A man with long, straight black hair and a goatee nodded beside the older gentleman. His gold eyes flashed as he took one last look at Charlie before she disappeared from the casino’s inside cameras and reappeared on outdoor cameras that led down the sidewalks in front of The August hotel. Then he turned and left the room.
* * * *
There were five of them, total. Three of Phelan’s men seemed to move around a heavily built werewolf with buzz-cut brown hair. If Cole had heard them right, his name was Mitch. The fifth werewolf moved alone, separate from the others.
All werewolves were tall, to a certain extent. Cole had never met one under six feet. However, amongst werewolves, just as some were stronger and faster or possessed powers that others did not, some were definitely taller than others.
This fifth of Phelan’s men was very tall. He wore solid black and the material blended with the inky color of his hair. Cole could smell the strangeness coming off of him. It was the same scent that Eva Black had possessed, though not as tinged with darkness. It was magic. And whether the werewolf was a witch or a warlock, Cole would have no way of knowing for certain until the man began to cast one of his spells.
Since their arrival a few hours earlier, Cole’s men had fanned out across the city; he’d brought them all. He wasn’t taking chances. More than a dozen werewolves under his command had begun to close in on the Strip like red radar blips, their circle shrinking around the epicenter created by Claire St.James. At the moment, they outnumbered Phelan’s men three to one.
Cole suspected that Gabriel Phelan’s absence had much to do with that faux pas on their part. It was nearly impossible for a pack to organize itself efficiently while its leader was away. There was something about an alpha’s proximity that had an effect on his pack. It drew it together, made it more cohesive and stronger.
Phelan wouldn’t be back from New York until the following night. The billionaire real-estate mogul was counting on two things at that moment. He was counting on his pack’s ability to keep Charlie safe in what he undoubtedly considered his territory: Las Vegas. He was also counting on no other alpha being aware that Claire St.James existed.
And he was wrong on both counts.
Cole knew the exact moment in time that Phelan’s men realized they were surrounded. Mitch and his crew began to scent the air, their heads upturned, their eyes searching the shadows of the streets and alleys around them.
At the same time, the black-haired magic-using werewolf straightened, his head cocking slightly to one side. Malcolm’s lips curled into a smile when the man slowly turned in place, realizing that he was not alone in the darkness of the alley.
The mage’s amber eyes began to glow as they searched the shadows. “I can smell you, alpha,” he whispered. And then those eyes settled on the silhouette of Cole’s tall, strong form. The werewolf mage smiled. “Not to mention, see you.”
Malcolm calmly stepped out of the shadows of the alleyway and watched as the man’s eyes widened, almost imperceptibly.
“Malcolm Cole,” he greeted. “The serial killer who wasn’t.”
“I suppose that depends on your definition of the term,” Cole answered, easily. After all, he had indeed killed many a man. His smooth accented voice filled the space in the alleyway and he could see that his power was registered in the eyes of the other man.
The black-haired werewolf wasted no time. “You’re here for the Dormant.”
Malcolm didn’t answer. It wasn’t a question, anyway. Instead, he looked down and casually adjusted one of the leather bands on his wrists.
The magic user seemed to mull something over. Cole knew that he was aware he was going to lose tonight’s battle. He would have to fall back and regroup. And Phelan might kill him for his failure.
Malcolm was impressed when the mage tried another tactic. “If you take her tonight, Cole, before she has even had a chance to get to know you, she will hate you. You understand that, don’t you?”
Malcolm’s eyes flashed emerald in the darkness. He pinned the other werewolf with that terribly intense gaze and smiled, flashing fangs. Oh I know, he thought. Better than you can imagine. But, since when had that stopped him?
The other werewolf said nothing more. His amber eyes were shuttered, closed off. They were at a stale-mate of words. The only discourse left to them would have been combat, and no intelligent werewolf would go up against Cole in that capacity at that juncture. He was too strong, too hungry, and his men were everywhere.
