I sat at the table feeling sick as hell. These attacks were not the natural order of things. They were the work of a freaking monster. My stomach swirled and I picked up the letter again. It was signed V. My hands had become clammy. I wiped them on my pants as a chill raced down my spine. I knew of only one V and the son of a bitch was as wicked as they came. If I was correct, then not only was this the work of a monster, it was the work of a demon. I smirked at the letter. At least I wasn’t walking in totally blind.
I stood, resolved. It was time to take a peek at Club Seachain an Madra.
THREE
Despite the two dozen drinks I’d been offered, I was stone sober.
Any normal woman would probably eat the attention up with a spoon, but I wasn’t normal and I wasn’t myself.
The everyday glamour I wear to disguise the shocking changes that came with my transformation was always a simple one. I like to stick with the way I used to look before this crap landed in my lap. I’m pretty tall for a woman at five foot nine. My skin is pale and my hair is long and brown. Well, at least all of those things used to describe me.
Tonight, however, wasn’t about the issues I had with my everyday appearance. Nope, tonight was about moving among my enemies in secret.
My thick hair was pulled high and tight from my face. Skin the color of rich coffee made me an exotic Jamaican princess. I felt awkward walking in such an unfamiliar form and at five foot one; my gorgeous four inch heels still couldn’t bring me to my normal every day height of five foot nine.
I eased my way through the throng, to my goal. A private table nestled deep in the darkest corner of the club. My Madea, eyes sharpened filling my vision with light. The vague human-shaped shadows cleared and I scanned their faces. Voltaire, the demon who scared the holy hell out of me, and a key member of the Council, were absent from the group.
Damn. I should have known. It wasn’t that I really expected the demon to be clubbing but I was positive that he was the V signed at the bottom of the letter.
I scanned the group and smiled. I wouldn’t be leaving disappointed. Looking as handsome as ever with a plump blonde snaked around his willing body was Patrick Camden. He was the only human looking member of the Council.
I sneered. Human was stretching it quite a bit. When I first laid eyes on Patrick, I had no idea what he was. To me he was just a very handsome man who smelled of the earth. Now I knew better, thanks to some quick mind reading. I knew that Patrick was no mere human. He was a pack master.
This was better than I could have hoped. Trying to fool a demon was a risky proposition. Patrick seemed infinitely more deceivable.
I paused a short distance from the group as a cocktail waitress approached their crowded table. She smiled brightly as she placed the various bottles and fancy glasses on the already cluttered table. Her smile remained even as one of the men slid his hand up the back of her thigh.
She left quickly; her face betrayed nothing even though I knew from her thoughts that she wanted to slap every one of their faces. I also knew that in her anger, Mr. Touchy-Feely had a little something extra in his drink. I didn’t exactly agree with her approach, but he obviously abused her regularly so he kind of deserved the inevitable camp out in the bathroom later.
Music pumped from dozens of speakers, the sound so powerful it vibrated the entire room. Too many lights flashed over the massive dance floor as I fought my way through the jostling crowd.
A strong hand grabbed my butt and I struggled to keep moving without murdering the idiot it was attached to.
After what felt like an eternity, I finally reached the other side of the room.
As I approached the table, I mentally checked for flaws in my disguise. Still new to my power, I often make stupid mistakes. Just because you had the biggest, baddest weapon, didn’t mean you knew how to use it. I’m the only one of my kind and my power had not come with an instruction manual.
Satisfied that I was well hidden within my Jamaican glamour, I straightened my shoulders and sexed-up my walk, swaying my rounded hips with what I hoped was a seductive glide.
I had a second to form a greeting before a man reached out and placed his hand on my ass. I jerked, sucking in my cheeks; I bit down my irritation and smiled at him as sweetly as I could.
He smirked and then his beady eyes took a lazy tour of my breasts and then went south. After his blatantly sexual perusal of my assets, he met my gaze.
Oh yeah, he was a keeper.
“Can anyone join the party?” I said. Pleasure registered in his eyes as I spoke. My slight Jamaican accent flowed flawlessly from my full lips, alien to my own ears.
