Romance with a Bite

by Tamsin Baker

  “I heard a whisper from the Jade Palace. The Tiger Seers were locked up tight in a conclave. Twenty-four hours they stayed, before they let anyone enter.”

  “What does it mean?” she asked.

  “Can’t you feel it in the air, little moto? Something wicked this way comes.”

  He leaned back, his eyes gleaming. The young girl’s pale fingers, drained of life, crowded Hana’s vision as did the angry eyes of the Turtle boy who might be about to explode thanks to long-dormant Phoenix blood.

  “A wicked invited by our generous benefactors?” Tiger Clan. She knew they were up to something.

  He shrugged. “All my spies saw after the conclave were Tiger scouts heading out to all parts of the city and beyond.”

  She waited.

  “Tit for tat, lovely Hana.”

  Hana ignored the slimy gaze as it wound its way down her body, signalling for the barkeep. She ordered Silver his favourite—a mojito spiced with demon blood. Once he’d started lapping at it with that bizarre forked tongue, she slipped him a piece of paper. Members of Snake Clan who had pissed off some Dragon establishments. She didn’t know what Silver planned to do with the intel. Bribe or help his fellow Clan members, she didn’t really care.

  Hana stood from the bar stool, planning to find a quiet corner to finish her martini, but Silver grabbed her arm.

  “I have a new one for your list.”

  Hana raised her eyebrows at Silver, who almost vibrated with excitement, his multi-hued beard flashing urgent red, orange and blood-red in quick succession. Something about this candidate was different, Hana knew, if Silver would risk speaking about it in person rather than their usual coded message. She kept her silence, letting him draw out his moment of delight.

  “He’ll be hard to get to.”

  “Okay,” she drawled.

  “The proprietor of Scales Night Club.”

  Silver had named the owner of several high-end gambling dens in downtown. And not only that.

  Logan Katana was Dragon Clan all the way—glittering in unwavering blue and green. One of the most protected and celebrated figures in the underworld. A darling, favourite of the Tigers. And it was rumoured he had powerful Fae ancestry.

  “Are you sure?” She glared at Silver.

  His intel was usually solid as it came.

  “His name is lit up in crimson and gold.” Their code for the Phoenix. “And circled with a number one.”

  Logan Katana—a powerful and protected Dragon, and close ally to the Tigers—was a marked man? And for something that had to do with the Clan of her birthright. She wondered what he could have done to earn himself top spot on his allies’ hit list. Or maybe it wasn’t what he’d done. Maybe it was what he knew. Suddenly Hana knew why Silver was grinning so widely.

  “How do I get to him?”

  “Now that, my lovely, that will cost you.”

  Chapter 7

  Silver had organised her a ticket to one of the most prestigious events in the lead-up to New Year, conveniently being held at one of Katana’s establishments in Dragon Quarter, the same building that housed his infamous Scales Night Club, the very next night. The New Moon dinner. Fine food, high-end gambling, and the rumour of the best and most brutal fight pits in town.

  All of downtown’s most important figures would be there. She’d need to be very careful indeed, but it was the perfect opportunity to get close to Logan Katana. To gain his trust, and then his secrets. Perhaps warn him in exchange for information.

  Silver had the connections to set her up with an elaborate cover story. She’d rolled her eyes as he admitted he was supplying the soiree with courtesans. If she was to play her part, Hana would need a glamourous outfit. Back at her loft, after her shift at the precinct, she helped Mama Singh serve the rest of the Turtle Clan youngsters, inhaling her fragrant noodles and cleaning up alongside her.

  “Mama Singh,” she said. “Do you still have those old boxes I brought with me when I moved here?”

  Mama had agreed to store several boxes full of her grandmother’s old things. Things that Hana had not been able to bring herself to look at in the months after her gran’s death, and had lain forgotten in the intervening years. But she could picture it. The black flapper dress, bodice sequined with silver, fringed in Phoenix crimson.

  Mama grumbled at Hana then motioned her to follow her into the shoebox sized storeroom at the back of the kitchen. Mama watched silently as Hana dug through the box and pulled out the dress.