“I will bid you goodnight, Malcolm Cole,” the man finally said. His tone was tight. Cole watched him warily. Witches and wizards were dangerous. Warlocks, more so. But their spells took time. While the other man might decide to begin casting a spell against him in that alleyway, Cole would never give him the luxury of finishing it.
Malcolm watched as the werewolf turned and, with one last glance over his broad shoulder, headed out of the small, dark alley. The dark-haired man stepped out onto the well-lit sidewalk beyond and then strolled casually toward The August, where its looming glass and steel unforgivingly fractured the Nevada sky.
When he was out of sight, Cole turned to gaze across the street, where Jake leaned against the wall of a club, his strong arms crossed over his chest. The club was the same one that Claire St.James and her dark-haired companion had entered twenty minutes before.
Jake’s gaze met Malcolm’s and the blonde werewolf smiled, nodding once. Phelan’s men were temporarily taken care of. Malcolm nodded back and Jake slipped into the club.
It was time to move in for the kill.
* * * *
Mary Jane ordered a beer for Charlie and a shot of Goldschlager for herself and then turned to speak to Charlie in hushed tones. “Okay, here’s what I want you to do.”
Charlie began to down her beer, chugging it in record time as if it would help her prepare for whatever devious plan M.J. had for the both of them. “I want you to dance with the first person who asks you tonight, no matter how creepy or untrustworthy you might think he is.”
Charlie spit out a bit of her beer and wiped her mouth on the back of her jacket sleeve. “What?” she coughed.
“You heard me. No holds barred tonight, chicky-poo.” Mary Jane pointed a red-nailed index finger at her friend’s chest. “You, my dear, are too harsh. You are too quick to judge guys. You think they all want to rip your clothes off and do you on the floor.”
Charlie slowly put down her beer and chewed on the inside of her cheek, her delicate brow arched just a touch.
Mary Jane blinked. And then she sighed and downed her entire shot of Goldschlager. She slammed the glass back down on the table and shrugged. “Okay, so maybe they do all want to rip your clothes off and screw you on the floor. But you can handle them. You may as well have fun until it starts getting nasty.”
“You mean, I should tease them.”
At that, Mary Jane smiled brightly and nodded. “Exactly! Now you’re catching on. This might actually prove to be a fun night after all.”
This time, it was Charlie’s turn to blink. She had meant it rhetorically and hadn’t intended Mary Jane to take her seriously at all. But she didn’t have a chance to rebuke her friend before one of the waitresses at the club was sidling in at their table.
“Hi,” she greeted, as she took two shot glasses filled with amber liquid from her black tray and set them in front of the girls. “These are from that gentleman over there,” she nodded toward a man who was sitting at the end of the bar at the center of the club. “And he was wondering if he could have a dance with the dark haired young lady when you’ve finished them.” The waitress smiled at them and then spun away, off to deal with another table of customers.
Charlie and Mary Jane both stared at the man at the bar. He looked like a blonde supermodel. No, better than a supermodel because he didn’t look pubescent. He was quite tall and he appeared to have been sculpted from granite and then given a tan. His six-pack actually rippled beneath the tight material of his gray t
-shirt. His eyes were a stark amber color, and looked like they might begin to glow at any moment. Unearthly and intense. They sort of reminded Charlie of Jessie.
“Holy fuck,” Mary Jane whispered. She glanced from the man to Charlie and then back again. “He wants to dance with me?”
Charlie smiled. “Yep,” she drawled. “That’s what the lady said.”
“She must have heard him wrong. He must have meant you.”
“Nope,” Charlie continued, her smile growing. For the first time in weeks, she was feeling kind of satisfied. For once, M.J. was getting the male attention instead of her. And from a Greek god, nonetheless.
“I…” Mary Jane seemed to be at a loss for words.
Charlie helped her out. “I suggest you not hurt the boy’s feelings,” she instructed calmly. “Drink the shot and then go and give him his dance.” She nudged one of the shot glasses closer to her friend. “But be careful, M.J.,” she added, her smile becoming a perfect white grin. “He honestly looks as if he might bite.” She spared another glance at the man at the bar, and added, “Or eat you whole.”