“Not just anyone, beauty, but you, most definitely.” To my surprise, he slid his chair back, indicating his lap. Cripes. My ass would be numb after about ten minutes, but seeing several other young ladies occupying similar seats, I obliged him.
“And what might your name be?” a voice rumbled from across the table.
“Cassandra,” I leaned forward smiling at the man who spoke. My large breasts swelled over my lacy bra as I moved closer to him, “but you can me Sandra.” I met his eyes.
His lip curled up in a sleazy smile and his eyes filled with that look that all men get when they think they’ve spotted easy prey. “A pleasure, Sandra, I’m Dillon.” He made a casual gesture to his left, “this is Martin, and the lucky man you’re sitting with is Zak. That one over there,” he nodded to his right. “Well that’s Christian and this here is Patrick. We own the place. Would you care for a drink?” The woman sitting on his lap looked at me as if I were navel lint. I couldn’t blame her. After all I was flirting with her man, and darn it if he wasn’t flirting right back.
“All drinks for our ladies are on the house, of course.” His eyebrows rose as if to say, I’m important, be impressed. Please, as if the money he wasn’t spending was impressive. I stifled my natural tendency to confront people with their own stupidity, or in this case, extreme vanity and instead smiled with what I hoped was admiration.
The drink was pink and sweeter than my morning cereal, but thanks to my Madea metabolism, completely harmless. Alcohol was no longer a threat; the other side to that coin was that alcohol was no longer fun either. I guess you take the good with the bad.
I scooted around a little, hoping to relieve the slow ache that was beginning in my left buttock. I froze as my movements caused a small groan to slip from the human Lazy Boy under my ass. I turned. Zak, I observed would be short when he stood, but his body was powerfully built. The muscles of his legs were very firm, attributing to the ache I was suffering from. The silk shirt he wore was a size too small and meant to be. It showcased his too-large arms and massive chest.
I tried to smile at the man under my ass, making it seem that I was still thrilled to be there. He pushed his groin up and slid his hand around my waist, all the while not saying a single word to me.
Well, this one was a real shit head. It was all I could do not to turn him into a donkey. Men who act like Asses should look like Asses. However, I was a Madea, which meant that I was supposed to be above such pettiness. I was good and didn’t abuse my power like that. Hell, if I did half the male population would be braying.
So, I thought, this one wants to play dirty? Well, I could oblige. I shifted again, rubbing my generous backside against his sensitive male anatomy. My ass could only take so much of his horny advances. If he was like any other healthy male, he should start responding.
I smiled as I caught the picture in his thoughts a second before his hands moved from my waist. I jumped up as he abruptly stood and excused himself, vacating the seat before his bewildered friends could ask a single question. I moved fast, occupying the empty chair. I had no desire to be another man’s decoration.
I slid my chair closer to Patrick, feigning interest in something behind him. He was oblivious, nuzzling the neck of the blonde and making horrid suction cup noises with his kisses. From what I could see, whenever they came up for air, she was beautiful. A classic beauty,
like Marilyn Monroe in her heavy years, she radiated health and vitality. Her breasts were real and her skin was flawless. She was nothing like the little stick figures that filled the club. Those women resembled little boys more than they resembled women. I admired Patrick for his choice.
I gazed at the couples and noticed there were more women then men, yet Dillon hadn’t bothered to introduce a single one of them. It was obvious they meant nothing to them; merely arm candy. God, what a group of primates.
I made eye contact with the only redhead at the table and she glared at me, wrapping her arms possessively around Martin, a thin man with short black hair. He was Latin and in my opinion, his good looks weren’t enough to cling to so desperately.
Okay, I guess I didn’t need to feel angry on their behalf. It seemed they were okay with the treatment, more’s the pity. Thank goodness, I wasn’t that clueless.
I tapped my fingers on the only clean spot on the table. My thoughts were a chaotic jumble. Were these ladies future victims? Were all of these men werewolves? I knew that all I had to do was take a stroll in their minds and I’d have all the answers I needed. My conscious prickled and I frowned. My morals were a real bummer sometimes.