  “Do I want to know what you’re up to, love?”

  “No, Mama, I think it’s best you don’t.”

  “Well, wherever you’re off to, you can’t go anywhere with that colour.”

  The scarlet fringe glimmered in the lantern light, as vital and vibrant as blood. And as provocative. That particular shade was not worn in this city. Not unless you wanted to put a giant beacon over your head asking for Tiger attention.

  Mama Singh unpicked the fringe while Hana applied the kohl and painted her lips a deep shade of burgundy. She left her hair down in long, ebony waves.

  “Where is a glamour-wielder when you need one?” Hana muttered as she inspected her reflection in the shop window. In downtown, if you had the right connections, it was possible. Silver had offered to make that happen, but the less people who knew what Hana was up to, the better. She just hoped that disguising herself the old-fashioned way would be enough.

  “You’ll do,” smiled Mama Singh.

  Chapter 8

  Hana fanned herself with the elaborate bone china fan mama Singh had gifted her, the solid weight of the long, thin dagger hidden along the handle a small comfort. Her gun had been confiscated by Turtle heavies at the door. Silver’s invitation hadn’t elicited more than a cursory glance. She’d pay a steep price for that, but that was a problem for another day.

  Using the encryption software her tech-gifted sister had left to the rebellion as her legacy, Hana had brought up a video in the research she’d done on her target. She’d memorised Katana’s features. Dark, tumbling hair, gleaming silver eyes, not the teal of his Clan as she’d expected, and wide, powerful shoulders.

  Hana circled the grand ballroom, stopping in at circles of plush lounge chairs where the who’s who of downtown were embroiled in high-stakes card games. She pretended interest, keeping her face hidden behind the fan, slipping a coy smile or two in to anyone who glanced her way.

  She kept moving around the room, past the writhing bodies of the real courtesans trying to gain the attention of elite Clan members on a shiny lacquered dance floor, beyond a long side bar set with all manner of fancy drinks. No espresso martinis here. She refused trays of steaming, fragrant delicacies.

  She completed a lap of the outside of the ballroom, noting possible exits, alcoves to avoid, the entertainment on offer, and of course, keeping an eye out for her mark. She matched the landmarks to the ones she’d memorised from Lylah’s maps.

  Logan Katana was nowhere to be seen, even though his party had started hours ago.

  Perhaps he’d become bored already. Or perhaps he was down below, watching the fight pits. Sound roared up from the lower level, visible from a cut-out in the floor. Hana strode casually for the balustrade, trying to work out how to get downstairs.

  She leaned against the marble column, accepting a glass of champagne from a waiter dressed all in black, as refusing was not really in character for the role she played, a courtesan. She noted the scar-flecked fingers, the bright, watchful gaze. Not just a waiter then, but security.

  Sensible, Mr Katana, a sensible move.

  Perhaps the champagne would take the edge off, too. Hana suddenly wondered whether it had been a wise choice to come to this party to meet the elusive Logan Katana. There were too many variables. She could feel the wildness pulse in the air. Volatile, high-stakes gambling, fighting and partying.

  But it was not like she could just ask for an audience with him. And she needed to know why he was marked by the Tigers. She thought
about the latest young girl who had lost her life to the unforgiving downtown. Her sister. The young buck she’d fought with at Quan’s. That was why she was here.

  She took a sip of the champagne, leaning over the balustrade to see if she could place her mark. She regretted that sip almost immediately, as the ground rolled like she rode an ocean wave and the chandeliers above her sparked like falling stars. She gripped one hand on the handrail, white knuckled, almost dropping the glass in the other.

  Damn. Not ordinary champagne then. Laced with who knew what. Probably the finest illicit substances the underworld had to offer. She willed her fingers to be steady, still on the crystal stem, then placed it carefully on the marble pedestal beside her. Hana made herself swallow. Courtesans did not spit out champagne.

