Falling from the Light (The Night Runner Series Book 3)

by Regan Summers

  “I’d like to reopen my account,” Mal said.

  “Of course, Mr. Kelly.”

  Nearby, a vampire touched the arm of one of the girls in black. It wasn’t a violent act, not even possessive, but I shifted uneasily, looking away only to look back a moment later. She crouched between his chair and a small side table, talking, smiling at something he said. I relaxed incrementally. Maybe they were friends. Not every human-vampire interaction was terrible. She pulled a bundle of cloth out of her apron and unrolled it on the table. A knife, a rolled bandage, and an elegant little cordial glass.

  I gritted my teeth and locked down against the shudder that threatened to rattle right through me. I was in a cave full of vampires at night. Even if I ran, I couldn’t get away. The second I acknowledged it, the full strength of the assembled suckers pressed against me. If the force had been tangible it would have crushed me. My heart fluttered before settling into a hard, regular thump. I kept my hands still, my knees locked. I’d made a mistake, not in coming down to the floor but in pretending that being here was anything other than business. Mal made it easy to forget. This was his element. But I couldn’t stand under his shade and think these people wouldn’t turn on me the moment he stepped away.

  “Syd.”

  “What?”

  Mal’s eyes went honey light.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Malcolm Kelly,” a voice boomed. I jerked when Mal spun away, his hand gripped in the vigorous, shaking paw of the giant Irishman.

  “Niall,” Mal exclaimed, “how the hell are you?”

  “Rolling in the good life, son. I heard you ran Hendrick Vorster through with a sword in some bloody jungle in South America. ’Bout time, I say. Never liked that fellow after Deirdre. You ask me, he always was a—” He enunciated the next few words as if he were taking hard bites of out a dictionary. “Piece. Of. Shit.”

  “He’s a dead piece of shit now, so take a few breaths and relieve yourself of the weight of holding that opinion inside.”

  They laughed while I marveled at how smooth—downright delighted—Mal sounded. He and Hendrick Vorster had been changed together. They’d been friends before and, for a while, friends after. He hadn’t wanted to kill him. So what did that reaction make MacInness? Friend, foe, or the inhabitant of some gray space in between?

  “Cheeky prick. Fancy a drop? I’ve got a pack of lovelies.” MacInness jabbed a thumb over his shoulder toward a gaggle of girls in short skirts and mile-high sandals. One of them gave Malcolm a finger wave, then winked at me. With the slight flush from the day’s sun and the heavy black liner catching in the creases around my eyes, I clearly wasn’t a vampire. Maybe she was just friendly. She tilted her head to show off a vivid bite mark. One feeder communing with another. I half closed my eyes in case my anger caused laser beams to shoot from them.

  “Your generosity is as endless as your locks, but I’m well taken care of. On a holiday with my own lovely.” Malcolm’s voice drifted until it picked up a little of Niall’s Irish accent. Wasn’t he full of surprises?

  “How about a game, then? We’ve years of catching up to do.” MacInness gave me an appraising glance. “She compares favorably, I suppose. Should we play for money, or something else?”

  Professional, professional, professional. What would it cost to have ocular laser beams installed?

  “Niall,” Mal chided, his hand firm around my ribs. “You know that your money is one of my very favorite things. In fact, right now it’s close to a million of my favorite things.”

  MacInness sniffed and looked away. “What’s Chev put the buy-in at?”

  Malcolm scooped up racks of chips as the floorman advised that the lowest buy-in was a hundred thousand.

  “Dollars?” I hissed. My anger at being called property to my face was momentarily cut off by the very, very large number of digits. Mal steered me toward a table against the wall in the rose section. “A hundred thousand dollars?”

  “You only have to have that much. You don’t have to bet it all.” We waited for another floorman to seat us.

  “High fucking roller. What’s with his hussy squad?”

  “He grew up with two dozen cousins. He gets lonely without lots of…friends around.” The word fell flat, and the twitch around Malcolm’s eyes was the equivalent of a full-scale grimace. “He also uses them as a kind of smoke screen.”

