Lauren left her bedroom and quietly navigated the corridor to the back of the building. She had to go through the communal kitchen to access the back door that led onto the rear alleyway. The kitchen was empty at this time in the evening. No one kept to regular meal times around here, anyway. It wasn’t as though they were all dining on filet steak every night. Boiling up a packet of cheap noodles was normally the closest they came to cooking.
A key poked out of the inside lock, so she turned it and opened the door. Leaning out into the night, she wrinkled her nose at the stink of old rubbish from the bins. Another clatter came to her ears, and beneath that she heard a groan.
“Hello?” she called out. “Is someone out there? Do you need help?”
Her ears strained to hear anything beneath the usual chaos of London noise—the alarms, cars, people laughing or yelling. She didn’t hear anything else, yet a prickle of unease caused the hairs on her arms to stand to attention.
She spent enough years living in this environment to both take care of herself and know when to watch her own back, and she turned away, planning to pull the door shut and lock it again. Maybe she could go and find one of the other residents to check things out with her.
“Please, help ...”
Lauren twisted back around, her eyes widening. The voice had been unmistakably female.
“Hello?” She no longer felt she could leave whoever it was alone to go back inside and try to find help. What if the woman was badly hurt, or whoever had hurt her was still around? Chances were she was just drunk or high, but Lauren never wanted a woman to feel alone and defenceless. She knew how that felt, and didn’t want anyone else to feel the same way.
Even so, she hesitated before she stepped out of the doorway and into the alley.
“Hello?” she called again. “Where are you? I can’t see you.”
“Over here,” came the tremulous voice.
Lauren took a couple of cautious steps, her neck craning to try to spot the woman. She must be lying down for Lauren not to be able to see her.
She took another step, leaving the safety of the hostel.
Movement came behind her, and all of a sudden her head was covered by a coarse material, and she could no longer see. The bottom of the material tightened around her neck, holding her in place.
Breathing hard, her heartrate rocketing in her chest, she swung her elbow back, hoping to catch whoever was behind her. But her elbow struck solid muscle, the person not even flinching, and that, more so than the bag over her head, terrified her.
Someone struck her ankles and took them right out from under her. Lauren fell backwards, falling into the arms of the person behind her, while a second set of hands caught her legs.
“Got you now,” a rough voice growled.
Chapter 3
The thump of the music reverberated up through his feet. They hadn’t even stepped inside the club yet, and already Nikolai knew he was going to hate every minute he spent inside the place. He could smell the wolves on the air—dirty, wet dog. Not the sort of company he normally liked to keep.
But he’d made a promise to Ivan, and his maker stood at his side, glancing over at him with anxious enthusiasm.
Nikolai growled and looked away. He’d agreed to the meeting, but that didn’t mean he was going to act like he was happy to be here.
Ivan signalled the doorman, and before he knew it, they were being ushered past the small queue waiting outside and through the doors of the club. The music immediately grew louder, and Nikolai cringed. With his vampire’s heightened sense of hearing, the music was at a point of being almost painful. He wondered how the wolves could bear it. It was one of the few things he knew about the other supes—that their sense of hearing and smell were almost better than a vampire’s. Sitting in this club, hour after hour, day after day, would drive him insane.
People rushed to meet them—young women in skimpy outfits and a couple of men in suits. None of them was Deacon Thorn, the werewolf they’d come here to meet. They were ushered through the club. Girls were dancing on platforms, wearing little more than high heels and scraps of material as they gyrated their hips and bent over, exposing bottoms and breasts. Men sat at tables watching them, while more young women fawned over them.
Nikolai rolled his eyes at the sight. How pathetic, to need to use money in order to get the attraction of women. Money was something he’d had most of his life—and his undead life, too—but if he ever got so much as a sniff that a woman was around because of his wealth, he got rid of her quicker than he could blink.
They stepped out of the main bar and into a private room. The door swung shut behind them, and Nikolai’s shoulders relaxed as the thump of the music dulled. The stink of wolf instantly grew stronger, and only his manners prevented him from raising his hand to his nose to try to block out the smell. He didn’t know how others put up with it.
Ivan shot him a warning glance. He must have scented it, too, but then if he said he had a thing going with the wolf’s daughter, perhaps it didn’t bother him so much. Nikolai had always had a thing about a person’s scent, and he couldn’t imagine ever wanting to get up close and personal with someone who had werewolf blood running through their veins.
Sitting at the back of the room on a leather couch, with two young women on either side of him, was Deacon Thorn. He was a big man, with a full beard and long, wavy brown hair down to his shoulders. In a certain light, his eyes appeared yellow. Even if Nikolai hadn’t been able to smell him, there was no doubt what this man was.
Deacon smiled and got to his feet as they entered. He put out his hand, and Nikolai noted how it was his hand Deacon went to shake before Ivan’s. Wow, Ivan truly was on shaky ground with this guy. No wonder he’d asked him for a favour, though currently Nikolai had no intention of granting it.
“Thank you for meeting with me, Mr Petrov. I’ve only heard good things about you.”
The smile that came to Nikolai’s face contained no warmth. “I wish I could extend the same greeting.”