  A wild, abandoned part of her urged another mouthful, to lose herself in the illusion, to giggle and writhe and dance like the other women strolling and stumbling along the decadent hall. Silver hadn’t warned her that the New Moon party would be like a revel. Whatever was in that champagne was potent. One sip and the colours of the Clans in their finest tunics and suits blurred and whirled around her, the teal of the Dragons mingling with Snake yellow and the green of the Turtles. She thought she even caught a glimpse of white.

  White meant Tigers. Here.

  Hana’s breath caught and released, the champagne obviously effecting her centre of emotion as adrenaline and fear coursed through her. She tried to focus on two courtesans in fine silk sheath dresses as they strutted past her, willing her eyes to focus on the sapphire blue sequins lining the extravagant bodice of the tall, blonde woman.

  Below her, noise pulsed up from the pit, a roar of feral sound, cheering, shouting, and collective in-drawn breaths. Whatever was happening down there was entertaining the crowd. Hana’s scattered attention drifted from the courtesans, to the chandeliers, to the bubbles in her champagne, to the noise of the fight pits. The fight seemed to move in slow motion, and Hana blinked, trying to clear her vision. Hana had barely caught a glimpse of a demon with fairy floss pink hair when a rough voice sounded by her ear.

  “Twenty galleons says the Snake with two heads takes out the floss demon”.

  A man in a snowy white suit, with pupils so dilated they were black, and hair a vibrant white let his eyes rove over her. Hana stifled her intake of breath.

  Tiger.

  Chapter 9

  In all her years in the Jade City, she’d never come face to face with her enemy. Now was not the time. She wasn’t ready. Her heart pounded and her muscles tensed with the urge to flee from under his shrewd gaze.

  “What say you?”

  She cleared her throat, keeping as much of her face behind Mama Singh’s fan as she could, as if she were being coy. She raised her shoulders in a delicate shrug that sent the fringe of her dress tinkling like so many tiny bells. But that was probably just the champagne. She shrugged, as if it weren’t a big deal that a Tiger had approached her, even if she knew it was an extremely rare event to see a Clan member out of the palace, and even rarer for him to be frequenting downtown.

  “The fighting pits are a bit dull.”

  A smile that was more snarl twisted his face. “Is this event not to your taste then? The finest the city benefactors can provide?” He nodded pointedly to the wicked champagne.

  She swallowed. “A girl can have her standards.”

  She hedged, going for cheeky on the side of obeisance. He grabbed at her upper arm, where the mark of Dragon Clan claimed her as theirs.

  “The Dragons are a respectable house. Do they treat you well?”

  “Can’t complain,” she muttered.

  “Good. Good.”

  He ran a hand up and down her arm, and Hana’s insides roiled. This was going south, fast. She needed an excuse to extricate herself from this situation. She needed to find Katana, find out what he knew. But she couldn’t do that while she was “entertaining” a Tiger. The Tiger royalty rarely appeared in public, but she knew from his suit and his advanced years, that he wasn’t just any Tiger. He was someone important and he’d clocked Hana.

  Bad news.

  “I really should find my friend,” she murmured, trying to sound subservient, apologetic. “She often gets into trouble at these things.”

  “Oh, a little trouble is not such a bad thing. Perhaps you and your friend can join me in my suite? I wouldn’t mind if you both gave me a little…trouble.”

  “I couldn’t possibly—”

  “Oh, but you will.” His grip tightened painfully on her arm.

  “You can’t afford me,” she purred, heart starting to pump adrenaline through her body. So much for staying under the radar. His hand raised, sliding under her fan to circle her neck, making her shudder in revulsion, the champagne dulling the sense of her phoenix shrieking in the cage inside her.

  “Oh, I think I can. I could pay for every woman in this room and then some. And you’d all be begging for more.”

  His hands tightened. One over the mark on her arm, one around her neck. No one paid them an extra second’s attention, glances skimmed over them, uninterested. Except for the two courtesans she’d been watching. They glared, jealousy bright in their eyes. But the eyes that demanded her attention belonged to the man who held her at his mercy. He was strong. His eyes glimmered an unnatural blue. Fae blood. Strong and cruel. And she’d pissed him off, already.

