothers. Not just a distraction.
“What the fuck!” Vincent scrambled out of the way, falling.
Faced with an actual attack, Eric’s face hardened, and his movements became fluid and deadly. He had no choice if they were to have any hope. He shifted to avoid a wild knife strike. Stepping behind his attacker, he wrapped thick arms around the man’s neck. Leaning in, his mouth moved for a moment before he yanked his hands in opposite directions, using his strength for a painless break.
An audible snap echoed through the room. The man collapsed onto the floor, his neck twisted in a position never intended by nature.
“Worst fucking job interview ever,” Vincent breathed from the floor.
Eric slowly straightened and faced Dalhard, his face aching from tension, locked in a dark mask. “You got what you wanted.”
“Indeed I did.” Dalhard’s slow smile of satisfaction chilled Eric. The other man re-entered the room, completely ignoring the body sprawled on the floor. “I’ll arrange to have you both taken somewhere more comfortable.”
“I take it we have the job.” Eric met the man’s eyes, but it took every instinct to hold himself steady as Dalhard approached him. His mental resistance to the man’s powers might be the only advantage they had right now. He couldn’t betray it. Dalhard’s perfectly manicured hand fell heavily on Eric’s shoulder and once more Eric felt the dizzying impinging of a foreign consciousness. It stroked at his memories, diminishing the horrid crack of snapping bone and suddenly limp flesh. It tugged at the pain of being locked in a box in the darkness and left alone to wonder about his family.
He let the intruder succeed in relaxing him even as he clung to the memories deep inside. Hold tight. I won’t forget what he’s done to me.
“Vincent, are you all right?” Dalhard solicitously helped Vincent to his feet. Vincent’s head snapped up.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” He spoke the words slowly and carefully, as if they might shatter to reveal the lie.
“I’ll have more food sent to your suite.”
“More food is never a bad idea.” His brother’s speech rhythms returned. He moved and sounded like the old, carefree Vincent, except Vincent would never have been carefree with a corpse still cooling in the room.
“Follow me, gentlemen. I think you’ll like what we have to offer.”
Michael’s fingers ached from tension as he watched the show from backstage. Superficially it might appear to be the same performance he’d seen last night, but he could see the rigidity and tension in Dani’s movements. Something lurked inside her, something dangerous. A smart man probably would walk away, but he refused. She needed his help as much as Bernie did.
He’d be lying to himself if he claimed his motives were all altruistic. The kiss had been amazing. He could still taste a lingering hint of oranges and jasmine on his lips, and he’d resorted to the schoolboy trick of holding a clipboard in front of himself to disguise the aching hardness swelling behind his fly. Part of him wanted to drag her offstage and back to any area with a reasonably comfortable flat surface. The other part of him wanted to forget about the flat surface.
Th
e emotional atmosphere of the crowd tugged his awareness away from his fantasy-fueled discomfort. He scanned faces, surprised to see so many lips curling in contempt and disgust, eyebrows knotting hard over noses. People were talking louder and in shorter sentences than a few minutes ago. Their gestures were sharper and more agitated. The crowd was quickly turning ugly.
What could have set it off? Two nights ago, everyone seemed relaxed and ready to laugh. Now the laughter had a brittle, sarcastic edge. Bells of familiarity started to ring through his consciousness.
The club Joe had taken him to, he realized. That had been like this: anger and desire pumped way out of proportion for an evening out. But it hadn’t lasted long.
His mind rapidly put pieces together into a puzzle he wasn’t sure he wanted to see. Dani had been at the club. She’d left right as he and Joe were arriving. Something dark and alien rested inside her, something hungry and violent. It had to be influencing people. It sounded like something out of The Twilight Zone, but then so did everything else that had happened this week.
The performance finished and the dancers came offstage. Dani avoided his eyes, muttering something about needing a drink. She yanked on a top and jeans with profane energy. He took a step toward her, but she skittered away like a frightened animal, heading for the bar.
“She’s definitely got it bad.” Opal shook her head, clacking the strings of pearls draped around her.
“She’s not the only one.” Michael leaned against the wall, raking his hand through his hair.
“Give it some time. You’ll both get used to it. I’m going to head home. I’ve got a paper due this weekend, and I don’t like how the crowd is acting tonight.” Opal grabbed her clothes to get dressed.
“What about the rest of the show?” Michael asked, surprised.
“Candy will take my spot. She could use the money.” Opal nodded at one of the part-timers, a pretty redhead with languorous curls. “And I could use the break.”
“Dani mentioned you were having trouble with one of the customers. She called him Redneck Whiskey.” Michael couldn’t help stealing a look across the agitated club. Dani downed her drink in a single swallow and pressed the glass to her head.
Revelations: Book One of the Lalassu Page 13