I blew out a tired breath and glanced at the colorful horde of young flesh writhing on the dance floor. My ears were ringing and I was about to do something drastic, like smacking Patrick on the back of his head. God, how much kissing could one man do? I sat my elbow on the table, and then sighing, I rested my chin on my palm.
Irritation began to bubble inside me and I turned, expecting to see him still super glued to the blonde.
He wasn’t and I jumped, sending my chair in a backward fall that landed with a muffled thud onto the carpet. Patrick was looking at me, an odd expression on his handsome face. It had startled me and I tried to smile, embarrassed.
The blonde toyed with a lock of Patrick’s hair, “What’s the matter cocoa puffs; you’ve never seen a good lookin’ man this close before?” she sneered and nuzzled his neck as if she hadn’t just insulted me.
I was having a hard time processing my shock. I couldn’t believe what had come out of the hateful woman’s mouth and I was momentarily struck dumb. Anger flowed through my body and I was about to go girly and snatch her baldheaded, when Patrick stood, spilling the evil woman onto the floor like a forgotten dog.
“Would you care to dance?” he asked, offering me his hand. I gawked at him. He acted as though he hadn’t just tossed a full-grown woman onto her ass. The woman seemed just as stunned and started to protest. Patrick sent her a chilling look and she backed away on all fours.
It was a very awkward to witness. She looked like a beaten dog in expensive eveningwear. I was numb with shock. Not only for her appalling prejudice, but for the way he had handled it.
I offered him my hand without thinking. His skin was hot and I instinctively jerked, his strong fingers tightened as he led me to the floor. A small signal to the DJ changed the music to a much slower rhythm. He spun me into his firm embrace and swept me across the floor with the music. His body guided mine effortlessly and I sneered. Patrick was a damn fine dancer.
He bent close; pressing his mouth close to my ear, I felt his breath hot on my neck. “I must apologize for Olivia.” He whispered. “Sadly she will never apologize for herself. She has a big mouth and a small brain.”
“Then why do you put up with her?” I pulled away, frowning.
“She is my newest,” he shrugged. “And I must admit that the only thing she seems to have going for her is her body. I like curves on my women. A man doesn’t like to slam into a pile of sharp bones.” He grinned, winking playfully.
“Oh, how beautiful,” I drawled. “Tell me, is it always about sex?” he dipped me backward, arching my body low and then he spun me around, flying across the floor. We were dancing to music from another time and no one seemed to care or even take offense.
Patrick pressed me close, his face buried in my hair. I pulled back, “Are you going to answer me?” I arched a brow.
He smirked, “no, it’s not always sex. Sometimes it’s the hunt.” He pulled me close to his body again; his powerful arms held me like a vice. I sucked in a startled breath, adrenaline raced into my veins. “She made a mistake tonight,” he continued as he turned me in a tight circle. “Now the hunt begins. I confess I had high hopes for her. She should have lasted longer. My judgment must be suffering.” He shook his head, “but then there have been so many distractions lately.”
“Distractions?” I breathed.
He stopped dead in the middle of the dance floor examining my face. His dark brows drew together in a frown. His full lips were pressed into a hard line. He moved his face toward my hair again, inhaling deeply. His rough stubble scraped my skin as he sniffed along my neck. “You of all people should know that life is not always nice.” He looked at me again, his eyes narrowed, “You of all people know the truth of our world.” He gripped my upper arms. “What are you doing here, Grace?” he growled.
The jig was up.
I jerked backward, angry and annoyed that I had screwed something up with my disguise. “How?”
He smiled and pulled me close to his body again. I felt like a rag doll. He was taking pleasure from manhandling me and it was pissing me off.
“You changed your appearance, Grace, but your scent. You failed to change your scent.” As if to punctuate his words, he breathed deeply. “I barely caught it as you moved closer to me, so eager, sweet Grace. Tell me, why go to the trouble to change your face and not your scent? Did you wish to be found out? Do you like to dance with death?”
I stiffened, “Oh, buddy, you forget what I am. With no more than a thought I could zap your ass into that beer bottle, so watch it!”
