“Here’s fifty bucks. Get out of here.” The Barker stuffed a red bill down the centre of my cleavage and smacked my ass.
He still thought I was a call girl.
“See, you made one mistake,” I said, drawing the Barker’s attention away from the grunting men trying to take Stan down as the cop’s hammer-fists flew around and made contact.
The Barker’s eyes narrowed.
“You assumed I was unimportant.”
A slight tingling radiated through my eyes as they shifted to reflect the animals caged within.
The dealer’s dark brows arched. He barked out another order and one of the other thugs whipped out a gun and pointed it at my head.
“Should’ve taken the fifty bucks.” He plucked the bill out of my cleavage before I could stop him, and stuffed it in his back jean pocket. With a gun pointed at my head, I had to choose my next actions carefully. Fifty dollars and a boob grazing rated pretty low on the importance scale. Stan grunted behind me as the three muscle-heads managed to smack him to the ground.
“Should’ve taken my warning,” I said and pulled at the beast locked up inside, not enough to shift, but enough to gain some of her strength. I let her roar rip from my throat. The men around me yelled and stepped back. I ducked away from the gun holder’s arm, grabbed his wrist and yanked him down over my bent knee. When I pulled, his arm made a sickening crack, and he bellowed in pain. The gun dropped to the floor. Another dealer dove for it, but I stomped down on the dangerous metal and kicked it across the room where it slid into a grate.
Three dealers, including the Barker straightened and squared off with me.
“Bring it,” I said.
They lunged in unison. I blocked, countered and kicked myself into a better position. Despite staying in human form, my supe-fast reflexes, beast strength, and martial arts background gave me more than enough advantage over the skilled fighters. When I rounded to where the other men stomped on Stan, I turned and threw one of them off the cop. I struck Johnny in the face with the base of my palm. His nose snapped and blood spurted across his face. His hand instantly flew to cover his nose, and I used the opportunity to deliver a series of blows to his solar plexus. One. Two. Three.
Out.
The man crumpled to the floor and groaned beside Stan’s feet.
With the other men behind me, regrouping, limping, and nursing injuries, I snatched Stan by the shirt and hauled him to his feet.
“Time to go,” I said.
He nodded.
“Can you walk?”
“Yes.”
“Run?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Go!” I pushed him toward the exit and turned in time to get a fist in the face. My vision exploded into stars, and I staggered to the side.
When my vision cleared, I caught Stan hobble-running up the stairs out of the corner of my eye. Another fist connected with my face. Stan needed more time to clear the building.
The Barker and two others attempted to surround me. Time to play Pig in the Middle, but they wouldn’t like my rules. With a nod from the Barker, they attacked in unison. I blocked a punch to the head as I side kicked another in the gut. The Barker got a shot in, but I used the momentum to spin around. My legs swung up and connected with his face, and he crashed to the ground.
The Puncher renewed his attack as the other one regained his breath from the kick. With a fury of blocks, I batted his well-aimed strikes away with little effort. My heartbeat thudded in my ears as searing hot adrenaline raced through my veins.
The other man moved around to my back, but before I could kick him again, he lunged and crushed me in a barrel hug. The Puncher lived up to his name and struck me. Pain exploded in my face, and lanced up my nose to the back of my skull. The Puncher moved in close, and delivered a liver-staggering blow to my stomach.
I kneed him in the balls.
As he doubled over in pain, I flicked my heel back and kicked in the Hugger’s knee, raked his shin and stomped on his foot. He shouted in pain, and his hold loosened. I flung my arms up and dropped, driving my elbow into his gut. Free from his crushing hug, I delivered another swift elbow, this time to his crotch. He doubled over and groaned in my ear. Perfectly within reach. I grabbed his head and hurled him over my shoulder. His body impacted with the Puncher’s before sliding off. I gave a nice chop to the Hugger’s throat to make sure he stayed out.
“You!” the Barker yelled from across the room. He staggered to his feet and flung a tattooed arm out to point his index finger at me.
I winked.
He reached into his jacket.