  Or he just used them.

  “Is the lady playing?” the floorman asked. I eyed the table. Five vampires stared back, surveying me before taking in the giggling arrival of MacInness and his flauntourage. The girls cheered and started pulling chips out of MacInness’s racks. Three of the vampires immediately asked to be cashed out. If that’s all it took to lower the number of fangs…

  “I would love to play.” I gave a mincing clap and batted my eyelashes at Malcolm. “Oh can I? Please?”

  He actually spanked me before pushing me toward my seat and I gave him a look to let him know we’d be revisiting that later. Mal grinned. So maybe the look promised more of a reenactment than a revisit.

  “The lady will play.” He leaned close as he sat beside me. “You do know how to play poker, don’t you?”

  “I can win if I get all red, right?” I deadpanned. Then I looked around the table and realized I’d be playing against vampires. Shit.

  Chapter Six

  I played conservatively. Even though my tablemates could hear my heartbeat, even over the giggling and stage whispers of MacInness’s “family,” and could probably sense my change in respiration, they still had their own tells. Suckers had the upper hand with their enhanced senses, but my ace in the hole—so to speak—was my ability to feel them beyond human senses. Which might have been more disturbing if it wasn’t keeping me in the game.

  Malcolm was the only person at the table who seriously didn’t care about winning. He shook his head with mock sadness as he lost another hand, and winked when my eye started twitching. Then he won a hand and, even as he raked in the chips, his mood didn’t change. When he folded a big blind—nothing. When he lost an entire stack of chips—nothing. But when one of the other vampires chided him to be careful, sharing an anecdote about a member of his hive, Mal became more interested in him. Aha. He was interested in winning. But his score was information, not money. Thank God he was getting something out of the night, because tolerating a losing situation went against everything I stood for.

  Mal and Niall shared inside jokes and gossip, and told each other inflated stories that the other seemed to already mostly know. Or maybe they were simply familiar with the way the other lied. Some of the stories were about other suckers or vampire territories, and every now and again one of the other players would speak up and drop an insight into a particular situation. Following that, Mal would ask a question or two—not pressing, but with a little more care. If he wasn’t able to get an answer, MacInness would chime in. They’d done this before, and complemented each other seamlessly. Without arranging anything ahead of time, they fell into a comfortable tandem.

  The girls and the boisterous talk were effective smoke screens, and the suckers who rotated through the table regarded both males as careless gamblers. Easy pickings. Mal even went so far as to order a bottle of Irish whiskey to share with MacInness, though I noticed that the girls drank most of it. By the time a waiter brought the second bottle, both males’ gestures were larger, their laughter louder. But they were still asking the questions. And Mal was losing in a way that endeared him to the other players without ever quite going out. It was not a side of him I’d seen before and, over the course of two hours, I found myself impressed.

  Another vampire sat down. She had glossy, blue-black hair and her silver dress appeared to have been painted onto her. Well, painted onto a little of her. There was a lot of smooth white skin showing. MacInness’s girls quieted, and MacInness and one of the other males bet big with crap for cards. I took the pot with two pair, queens and sevens, and swept it up as one of the girls lost her meage
r battle with self-control and whispered to MacInness. He patted her thigh, then turned to the newcomer.

  “My companion would like to compliment your dress,” he said, before smiling flirtatiously. “I would like to know the name of the lady I’m complimenting.”

  “Sophie,” the vampiress said, pausing before adding, “I’ve only just developed a taste for gambling, so go gentle on me.”

  Mal, who’d been attentively ignoring me, gave me a small smile and squeezed my knee. His eyes were half-lidded and his dimple was showing.

  “I ever tell you you’re smooth?” he asked. “Smooth as a feather.”

  “Till you rub me the wrong way and I turn all pokey.”

  “Pokey is my second favorite.”

  I laughed softly, and he leaned closer.