He chuckled, “but you won’t. I haven’t hurt you, yet, and you will not lash out unless you’re and inch from death. No Grace, I haven’t forgotten what you are, in fact that knowledge is what makes me so sure you won’t hurt me. You’re too good.”
“Now hold on!” I pushed a finger into his chest. “You may not have laid a finger on me, but you’ve sure as hell killed people! You may think that killing those girls was a neat way to get my attention, and I’ll admit, you have my attention. But Patrick, if you plan on hurting that woman, then you’ll see my dark side. She insulted me, yes, but that does not warrant a death sentence.”
He regarded me for a moment before saying, “You came in stealth, and you tried to hide.” He frowned. “Why then, should we hold to our end? Besides, Grace, we eat meat. Those girls were dead whether we wanted your attention or not. We’re not a pack of fools. We dispose of our scraps. Leaving a few out for the authorities to find was as simple as leaving the table before the dishes are cleared.”
“You’re disgusting, you know that? These are people. Human beings!” I shouted indignantly.
He shrugged. “If it helps, you can think of it as culling the herd so to speak. My kind keeps the population in check. Stupid people breed stupid people. Food or not, that woman will not live past the night.”
“My God, Patrick!” I shook my head at a total loss.
“I am an animal,” He smirked. “The most powerful and primal of beings. My pack has lived in this splendid little city for decades. Such places offer a superb buffet of lost souls, runaways, drunks, and prostitutes. People with no real lives, no connections, it’s perfect.”
I felt ill, “I won’t let you hurt her Patrick. I’m afraid she’ll just have to go away.” I stared at her. A tiny village in the Alps seemed about right. The air stirred around her and Patrick tensed. She met my eyes a second before she vanished from the room.
“Damn it, Grace!” he thundered, balling his fists. “If not her then it will be someone else. We need to feed.”
“Then feed you schmuck. Go into the desert and eat a few coyotes, Lord knows the place is crawling with them, or here’s a thought, why not go to the store? They have these nifty little things called meat counters, go visit one of
them.” He just stared at me. His eyes did a slow blink.
“Okay, why human? At least answer that.” I demanded. “I mean your human too, at least part of you is.”
“It’s the hunt, Grace,” he said simply. “I’m not human, make no mistake about that. I am a Were. I feed on the strongest, the most cunning animal. For my kind, humans are not the top predators they are the top prey. Hunting keeps the pack in their prime. What do you think we’ll do now? The full moon is upon us and you have stolen our meal.” He reached for me; his hands gripped my arms painfully. “I think you would give a fine chase.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. It was almost cute, he actually believed I would let him even suggest such a thing. God, the arrogance of monsters.
“You know Patrick, I feel sorry for you. Here I was ready to take you seriously and you go and screw it up by assuming you have any kind of control over me.” I pulled out of his grip. “What all of you fail to realize is that you have zero control over me.” I moved backward and let my glamour slip, revealing a small shard of my true form. His face fell, the arrogance slipping to reveal a slice of fear.
“I tried to slip in tonight without anyone being the wiser, that was my mistake, but yours is assuming I’m powerless because of my new Madea nature. I’m still here, the Madea is here too, but piss me off wolf-boy and I will push everything aside and boil the fur from your body!” To send my point home, I sent a full five seconds of horrible searing pain all over his body.
Five seconds seems like nothing, but believe me, it’s all relative.
He shuddered, convulsing as tears stained his cheeks. The music pumped in time with his agonized jerks.
My conscience prickled, but held. The pain was quick but the after-effects lasted several seconds more. I think he got my point.
I forced a cold smile; glancing around the room, I centered my thoughts on the dancing horde. A thought froze them instantly.
I let go of a little more glamour. I had the idea that my true Madea form would prove once and for all that, I no longer needed the ring. It was the only thing I could think of to shove my point home. I hated to reveal myself it saddened me. I was never going to be the same person I was before all of this; I would always have to hide myself away.
This Curse: (The Grace Allen Series Book 2 ) Page 2