I turned and bolted up the steps. The bricks behind me shattered as a shot rang out.
Stan’s steely cop scent led me to the back alley. I threw open the doors and the cooler, fresher night air greeted me. A silent alarm probably went off somewhere. I slipped into the alley and let the heavy metallic doors close behind me, shutting out the stench and heat of the club.
About halfway from me to the main street, Stan hobbled like a lame donkey. I sprinted to catch up. Our slapping feet echoed off the cement alleyway and the sides of the building. The distant sounds of laughter and nightlife beckoned ahead.
A dark shadow spread out to cover the alleyway, blocking the moonlit path. A large object with wings.
Bola?
With tense muscles constricting my chest, I drew in a shaky breath and spun around. Nothing but the empty alley and night sky.
“Come on.” Stan grabbed my arm and tugged.
“Relax. They’re not following us,” I said, staring down the empty alley. “Besides, I can be pretty badass if I need to be.”
Despite using the strength and roar of the beast, Stan didn’t know about my most dangerous form, and I’d prefer it to stay that way. Still, I could, and did, hold my own against a handful of drug dealers.
“Badass enough to stop a speeding bullet?”
Then again, maybe not. Weres benefitted from speedy healing. Shifters…not so much. Even with accelerated capabilities, a bullet to the head was a bullet to the head. I had no idea if the beast form had other supernatural skills besides extra strength, fire-breathing, and a prickly attitude. Frankly, I hoped to never test out “death-avoidance.”
“Good point,” I said. “Let’s go.”
We swiveled and walked out of the alley and into Vancouver night life, Stan limping at my side. I tried to offer help, but he shoved my hand away and grunted. We made it to Granville Street to find a bunch of wide-eyed norms.
“What the fuck was that?” a man in disheveled clothes said as he pointed to the building to our left.
“An angel?” A woman said. With smeared makeup and a sweaty complexion reeking of booze, she clearly enjoyed a night of drinking.
“No way, man…a Valkyrie,” one of the street bums said before launching into a story of ancient Viking mythology. The clubbers became distracted and engrossed with the man’s tale.
So I hadn’t imagined it.
Something with wings had flown over us.
The sense of foreboding prickled my skin like a light rain.
Chapter Eleven
“Tact is the ability to tell someone to go to hell in such a way that they look forward to the trip.”
~Winston Churchill
After putting Stan in a cab, I looked around the downtown core of Vancouver. Turned out “the Barker” was Aahil. Made sense. After web searching his name on my phone, I discovered it meant “Prince.” He certainly acted like one.
The sea breeze whistled through the dark streets as club music blared from various clubs. I loved this city. It was a dichotomy of senses; the lush evergreen forests; snow-capped mountains and crisp ocean contrasted with the cityscape, with its modern buildings of glass, slabs of concrete and bustling businesses.
A coastal seaport city, nestled in the Lower Mainland of British Columbia, Vancouver was by far the most ethnically and linguistically diverse urban centre in Canada and the third largest metropol
itan area in the country. It was consistently named one of the top worldwide cities for livability, quality of life, and natural beauty. Not bad for a city that grew from a sawmill and a nearby tavern.
But not all that glitters is gold. The natural beauty of the city shone through during the day, full of spandex-clad yoga practitioners and outdoorsmen, but the city held darkness as well. The largest population of homeless people in Canada, a renowned serial killer, infamous strip clubs, overdosing celebrities, rundown buildings, greasy bars, dark alleyways, a buzzing night life…
And the Vampire club called Hell.
Two blocks away from Lucien’s club, I decided to pay his heir a visit. If anyone would have tabs on mysterious creatures or the drug culture of the Vancouver underground, it would be Luci…Allan’s Vampire horde.
And thanks to Stan, I was already dressed for the club.
After sending a quick text to Tristan to outline my plans, I sashayed to the vamp bar.
Situated in the heart of Gastown, the nice part, the ground level entrance to Hell consisted of double doors and a foyer at the bottom of an all-window building. Two intimidating Vampire bouncers stood at the doors leading to a spiral staircase in the foyer. Justin and Dmitri, the same guards from the last time I came here looking for answers.