Mary Jane made a low moaning sound, meant for only Charlie to hear. “I like it when they bite,” she muttered under her breath.
Charlie could see that a blush had risen across her friend’s neck and face. And that was impressive – because, almost nothing could make M.J. blush.
“Don’t we all,” Charlie agreed quietly before she took another swig of her beer. She wasn’t about to touch the shot glass – Tequila. She could smell it from here. But, she had a feeling that Mary Jane wouldn’t let the precious liquid go to waste.
“Christ, I know I’m gonna to wake up any minute now and boy am I gonna be pissed to find this was all a dream.” With that, Mary Jane downed the shot of liquor in front of her and made a face. “Tequila. Damn… that hurts… so good….” She gritted her teeth as the alcohol began to work its magic and then she shook her head quickly, as if to clear it. She pursed her lips, sucked her cheeks in, and then laughed. “I’m outta here, sweetie.” She stood, throwing Charlie a devil-may-care smile as she pushed in her chair. “Don’t wait up.”
Charlie laughed too, shaking her head as her friend sauntered from the table and approached the blonde stranger.
His eyes sparkled in the multi-colored lights of the club as he stood from the stool on which he’d been seated and gazed at Mary Jane with stark, open desire.
Charlie shivered. That’s a hungry look, if ever there was one, she thought to herself. She watched with keen interest as the man took M.J.’s hand and led her to the dance floor. And then she put her beer to her lips again, only to find that it was empty. She frowned and raised her hand to call the waitress for another order, when a shadow fell over her.
A deep, British accent sliced effortlessly through her consciousness. “Allow me.”
Charlie glanced up. And for just a moment, the world actually stopped turning.
Chapter Four, The Ante
Cole gazed down into Claire’s incredible ice-blue eyes and felt his stomach tighten. He recognized a series of emotions floating in their frozen depths and the space between them was instantly charged. Time slowed down. She was surprised. And then she was frightened. The third emotion to cross her features was one that set off his own hard reaction. Lust.
All of this, he took in with expert ease and grace as he smiled innocently down at her and gestured to the empty beer bottle she held in her hand. “May I?” He bent to take it and her fingers slowly slid away. He wanted to catch them and hold them fast.
“Um… yes. I mean sure. I mean –” She closed her eyes, shook her head once, and then re-opened them, focusing them once more upon his face. “Yes please,” she said. “Thank you.” She stumbled over her speech, her soft voice wrapping around him as swiftly and as surely as his own voice had always done to others in his sway.
It was stunning, and Malcolm realized with a sinking feeling that it was going to take every ounce of his strength tonight to keep cool and not turn her before the sun rose.
Cole turned to gesture to the waitress who was standing several tables away. He easily caught the woman’s attention, whose eyes widened in recognition when she realized who he was. She blushed furiously began to approach him. He could tell she was about to call him out as Malcolm Cole the famous author, and he wasn’t in the mood to slip into that role tonight. Not now. Right now, he was in the mood to bed Claire St.James, and that was about it.
So, he let a bit of his power loose and it swirled around the waitress, binding itself around her will like a vice. She stopped mid-step and blinked. And then her smile was back, but this time, it was easy and fake. It was the smile she kept hanging on a hook beside her apron and willingly gave to all of her patrons.
“What can I get for you two?” she asked as she approached.
“Another ale for the lady, please.” He glanced at Claire, who still seemed stunned, but who was hurriedly collecting herself while she thought he wasn’t watching her. “And I’ll take one as well.”
The waitress nodded and left.
Cole turned his attention back to Claire. He listened carefully as her heart fluttered wildly. Her cheeks had become rosy. He could smell adrenaline coursing through her blood stream. But just beneath it, faint and ever so enticing, was the intoxicating scent of her arousal.