  She scrabbled for her flute of champagne, trying to grasp it from where she’d placed it on a pedestal beside her. The pedestal cascaded with bougainvillea so red it looked like streams of blood. But that couldn’t be right, because why would she find scarlet red here in a stronghold of Tiger loyalty?

  Whatever was in that champagne was hella more than what Hana had bargained for.

  When he saw the drink in her hand, he released her throat, slowly, his grin turning self-satisfied, apparently pleased with her obedience.

  She lowered her fan from her face carefully, folding it so that she could feel the reassuring, solid weight of the dagger hidden away. She might well need its protection to get out of the situation in which she found herself. She pretended to sip delicately, summoning all her will to slow her movements so they were teasing, tantalising. She willed her lips to curve into a coy smile. Hana knew it was working as the Tiger’s grip on her arm loosened slightly, and he watched her lips on the crystal.

  She leaned in to whisper in his ear, fighting down her body’s urge to run the other way. “You know, I’ve heard the other girls whisper about Xonorah…” She named an illicit substance that she knew the Dragons ran on the streets. “That it can…heighten an experience. Perhaps...”

  His cruel grin stretched across his face.

  “I knew it from the moment you walked into this room. You are trouble of the best kind. What’s your name, darling?”

  Hana repressed her body’s warning shudder. “Madam Toulouse.”

  “Well, don’t you go far now, Madam T.”

  His lewd grin echoed along Hana’s body in waves of repulsion as he turned and made his way back across the ballroom.

  Chapter 10

  Hana waited until she could no longer see the Tiger man who had left her quivering, then she set out for the grand staircase she could see led to the fighting pits. She’d come up against some low-lifes in her time, had heard the whispers in the precinct about the Tiger’s superior power, but coming face to face with it was something else altogether. Beneath the befuddling effect of the champagne, Hana’s phoenix shattered itself against the bars that caged it. Her instincts were blaring.

  Flee. Now.

  The lower levels of most buildings in Jade City usually had access to a trapdoor that led to the secret network of tunnels under the city. Lylah’s maps had indicated the kitchen on the lower floor of this establishment housed one. Hana could only hope it wasn’t covered by shelves or ovens. She knew when it was time to abandon a mission, and this was it. She needed to get out of here before the Tiger found her again.

&n
bsp; She tried to hold on to that purpose as the effects of the champagne continued to disable her. The noise washing over the balustrade that gave way to the pit below throbbed and thrummed in Hana’s ears. Up-tempo music, the crowd cheering and cursing, the chatter of the inane courtesans and elite Clan members pressed in on her and made her dizzy.

  She tried to saunter, like a courtesan on the prowl, but she stumbled and lunged for the handrail, holding tight as she swayed her way down the stairs. As she jostled her way ringside, the quickest way to get to the kitchens on the far side of the ring, she felt the prickle down her spine. The flare of impossible gold and crimson across her collarbones. A warning.

  Yet she was still drawn to see who it was fighting in that ring.

  Hot and cold sparks danced inside her as she met the eyes raised from where the Dragon held his opponent in a vicious, powerful arm lock, pressing his face into the hard floor, into submission. Silver eyes, backlit with turquoise.

  Her mark, Logan Katana.

  He looked at her over his shoulder, revealing teal scales glimmering like wings along his shoulder blades, his slick skin catching the light of the chandeliers and sending rainbows of stars cascading from him as though powerful wings sprung from his back. Something old and predatory stared out at her, as if marking her as someone who didn’t belong there. His nostrils flared as if he scented her unworthiness to be in his presence. The hallucinatory effect of the drink—or the otherworldly male’s gaze—made Hana stagger, breaking the connection. When she looked up, he was fighting again, his movements a blurring montage of swinging fists, dodging and weaving, airborne for long, long seconds.

  Physical prowess on display that Hana had never seen or experienced in Quan’s den. It was something more, something rare, almost beautiful. The way they moved, as if they were dancing on the air. If Hana hadn’t known the Fae were long gone from this world, she could have sworn she was in their magical presence. Hana felt the hallucinogen surge through her body, and shook her head as she tried to clear it. She had found Logan Katana, but the finding of him raised more questions than it answered.