“Please come tonight,” Tori pleaded.
She looked at her friend. In the last decade, LeAnne had done the good suburban wife thing while Tori stayed single, became a detective, hung out in clubs, and went all Charlie’s Angels. LeAnne had washed dishes and learned to sew for children she’d never have. She’d been good and followed all the rules, which were supposed to give her a happy life. Still, just a year ago LeAnne would have killed for Tori’s life. Now she had a second chance. She just had to make this new life one that she wanted. She had to live on purpose instead of letting her life happen to her, and she was more certain than ever that this relocation had to work. Come hell or high water, James could not see her fail.
And she’d learned when James moved her away that the best way to make sure she succeeded here was to make new friends. She was going to do that, starting now.
LeAnne took a deep breath and looked up to Tori, who was smiling. “What time do we leave?”
* * * *
Dorian leaned against the dirty brick wall in the darkened alley outside The Dungeon. A wintery breeze whipped at him while he rested one boot on the wall and balanced on the other. It took no any actual effort, but it was important to look like it did. He took a long draw from the cigarette pinched between his fingers, then chucked the glowing butt onto the ground. Smoking didn’t really do anything for him, as it did for the mortals, but he enjoyed the action. The repetition calmed his nerves and had become a psychological crutch over the years. Plus, smoking was excellent camouflage. During his last three hundred years wandering the Earth, he’d learned the importance of blending in. Too much attention meant you’d attracted the interest of humans, the Church, and eventually the Agents from the Bureau of Human Ascendancy. Actually, he’d already done that. That was why he was here.
His phone rang, and he considered letting it go to voicemail, but under the circumstances, it was best if it didn’t. He pulled it from his coat pocket and groaned at the number on the screen. It was him, the agent.
Dorian mashed the button and held the cell phone to his ear. “Yes?”
The man on the other end of the line said. “Do you have a way into Michael’s circle yet?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent. You’re making better time than I anticipated.” The asshole had the nerve to sound like he was smiling. “Don’t forget he is most vulnerable in that hour after sunset. That will be the easiest time to take him.”
“I know.” How could he forget his orders to stake Michael, decapitate him, and burn the body?
“Deliver his compagna and his head to Shreveport within the next three nights, and I’ll keep my end of the bargain.”
“Why are you doing this to me?”
“Because I can.” He sounded angry, insulted by the question. “Go do your job, leech. Grace is looking more tempting by the day.”
“Just keep your fucking hands off her. You’ll have the head and the human.”
The line went dead. Dorian fought the urge to crush his phone, sticking it in his pocket with a growl.
He’d killed plenty of people in his career as an assassin. It was what he did, but he was being extorted this time, forced to murder one of his kind for those damned wolves, and that made it intolerable.
Grace was his favorite child, the most human of them all, and the thing he held most dear. It would be okay because he was going to do whatever it took to get Grace back, even if that meant killing a decent padrone to get it done. As soon as Grace was safe at home, Dorian was going to gorge himself on the nutcase’s blood and rip him limb from limb. The hour pushed toward midnight and the anger made pangs of hunger rear their ugly little heads. It was the kind of hunger made him notice the heartbeats around him. He usually ignored the thud and whoosh of blood without the slightest conscious thought to what he was doing. The annoying flutters in his ears and ache of his teeth in response meant he had to eat soon to avoid a frenzied feeding that would rob him of control and blow his cover. Luckily, he was stalking his target in a club full of women with drinking and sex on their minds.
Dorian pushed off the wall, and twisted his boot on top of the glowing butt. He rolled his shoulders back to loosen the growing hunger tension from his muscles, then straightened the grey V-neck. With his slow human walk and a little less grace, he strolled toward the crowded front door of the club. There, he pushed past the line of humans waiting to get in and stopped just in front of two immortal females that stood guard in blood-red clothing. From what he had seen while scouting the place, the gatekeepers allowed in the most attractive humans and anyone they surmised was immortal. He believed they answered only to Jonas, the vampire of the Italian vampiro cosca who ran the club and went by the name Luciano at times. He served as the garante to the city’s new ruler and Dorian’s target, Michael.