Again, his hunger spiked. He pulled out the chair that Claire’s friend had abandoned and gestured to it questioningly. His grip on the back of it was a little tighter than it needed to be. “Do you mind if I sit down?” he asked.
She hesitated. And then she cleared her throat and shook her head. “No, please. Sit.”
He could sense that she had wanted to say no. Despite the fact that she was obviously attracted to him, her defenses were up. He wondered why. She was certainly beautiful enough to have attracted all manner of dangerous scum in her life, and he could understand that such a penchant would cause her to be cautious toward men. But they were sitting in a crowded club with a good ratio of very large bouncers. It wasn’t just the fact that he was a man that was scaring her.
It was him, specifically.
He took a seat and studied her carefully. She blushed beneath his scrutiny.
“I’m… I’m sorry,” she said, peek in her cheeks darkening a little more. “It’s just that you look very familiar to me.”
The waitress came with their drinks and Claire immediately grabbed hers and took a long, deep pull. Cole watched the smooth column of her throat as she swallowed the liquid. She didn’t put it back down until it was half empty.
Now she smiled.
His breath caught, his gums aching where his fangs wanted to break free. He felt himself begin to harden and he had to reign his wolf in, forcing it to heel when all it wanted to do was hunt down its mate and fuck her like there was no tomorrow.
Her tongue darted out for a fraction of a second to lick the moisture off of her top lip. Malcolm’s vision began to swim with tiny stars. He felt a change coming on; he was losing control. He’d never – ever – lost control before. What was happening to him? Why did she have this effect on him?
He decided he needed to touch her. Like a moth to a flame.
When she released her bottle, he offered her his hand. “I’m Malcolm.” He smiled his best disarming smile and sensed her arousal growing stronger. In his mind, he was swearing vehemently. There was no way in hell he was going to make it through the night without tasting her.
She gently placed her own hand within his and he wrapped his fingers around her, his touch light, but possessive. He couldn’t help it. He was a wolf.
“I’m Claire,” she said. “But my friends call me Charlie.” She blinked then, as if she couldn’t understand why she’d just told him that. After all, he wasn’t a friend. She’d only just met him.
Hope began to flare within him, a match struck in a night that had been too dark for far too long. “Charlie,” he said softly. He could swear he saw her muscles relax as h
e said her name. And it was having the opposite effect on him. He wanted to jump her bones. Instead, he sat back and took a long pull on his own beer. Beer had no effect on him, but she would run for her life if he began downing entire bottles of Everclear in front of her. At least it was wet and cold. That helped a little.
“So, Malcolm….” She let the name linger on her tongue, as if trying it out.
Malcolm swallowed hard. Christ.
“Are you in town for business or pleasure?”
“Honestly?” He put his beer down and lazily turned it between his thumb and forefinger. “Both.”
She nodded. That was everyone’s answer when it came to Las Vegas. He could scent the alcohol in her blood now – just beginning to work its magic.
She took another drink and he waited. When she finished, he asked, “And you?”
She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, a little harder than she perhaps should have. He imagined that her senses were dulling as a result of the beer. One kiss, he thought, and I can bring them roaring back to life.
“As cheesy as it sounds, I’m a drummer,” she admitted to him, shrugging as she said it. “And my band just got this… deal.” She frowned. “We’re playing at that casino down the street – the really tall one.”
“The August,” he supplied easily.
“That’s the one,” she said.
“So, what kind of music do you play?”
“Everything,” she said. “Whatever the crowd’s in the mood for, really.”
He continued to study her, taking everything in as she finished off her beer and he raised his hand to summon the waitress. Across from him, Claire chewed on her lip again, her expression at once nervous.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she said. “Honestly, I never drink this much. I mean….” She was embarrassed suddenly, as if admitting as much made her some horrible cross between the drunk blonde bimbo and the teetotaler. “I mean, I may not be able to drink it if you order it.” She smiled sheepishly and put her hands in her lap. “But, thank you.”
The Strip Page 5