  “Is she your pet, or a rental?” Sophie asked. Her red lips bowed up in a smile that did nothing to soften the sting of the comment. “I’m considering Guest Services, but want to be assured of quality.” She gave the girls a glance, which indicated she didn’t think much of their quality, and pursed her lips when she focused on me.

  “Tenth World has top-shelf standards,” Malcolm said, brushing imaginary lint off his tie, then flipping the end up as if to examine it. “You’ll find nothing but the highest quality here.”

  I could practically feel him sizing her up. He didn’t know her, it occurred to me, and was trying to get a read. I already had my read. She knew she was gorgeous and didn’t mind using that, but was insecure or she wouldn’t have had to trash-talk a human. It was odd she was here alone, without a hivemate, especially if she was new to cards.

  “Hell.” Mal spread his arms wide, bumping the bottle then plucking it neatly out of the air when it fell. “If I could, I’d live here.”

  The cards came around again. I’d been sneaking little wins when none of the vampires emitted disappointment or an overabundance of anxiety—not wanting to show off my ability to read them—but now I focused. Call it petty, but I wanted to beat Sophie.

  She had an odd energy. It was bold, almost blunt, but with a crackle running under the surface. Like corduroy, smooth in one direction but all zip-zippy against the grain. I smiled to myself as the corduroy vampire bet twenty thousand, bluffing her brains out.

  “Where are you going to live?” MacInness asked as he rolled chips through his fingers. “When you’re done. What is it, five more years?”

  “Give or take,” Mal drawled. “If I don’t fuck up again.” He tossed a handful of chips into the pot, and the dealer tapped the table as he counted them out.

  “Forty thousand.”

  “Call.” I pushed the stack of chips in and stared down at the blue felt. For all his bluster, I could feel the tension in him. His service to Bronson had spanned nearly two decades, and while he’d sometimes gone years without being called upon to do anything, recently Bronson had been demanding.

  Mal had been a thief in life. As a vampire he enjoyed casual spying and the thrill of grabbing things expensive and rare, but he’d developed other skills under Bronson. Things he only hinted at, or that I’d had to piece together. Bronson had sent him to track me down. And he’d forced him to fight and to kill, more than once.

  I could feel it every time Mal thought about it, when he dreaded that Bronson would demand something of him he couldn’t give. Failure or refusal would mean an extension of service, or worse. Those were the terms of the deal. And, of course, blabbermouth MacInness would have to bring it up. They didn’t always fish together, I guess, and Mal hadn’t corrected him.

  The Irishman raised to eighty thousand. His girls bowed out. They had a firm policy of never betting against their vampire. The others folded as well, except Sophie.

  “Are you bound in service?” she asked, all but purring. She pushed out a large stack of chips, enough to knock Mal out.

  “For the moment.” He ran his hand over his jaw, glowered at his chips as though he was having trouble counting them, then folded. “But soon enough I’ll be done and on my way in the world again. With my best girl at my side.” He turned toward me, smiling dreamily. Good lord, maybe he was drunk.

  I pushed my own stack of chips in, then flailed when Malcolm dragged me into his lap. MacInness laughed, thumping his fist on the table.

  “She doesn’t look too thrilled with the idea at that, does she, Kelly? Here, how about this.” He tapped the pile in front of him. “You’re looking a bit thin over there. I’ll give you fifty thousand. Take her off your hands in exchange. Give her a chance to trade up.”

  “You would lowball your own mother.” Malcolm snorted. I’d seen him cut a vampire’s arm off, and somehow this facade of drunken carelessness was less attractive. “Fifty thousand’s at least a digit short.”

  The Irishman’s smile took on a hard edge as he folded his cards. “What say we start a game in a private room? See who comes out short.”

  “Gentlemen, ladies.” Chev appeared beside the table. She faced the dealer with a smile, but irritation radiated from her. “How are we doing?”