Again, the guard on the right waved him through as if they knew he posed no threat. Dorian shook his head to himself and walked inside. When he’d first entered last night, Dorian had expected to be interrogated thoroughly. It was what all the power-hungry stiffs did when questionables arrived in a town and especially important considering the padrone was on site most of the time, but no one had come to confront him, a stranger in their territory. They were either cocky or careless. He hoped for the latter; it would make his job easier.
Dorian pushed through the door and made his way to the bar again, through the assault of music, voices, and scents in the dark monochrome cave of a club. The smell of sweat, alcohol, and the stench of humans mingled into an almost sickening odor, and the crowd made him feel claustrophobic. But he had work to do and a meal to find. He sampled the female scents on his way, searching for the one worth drinking, but they were all too acidic or bland, too drugged or drunk. They were tainted. All of them. It wasn’t just the New Year’s Eve party environment. Modern women lacked the self-respect that had kept them clean for centuries past.
In the past thirty years or so, he had come to expect a challenge when choosing his prey. The outbreak of drugs narrowed his prospects in the 1960s, and the sexual revolution narrowed them further with the outbreak of many STDs. Gen X whittled the numbers a little more with their drugs, which made the blood taste the way that drain cleaner smelled. Moreover, he refused to drink children the way some of the fussier elders had done for decades. No, he’d stick to finding a nice, clean human woman to have a drink with, even if it was like trying to find a virgin in Sodom and Gomorrah.
A scent similar to freshly laundered linens caught his attention. He closed his eyes and inhaled it, focusing on the one aroma. It was the only clean one among the chemicals, rot, and filth. The sparkling clean aroma made the beast in him sit up and beg.
Dorian opened his eyes and turned his head in time to see the two women walking past. Both were human, but the tall one in the short, tight, one-shouldered black dress had the scent of a vampire all over her. She was marked. Lucky for him, the other human was the one that smelled delicious, and the suitability didn’t stop there. She was exactly his type: petite, young, pale skin, hair the color of melted chocolate, full breasts, and a tastefully short black dress with thin straps that skimmed her curves but still allowed for the imagination. Modern women had thrown imagination into the fire along with the bras they’d burned, and he missed it.
When the two walked past, a stronger whiff of her scent breezed past. Dorian inhaled again and closed his eyes. He gave himself another moment to enjoy the start of the hunt, the part that made his senses even stronger with adrenaline.
Then, he opened his eyes and let the predatory inside take control. He stalked her, following but not close enough for them to notice. He couldn’t risk alarming the other human, who reeked of power so strong she could even be Michael’s mate. Since his little brunette was with her, she probably had vampire protection inside the club and perhaps throughout the territory. She would be a greater challenge than he’d had in decades. The add
ed difficulty with such a prey made his mind race with excitement. All he could do was watch and follow for now, and he did so with a smile on his face. They weaved through people on the dance floor together, but there would be a time when they parted. And when Dorian caught her alone, she’d be dinner.
Dorian hung back an extra step, tuned out the sounds in the club, and turned his superior hearing toward them while he watched his prey walk faster to keep up with her friend.
“Should I worry?” His human spoke with the hint of a sweet, refined Southern accent. “She said Michael was roughing up frat boys, Tori.”
“Nah. It’s fine, LeAnne.” Tori glanced back over her shoulder. “If it gets ugly, just run up to any of the staff and tell them you’re with me.”
Dorian smiled again at the revelation of her name.
“Great.” LeAnne’s laugh sounded nervous. She didn’t asking anything else, just followed the other girl through the crowd, toward a staircase on the far side. Dorian followed too, until they stopped in front of a bouncer. This one, a man, was dressed in black pants and T-shirt with a red logo. He was developed more like a swimmer than one of those wrestlers on TV, leaner than the others who were scattered around the building. From a distance, Dorian guessed he was slightly taller than his six-three, and he had reddish-gold hair that fell past his shoulders, almost to his elbows. He didn’t plan to fight because the hair was a liability. The guard stood stone still with his arms folded across his chest. Dorian sized him up as an agile, skilled fighter. But he could still take him.