The expression on the wolf’s face didn’t even flinch. “Please, sit down. Let me get some drinks. Champagne? Or would you prefer something a little stronger?”
“Whiskey,” Nikolai said, taking a seat. “Irish, if you have it.”
“Of course.” He signalled for one of the men who’d showed them through to fetch them drinks. The man left the room for a moment, and then reappeared with a bottle of Midleton Very Rare, and three cut crystal glasses, into which he poured equal measures.
The wolf leaned forward, clasping his hands together over his knees. “I’m sure Ivan has filled you in on my reason for wanting to meet.”
Nikolai nodded. “Yes, that you’re using your own daughter as collateral to try to bribe a business deal.”
His eyes narrowed. “That’s not quite how it is. My thinking is if Ivan here wants to get involved with my family so badly, he can pull his weight.”
Nikolai lifted his eyebrows. “By using his connection to me, you mean?”
“He’s your maker, is he not? Doesn’t that make you family, in a vampire’s eyes? I understand that you vampires don’t have the same kind of connection and loyalty that werewolves do, but surely it still counts for something.”
Nikolai scowled. “Of course. Why else would I be here?”
He could feel Ivan watching him, but he refused to look over and meet the other vampire’s eye. He hadn’t changed his mind about not wanting to do business with the wolf, and he knew Ivan wasn’t going to be happy.
Deacon signalled to one of his men, and an expensive, slim line laptop was slid onto the table between them. “I understand you’re concerned about where the money is coming from, but I wanted to assure you it’s all above board.”
Nikolai lifted an eyebrow. “Really? You’re going to try to tell me that when we’re sitting in a place like this? Where do all the girls come from who work out there? Some of them barely looked old enough to be drinking.”
The wo
lf visibly bristled, his shoulders tensing. His men moved in around him. “I assure you, they’re all completely legal, and they’re paid far more than most of the people who work for you.”
He snorted laughter. “I doubt that. I also noticed I didn’t hear many English accents. Are you bringing the girls over from Europe?”
“And giving them a better way of life while I do it,” he said. “Some might thank me for it. It’s not as though you’re from this country yourself.”
“That’s completely different. I chose to come here, and I wasn’t a desperate, young girl ...”
Nikolai trailed off.
For no reason he could ascertain, his pulse started to race. His heartbeat grew louder in his ears. Movement around him became more defined, yet strangely distant, as though he’d drawn into himself without even realizing it. Then he realized the thud of his heartbeat, which he could hear in his head, wasn’t his heartbeat at all. It was the combined sound of several hundred heartbeats, all the human people currently frequenting the club—the patrons and the dancers.
Without warning, his fangs descended.
Shocked, he clamped his hand to his mouth and rose, knocking his chair over backwards.
“Nikolai?” Ivan glared a warning at him, silently telling him to behave, but he was no longer concerned about playing his maker’s game. His throat had grown so dry, it hurt to swallow.
He took a couple of steps, but neither knew where he was going, or what he was going towards. He was being pulled in a hundred different directions. He took another couple of staggered steps and sensed Deacon’s men closing in around him. The stench of wolf was even stronger than ever, but beneath that he smelled something else.
The scent of human blood.
It had been a long time since he’d last fed directly from a human. Getting bags from blood banks had served him well enough for the past fifty years or so. Things had been different when he’d first turned, and he’d had no control over his urges, but that had been a long time ago. His fangs ached in his gums, and he knew the only thing that would sate the ache was sinking them into some young, plump flesh. Though he’d been talking about the girls only moments before, thinking how they were too young to be working here, now he was thinking about them in a whole different way.
Using his vampire’s speed, without allowing the wolves to take another step closer, he darted for the door that led into the bar. His movements would have appeared to be no more than a blur to those he’d left in the room, and his sharp ears picked up on Ivan calling out, “Nikolai!” behind him.
He knew he didn’t have much time. They would be coming after him soon. He didn’t know how much the humans here knew of the supes who watched over this place, but he doubted the wolves would shift and burst into the club to chase after him. They wouldn’t want to be reported and find The Directive—the secret taskforce who made sure all of the supes behaved themselves—coming down on their heads. No one knew exactly where The Directive was based. They had a British department, too, and Nikolai knew it wasn’t unheard of for one of the main guys from the US Directive—Clarence Collins or Magno Zara—to catch a flight over here if it looked like something big was going down. A vampire on the rampage, followed by werewolves in their lupine form, all fighting in the middle of a club, would definitely get The Directive’s ears twitching.
But Nikolai didn’t care about that right then. Surrounding him were over a dozen scantily dressed, nubile bodies. Long thighs, taut stomachs, tits in every shape and size, all rotating their hips and undulating their bodies. As well as his fangs growing longer, his cock also responded, blood flowing, his balls tightening into his body.
Fuck. The urge to sink his teeth into the throat of one of these young creatures, drag off her panties, and fuck her until she screamed surged through him.
Without waiting any longer, he spotted one—a blonde wearing too much makeup. He didn’t even care that she wasn’t his normal type, only that he could smell her blood, and the thump of her heartbeat pounded in his ears.