The steps behind the bouncers led to the basement where the Vamps and vamp-tramps rubbed against each other. Deep bass resonated from the club and traveled up to the street level.
Last time I’d been here, I stood in line for all of ten minutes before throwing my reputation at the guards to butt ahead. This time, I didn’t bother with the line at all. I walked right up to the doors and fixed Dmitri and Justin with my best let-me-in-or-I’ll-bite-you stare. Dmitri, with his Slavic good looks, mumbled into his radio the “Shifter Bitch” was coming down, and after a garbled response, they both stood aside to let me through.
By walking through the doors, I accepted the rules of the establishment. They were simple—don’t fuck around with the Vampires. For me, I avoided prolonged eye contact, exposed necks, going into the private enclaves or down to the dungeons, and I sure as fuck wouldn’t agree to anything proposed by a Vampire, no matter how innocent it sounded.
Two cookie-cutter bouncers stood at the bottom of the stairwell and opened the doors when I reached the landing. I took a deep breath before stepping into the dark, dank realm of the Vampires. The music thumped heavy and low red lighting gave the place a monochromatic vibe. Not much had changed. The place still smelled of musky coconut, crayons, and sweet sweat—lust, excitement, and fear. The last overpowered the rest.
I found Allan sitting at the bar, his gaze darting around the room, calculating and assessing. His suit remained impeccable, but his hair looked a little mussed since the first time I’d seen him.
May as well get this over with. I straightened my shoulders and stomped my way to the new Master Vampire of the Lower Mainland.
“Allan,” I said.
“Andrea.” His eyes narrowed. “To what do I owe this…honour?”
“I need information.” Although I tried to keep my mind on the forest, this guy could read my mind, and would probably pluck out my intentions at any time, so I cut to the point.
“What makes you think I have what you need?”
“You’re Allan. Master Vampire of the Greater Vancouver Vampire horde. And your special skill is mind reading. You probably have exactly what I need.”
To anyone else, this conversation might sound sexual, but there was no desire on either of our parts to bump uglies. Allan liked to dominate in a way that put BDSM practitioners to shame. I’d never be submissive enough for him, and I…well, I didn’t like him that way. He was handsome enough, and he’d been nice to me, to a point, but no, not kindling a little fire for Allan.
He snorted, probably reading my mind and finding my thoughts amusing, but he didn’t comment on them. “You’re right, Andy. I probably have the information. Let me rephrase. What makes you think I’ll give it to you?”
“Because you’re a nice guy?” Lie.
He shook his head.
“Because you like my prickly personality?”
Again, he shook his head.
“Because…because it would be for the greater good? Clean up Vancouver, and all that?”
Allan barked out a laugh. “I like it dirty.”
“Seriously? You’re not going to help me?”
“I see nothing in it for me. I don’t want to bang you, I don’t want you to dance for me, and I certainly don’t want you as a mate. The only thing you have to offer is your tasty blood, but I know you’ll never give that up.”
He got that right.
“Can I at least ask?”
“Fine.” He placed his forearm on countertop and leaned into the bar.
“Was Lucien investigating King’s Krank?”
Allan stilled. His pupils dilated to the point his irises disappeared and two black orbs stared back at me. No breathing, no moving, nothing.
I waited.
And waited.
He continued to sit like a statue doing a fairly decent Lucien impersonation. He didn’t appear too ready to answer my question. Not that I needed him to do so. His reaction said it all. Maybe I should try another one.
“Is Glasya Labolas connected to the drug somehow?” I may have defeated the dog Demon with the help of the goddess Feradea and Sid the Seducer, but Bola’s ticket back to hell wasn’t one way. He could easily be re-summoned to the mortal realm.
A muscle in his cheek twitched, and his eyes refocused on my face. “Careful, kitten. I admire your sass, but questions like these will get you killed.”