Tori stepped up to him, her chin in the hair, as if she expected him to move without being told. She was too brave for her own good. Dorian guessed, by the way she carried herself, that she was in law enforcement.
He didn’t.
She yelled over the music, “Let us through, Ewen.”
Dorian watched the bouncer look from her to LeAnne. In the light, his eyes were too intense for a natural green. They were immortal eyes, as Dorian expected.
Ewen smirked. “Who’s your friend?”
LeAnne smiled. It looked like an automatic response to conflict, and Dorian wondered where she’d learned that. An abusive parent? Maybe a tough time in school, but he couldn’t see how anyone who looked like her could ever have a hard time in school. He’d bet she was a cheerleader in school. He’d seen the type and how they were treated when he’d taught while fulfilling other contracts. Girls like her were catered to, even by the staff. Such was life. Beautiful females were and always had been treated differently by both sexes. And while both women were beautiful, LeAnne merely carried herself differently. It was as if she’d always been attractive and knew how she was perceived. She owned her body, was aware of each movement, and comfortable in her skin. Tori, while being just as attractive in her own right and possessing some quality he couldn’t quite put his finger on, wasn’t comfortable in her skin.
“Hands off, E,” Tori yelled over the music. “She’s new in town.”
Good, Dorian thought. She’d be eager to assimilate, to make new friends like him.
Ewen looked LeAnne over again and smiled a devilish smile that Dorian would’ve liked to knock right off his face. “I don’t mind showing her around.”
Tori poked a finger in the guy’s chest. “Back off!”
Dorian tensed, ready to snatch his human out of the way if a brawl started. LeAnne was just too perfect for him to let get away. She would make this difficult job easier. Perhaps even pleasant, and he wasn’t taking any chances with losing her.
Ewen snarled at her. “You’re ballsy for a h—”
Tori shoved him. “Shut up, idiot!”
Chapter Two
LeAnne knew Tori’s temperament. Although she didn’t know Ewen’s, she was sure the big guy wouldn’t tolerate being picked on. Since Tori was as unremitting as usual, LeAnne took a deep step back, bumping into a guy as he headed to the dance floor. She wasn’t going to be in the path of whatever shrapnel flew from the explosion that was bound to happen when two such tempers collided.
Tori jabbed her finger at Ewen. “Now, move your ass before I scream for Michael.”
LeAnne smirked. She wasn’t exactly sure how Michael was supposed to hear her over the turmoil of sounds in the club, but she didn’t point that out. Doing so would have gotten the attention of the still-snarling Ewen. If she’d thought there was a way to talk them both down peacefully, she’d have tried, but Tori was in no mood. So LeAnne just tried to blend into the scenery.
He grabbed Tori’s wrist and let out a growling sound that made LeAnne’s stomach knot. “Don’t ever shove me again.”
“Get your damned hand off me before I have you arrested—or worse!”
The seconds rolled by like molasses while Ewen stared down at Tori. Finally, he released her arm. “Be glad I let you keep that arm. If you weren’t Michael’s, I’d beat you to death with it.”
“Bite me, you Viking asshole.”
LeAnne arched a brow. She didn’t know what kind of insult that was supposed to be. Funny? Yes. Insulting? Not so much. Maybe he was Nordic?
The big guy said something so low that LeAnne couldn’t hear. After a few moments, he released Tori, stepped aside, and motioned up the staircase. In a tone that was much more hospitable than his expression, he said, “Now you have a good night.”
Tori flipped him the bird as she moved past.
LeAnne took a deep breath and stuck close behind. Her friend didn’t look ruffled, but she knew the change in posture. Tori was shaken. Even though LeAnne knew she could hold her own, the danger emanating from the bouncer was impossible to ignore. There was something about Ewen that made LeAnne sure he would do horrible things to them if no one was watching. She decided to stick very, very close.