With a snarl, he leapt. The young woman didn’t even see him coming. He was on her before she could as much as scream. He only caught the terror in her eyes as he whipped his head back then darted forward again, fangs out. The sharp points met her delicate, soft skin, and then punctured with a little pop that was like music to his soul. Had he forgotten how exquisite that moment was, the very point where teeth met blood? Then, even sweeter, was the taste of that delicious nectar slipping over his tongue and down his throat, and the ache that had taken over his body finally subsided. The chaos of his mind calmed, and the noise and stink of the club vanished from around him. All he was aware of was the trippy beat of this girl’s heartbeat and the taste of her blood, and the way his cock pressed up against the inside of his trousers, begging to be freed and plunged into something wet and hot.
Suddenly, a strong hand on his shoulder grabbed him and yanked him away. Nikolai let out a yelp of longing as his fangs pulled from the girl’s throat. The same hand spun him around.
He came face to face with Ivan.
“What the fuck, Nikolai?” his maker demanded. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
His mind spun. “I ... I ...?”
He didn’t know. The chaos of the club was all around him, and he knew he had to get out of there. Hell, if he didn’t get out of there, he was going to have some angry wolves throwing him out. He cast a glance back to the woman he’d attacked.
“I’m sorry,” he told her, still bewildered about what had happened. She was clutching her neck and staring up at him with wide, frightened eyes. “I’m so sorry,” he repeated before putting his head down and whisking through the club and into the relatively fresh London night air.
Ivan wasn’t going to give him time to figure things out.
He grabbed him, dragging him back towards the car. “We need to get out of here before one of the wolves decides to bring The Directive down on your head. What the fuck were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t thinking. It just—”
His thoughts vanished once more as another scent came to him. This one was different, though. It wasn’t human blood, or even the stink of wolves. No, this was vanilla, and cut grass, and clean skin. It was all the wonderful, emotive smells in the world rolled into one. He couldn’t explain it, but the scent sent his heart racing in a whole different way than what he’d just experienced. He needed to follow that scent and find out who it belonged to.
But Ivan was older than he was, and frustratingly stronger. Nikolai wasn’t the kind of man who liked anyone to be stronger, but he didn’t have much choice when it came to his maker.
“No, wait a minute! I smelled something!”
“No chance! You think I’m going to allow a repeat performance of what just happened? You’ve got to be kidding me. Not only did you probably just completely screw up my chance of getting in with Deacon, you’re lucky if you don’t have The Directive called on you.”
Ivan shoved Nikolai into the car, and then using his speed, shot behind the wheel. They sped away, leaving that tantalising scent behind them.
Chapter 4
Lauren had no idea where she was.
After the bag had been thrown over her head, and she was carried out of the alley—one person holding her feet, and another with their hands wedged under her armpits—she was thrown into the boot of a car. Before she was able to try to fight her way out again, there’d been the distinctive rip of tape, and then her arms had been taped together behind her back, the strong material wrapping around her wrists, drawing them together enough that it hurt. She’d heard the engine start up around her, and had heard the clunk of metal on metal as it was slammed down, encasing her within.
She went crazy, kicking her feet against the side of the boot, screaming until her throat burned, wriggling and bucking until she thought every inch of her body would be bruised. Still she didn’t cry, holding on to her fury to keep her strength. Giving in to tears felt like
a weakness, and after all her years living from one place to the next, often never knowing where her next bed, or meal, or job would be, she’d learned that showing weakness was never a good thing. Right now, she was too fucking angry to cry.
Her screams for help hadn’t attracted any attention. London was a noisy place, and the wail of sirens of police cars and ambulances filled the night air, drowning her out.
The car stopped. They hadn’t gone far, though it had been difficult for her to keep track of the time when she was locked in pitch black with a bag over her head. Who the hell had done this to her? What did they want? Had it been a case of her being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or had someone deliberately chosen her? She had no idea why someone would choose her. She was a nobody.
The car boot opened, and the cool of the night air touched her skin. She became aware of space around her where there hadn’t been before. Rough hands grabbed her arms again and hauled her up.
“Let go of me, you fucking bastard,” she yelled from beneath the scratchy bag she wore over her head, but her words were muffled.
The hands tightened, fingers digging into flesh, undoubtedly bruises of their own.
Her ears sharpened, trying to pick up clues about what was around her, in case it might help her figure way out of this. The distinctive thud of music, loud, but still muffled, as though behind a closed door. She’d heard this sound many times before. She’d been brought to a club of some kind.
Instead of any more clues, a voice sounded, but it was as though someone was in her head, speaking directly into her mind.
What is that? I need to follow it. I need to be with it.
Alarmed, Lauren automatically replied in her head. Who are you? What the hell?
Was she going crazy? Yet it was a male voice, she was certain. And somehow, she recognised it, just as she instinctively knew he recognised her, too. No, she was losing her mind. She was going to end up like one of those people with a split personality, who thought they were an eight year old boy called David half the time. Except this voice in her head wasn’t a boy’s. No, he was all man.
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