I waited and tapped my foot. Allan’s face remained impassive porcelain, only his eyes gave away his internal calculating. The irises around his pupils contracted, shifting back and forth in minute degrees. His hands remained relaxed on the armrests and his body statue-still. His scent, still carrion-esque, carried none of his emotions to me.
“Well?” I asked, shattering the silence between us.
“Well, what?”
“Are you going to answer?” Do I need him to?
“No. I think not. This is not a concern for the Vampire court. Lucien’s attempt to meddle in every pocket in the community led to his demise. I have no wish to follow him. You are on your own, kitten.”
A few Vampires paused and studied us before Allan sent them away with a glare, and a flick of his wrist. Ideas flashed through my head, but none of my reactions would get me the answers I sought.
Allan barked out a laugh. “Punching me in the face will only serve to piss me off. You better go. Now.”
Squaring my shoulders and clenching my fists, I nodded. “Goodbye.”
I swiveled and stalked out of the room. When I made it to the doorway that led to the stairs, Allan’s voice called out across the club. Not yelling, but loud enough for my Shifter hearing to pick it out from the deep pounding bass. “Oh, kitten?”
I turned and fixed my death stare on him. “What?”
He stood and moved with Vampire grace to stand a few feet away. The gliding motion so fast, my eyes crossed to track his progress. “Your Kappa is missing. You better find him before he goes on another bender.”
Chapter Twelve
“When all else fails there’s always delusion.”
~Conan O’Brian
The Kappa, an abnormally massive turtle-like Japanese supe who sucked living energy and slaughtered hundreds roamed free. In addition to that potential hot mess, Loretta’s killer was still on the loose, drug addicts still indulged and died on King’s Krank, the connections of the Vampire court were lost to me, and Wick and his Werewolf pack hated me.
At least I had Tristan.
Right?
Then why the heck wasn’t he answering his phone or replying to my text messages? I took a deep breath and refocused. The calm dissipated almost immediately. Oh no. I refused to become the bunny-boiling, stalker girlfriend.
My
heart thumped in my ears, and my skin prickled. Why wasn’t he responding? He normally replied right away. I checked my watch. Well, maybe he was sleeping. Not everyone stayed up this late, although there was a lot of night left before dawn.
I dragged my tired, pinched toes, and sweaty thighs back to my apartment. My disappointment hung heavy in my chest. I’d secretly hoped Tristan had gone incommunicado because he used his key to wait for me at my place. Naked.
A pleasurable bolt of lightning struck my crotch at the thought.
Unfortunately, no naked Tristan. When I walked in, the air was stale and bereft of his delicious scent. Something else slithered through the apartment. Something I couldn’t quite place, but drew me forward into the room. I sniffed around like a bloodhound, but the smell evaded my detection, slipping away from my reach. I should be creeped out, but no malice hung in the air. Another fera, maybe? The one who rudely interrupted my sleep?
My phone vibrated, and I pounced on it.
Ben, not Tristan. I sighed, and picked it up.
“Why are you calling me? You live next door,” I said. Ben and his denmates were home, too. No way could I mistake the screeching and bickering travelling through the thin walls.
“Who knows what you’re up to,” Ben grumbled. “You Shifters are way too comfortable running around naked for me to ever consider a surprise visit.”
He had a point. “What do you want?”
“You’re on speaker phone. Can you settle an argument I’m having with Patty?”
“Seriously?”
He ignored the snark in my tone, and launched into a speech. “If a vamp tramp got a tramp stamp, would you call it a vamp tramp tramp stamp, or a vamp tramp stamp?”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“Noooo! Please don’t. You know Patty. He’ll peck away at me like a deranged leprechaun until we get someone to break the tie. It’s two and two.”
I laughed, and the tension flowed from my shoulders and neck. “My vote is for the latter. Vamp tramp stamp. I think it’s safe to cut out the redundancy.”
“I told you!” Ben bellowed, presumably at Patty. A thump followed and I envisioned Ben throwing one of his poorly-aimed, poorly-formed punches at Patty’s shoulder.
Shift Work (Carus #4) Page 8