  “Chev.” Malcolm deposited me back in my chair and draped his arm across the back of it. “We are marvelous. This room is like a flower at the height of its bloom.”

  I narrowed my eyes to keep from rolling them. Sophie smirked at me from across the table, as if she knew something I didn’t. As if I cared about her agenda when Malcolm was playing at gambling me away.

  “Allow me to commend you on your fine card room, madame,” MacInness said. “Everything is superb. Except perhaps the company, but I can hardly blame you for that.”

  “If you dislike my guests, I take that very personally,” Chev murmured. MacInness opened his mouth, then closed it. His girls fluttered nervously around him.

  “Ma’am?” The dealer watched Chev, as if asking whether to continue.

  She surveyed the table with glittering eyes and I felt the slightest pinch as her attention swept over me. Then she nodded to Sophie and said, “Welcome to Tenth World. We hope to see you often.”

  “That is my wish as well.” The vampiress smiled, flashing her pointy teeth.

  “Show your hands.”

  At the dealer’s command, I flipped my cards. One of the vampires who had folded clapped twice.

  “The human wins.”

  I reached out to scoop up my chips when Malcolm suddenly shifted beside me. I blinked, and realized he’d pulled my chair back. Sophie’s red fingernails hovered over the place my hand had been resting on the railing.

  “You can’t direct your pet at the tables,” she hissed. “Everyone knows that.”

  Mal stood, and she rose as he circled the table. He was suddenly very steady, very clear. MacInness sat back, hands clasped over his stomach, narrow eyes intrigued.

  “I am aware of the rule, and follow it to the letter. Feel free to ask Chev.” He gestured toward where she stood now, hovering over another table, but her attention was on us. “She wouldn’t have invited me back repeatedly over the last half century if I weren’t honest.” Mal cocked a hip against the table. “On the floor, at least. But, if I recall correctly, she does not abide assault of her guests.” He leaned forward and whispered something, too quiet for me to hear. The female’s head snapped back, and then she was gone, flouncing in a mist of speedy motion.

  “Have this applied to my account,” Malcolm said, brushing his hair back from his face. He raised two fingers and gestured for me to come with him.

  Come hither? Seriously?

  “Now,” he commanded, irritated. “We’re done for the night.”

  I pushed myself up stiffly, and he grabbed my arm. I let my eyes go unfocused and repeated the mantra that this didn’t matter, that it wasn’t real. I knew that, but it still hurt. I’d been treated as a possession, lined up beside the car and the cash. Something useful and possibly entertaining. I’d believed it, for a while.

  He’d always treated me better than that, like I mattered. I’d come to rely on it. I’d come to need it. Something twis
ted inside of me, a sudden wrenching as if a muscle had torn. The space inside me began to fill with frigid, spastic energy, and I looked down, expecting to see something physically feeding it into me.

  But it wasn’t a physical act. I was pulling, siphoning energy from the nearby vampires even though I hadn’t latched on to it. But it was entering me as sure as if I’d opened myself on purpose, willingly. My head pounded with anger and the rush of power amplified it.

  “Another night,” Mal said to Niall MacInness, who grunted something crass in response.

  I was seething by the time we reached my floor.

  “What the fuck was that?” I hissed.

  “It was perfect, is what it was. By later tonight, Abel will know we’re here. We’ll see him within the week.”

  “What, he responds more quickly when you send up an asshole alert?”

  He glanced at me, but the poker face he’d been missing at the table was firmly in place.

  “Sophie watched us from the doorway for two minutes, then made a beeline straight for our table. She was interested in you and in me, and that was it. She’s his. She’ll go back with a story of me being rash and careless, and you being you. That was excellent, by the way. You hide your nerves so well.”

  “If you needed a show, all you had to do was say so. Believe it or not, I do understand things when they’re explained to me.”

  He shook his head. “If I’d given you a role, you wouldn’t have fooled anyone. You couldn’t own a lie if your life depended on it.”

  “So you wanted me to be humiliated?” We turned the last corner before my room.