At the top of the stairs, LeAnne glanced around at the garish black and red décor. This V.I.P. section looked like something out of a Goth whorehouse with half-naked patrons, velvet draperies, elaborate black chandeliers handing from the ceiling, and clusters of red roses. She followed Tori left, onto a steel platform littered with booths and tables occupied by drool-tastic guys, silicone women, and a few people she wasn’t exactly sure how to categorize. Those were actually so perfect they were creepy—ugly, even.
LeAnne followed Tori to an L-shaped booth at the end of the row along the right wall. The curtains were closed, but one pulled back as they approached. She instantly recognized the man sitting on the edge in a dark suit. His face, as handsome as Tori had described, turned up to them. Icy blue eyes looked at Tori first, then at her. Then, his thick lips parted into a smile that revealed perfectly white teeth. Though Tori had never introduced them, she knew it was Michael, her Italian boyfriend and apparent love of her life. She had described him as hot, but hot didn’t do him justice. Michael was mesmerizing.
LeAnne smiled. Go, Tori!
“A pleasure to finally meet you, LeAnne.” Michael gave her a little nod and scooted a red-filled martini glass toward the back of the booth.
In that moment, she realized the open top button of his white shirt and loosened knot in his pale grey tie. The almost shoulder-length black hair he’d pushed back from his face looked like he’d been running his hands through it and it punctuated his stressed appearance. He slid sideways, deeper into the booth.
Tori sat down beside him.
“My Tori has been telling me how you grew up together.”
LeAnne noticed his use of “My Tori” and smiled as she sat on the opposite side. “That’s frightening.”
“I’ve only told him the good stuff.” Tori scooted closer to Michael.
He slid an arm around her shoulder. “Except for the plot to put hair remover in that girl’s shampoo. What was her name?” He looked at Tori.
“Michael!” Tori stared at him wide-eyed.
“Crap,” LeAnne mumbled.
He chuckled, wrapped Tori in his
arms, and pulled her close. “I’m teasing. I thought the little imp deserved every bald spot on her head.” With a quick kiss, he released her.
Tori laughed. “She did.”
Michael smiled at LeAnne. “I admire your fortitude. To put up with this one for so many years is a feat.”
Tori leaned back a little, away from him. The corners of her mouth turned down and LeAnne knew she fought a smile that would’ve ruined her mock anger. “You’re pushing your luck.”
“Always, inamorato.” Michael said the last word—a nickname, LeAnne presumed—in smooth-sounding Italian.
Tori laughed and gave him a big kiss on the cheek. Her laugh, when she let it flow naturally, was childlike, and LeAnne had missed it. This was the happiest LeAnne had seen Tori in years. For a long time after Robert, she’d barely smiled. Seeing her behave this much like her old self was heartening, and it made her smile, too. “She’s not so bad.”
“No.” He looked down at Tori and all but glowed. “Not bad at all. In fact, I’d say she’s mostly bark. Only a little bite.”
Tori’s brows went down and her lips straightened. She appeared disappointed by Michael’s admission that she wasn’t the hard-ass cop she portrayed. LeAnne would’ve bet Tori feared losing her bluff on him. Her friend had spent a lifetime trying to keep men from hurting her the way her father had. The hard exterior developed to protect her fragile core, a kid that had been broken by years of use and abuse by friends, lovers, and family. LeAnne knew the ploy intimately. That was one of the things they’d had in common since elementary school, but her defense tactics weren’t as obvious or aggressive as Tori’s. LeAnne preferred a more subtle strategy of keeping everyone at arm’s length.
Michael’s smile faded. There was a heavy, silent moment where they looked at each other. Then he glanced at LeAnne. “What would you like to drink?”
“Um.” Her brain couldn’t work fast enough to keep up with the sudden switch in subject. “Uh. Watermelon Margarita?”
Dorian Page 2
