Becoming Red (The Becoming Novels)

by Paula Black

‘Liath!’ Ash’s face lit with a smile as she turned to confront the disturber of her thoughts, twizzle stick gnawed at the ends. ‘Hey!’ It was a relief, a familiar face in a throng of strangers. She wasn’t completely alone.

  ‘Hi,’ Pretty jade eyes were kind as busy hands fixed a new drink, setting out the components of Ash’s preference on the bar. ‘I saw Doyle do it,’ she said by way of explanation and Ash chuckled, sipping at limeless Coke before she mixed it up. Liath lingered, fiddling under the bar as her eyes danced to her boss, watching him wander off before she leant on the wooden top. ‘So, who’s the cutie? He’s hot, very David Gandy.’

  ‘Doctor Robert Madden ...’ Ash raised a brow, shooting her gaze over her shoulder to find him still talking to the man near the VIP.

  ‘He comes in quite a lot, never comes close enough for me to ogle.’ Liath’s brows waggled and Ash let out a snort as she looked back at the woman’s teasing smile.

  ‘He’s ogle-able, but a little strange. He thought here would be a quiet place to talk,’ air quoting ‘quiet’ as her eyes rolled, Ash dropped her hands to take another sip.

  ‘Really?’ Liath’s groomed blonde brow arched, locking onto the doctor that hadn’t taken his eyes off the both of them. ‘Weird. What is he doing now? He’s not a good date if he leaves you to entertain yourself.’ Liath winked, dragging them into a realm of girl talk Ash had never been so familiar with. She blushed.

  ‘He’s getting us some sort of booth in the VIP section on the lower level? Who’d have thought it took so long?’ Drawing back a little, Ash frowned as the playfulness drained from Liath’s features. ‘What?’ She fussed with her hair, tugging a curl through her fingers nervously. ‘Do I have another head? ‘Cause I already have conversations with myself, and that would just make things so much easier.’

  Liath’s sunlight hair fluttered with the shake of her head, a halo of light in the black and red surroundings. ‘No, no second head ... but, Ash, I didn’t think that down there was ...’

  ‘Was what?’

  ‘Was ... you know, your scene ... I mean, do you know what you’re getting yourself into? It’s -’

  ‘It’s time to go.’ Madden’s warm hand curled into the flesh above her elbow, the height of him a sudden shadow cast over the bar, blocking dance floor lights from their gentle skip of red over the wood. ‘Shouldn’t you be getting back to work?’ His tone was biting and Liath recoiled with a wide-eyed concern as he urged Ash down from her stool, his grip nipping at her skin in a silencing squeeze. She cut him a vicious, sapphire glare, working her arm, torquing to free herself and bottling down the urge to stamp her foot when she was painfully unsuccessful.

  ‘Doc!’ She threw Liath a pleading glance laden with confusion as she was dragged away from the bar, just managing to snatch up her drink in a slosh of movement before she was too far away to see the frown lines in Liath’s brow, but still close enough to see the curve of a handset as her neighbour punched at some numbers on the dial. ‘Slow down, I’m coming, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise we were on a time-sensitive mission, what with you dragging ass getting us a booth. Wait -’ She tugged down with her arm again, jerking his grip on her but not loosening the vice in her skin. ‘Will you just slow down!’

  He relented a little, letting her feet catch up to the awkward angle of her body, and they headed down, passing through heavy satin curtains into darkness.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Yep, I’m definitely being led into Hell. She was being swallowed up by the second circle of Hell, led into deeper black until the sconces lit up like fire along the walls, alerting their movements to anyone in the bowels of the VIP section. It looked more like a whore house, albeit with extremely expensive whores, as they stepped onto a shimmering black marble dance floor. Bigger than the one up top, this level was all sin and seduction, lush booths big enough to double as circular beds were set in half moon alcoves lining the edge of the dance floor, table tops hovered on metal chains and appeared to be moveable the closer she looked, halted at various heights, empty, laden with drinks or pressed against the ceiling. Ash’s head tipped back, judging how the suspension worked, allowing Madden to lead her where he would, trusting he wouldn’t let her barrel into a poor, unsuspecting, plastic female. She snapped her head forward just in time to swerve the buxom blonde and her male companion, locked in space as hands wandered and hips thrust, mimicking ... nope, correction, really not mimicking. The man was up her skirt and grinding them both to the edge of a shuddering peak. He gave her a wink over the blonde’s shoulder, the golden ring curved through his nose glittering under the flashing lights. Ash backed away from the show-bull throwing his sexual weight around.

  What the ... Was this what Liath meant? The lower levels were some kind of sex club exhibitionist arena where women posed along the walls or buried themselves under the bodies of males? The majority could have been models, skimpily dressed and crying out in ecstasy, begging, just under the rock-beat pounding from hidden speakers.

  Ash was way overdressed, or really, really underdressed. Her hem was tugged lower, covering her knees as she bent-tripped after Madden, watching the leather toes of her boots instead of the orgiastic throng of dancers swarming around them, a living barricade they had to push through as the music swelled to a guitar solo crescendo and writhing bodies pulsed together. God, she should have worn pants, her stockings feeling too thin, hardly any protection if she became the object of some drunk fumbling.

  Air stifling amongst the heat of bodies, Ash drew a harsh, gasping breath when they cleared the crowd, out the other side in one piece and relatively un-groped.

  Her gaze cut up to tell Madden to slow, but the words halted, frozen on her tongue like small cubes of ice, waiting to melt into speech.

  Glimmering twin spots of light caught her attention, like Will-O’-The-Wisp, small orbs shimmering red from the corners, the booths in darkness, their candles extinguished. They moved, blinking on and off as she watched.

  What are you?

  Oh wow ... God ... Eyes. They were eyes, catching the light from the sconces and the small candle flames lit into holders above the floor.

  Dark, direct and lecherous, she felt stroked inside out by the strangers’ intentions, as though their eyes spoke, lascivious and bold.

  Ick! Ash only hoped her eyes weren’t that creepy when she looked at someone.

  She needed kevlar, protection against the bullets of gross being thrown her way, or maybe just a whole-body condom. She clung to the doctor and prayed he wouldn’t let her get lost in this drift of literal sex on the dance floor.

  ‘Doc,’ tugging on his arm, she felt about twelve years old, ‘is this really quieter? I mean, Starbucks might still be open ... if we run?’ Voice trailing off at the annoyed frown he shot her, she held onto the wrist that still viced her to him. He never once let go of her.

  ‘The people I want you to meet aren’t at Starbucks, Ashling, they’re here. And they can tell you the truth.’ Like a parent admonishing a child. She shut up and followed. It was either go forward with him, or try and survive going back without him.

  Madden led Ash across the mirror-polished gleam of the dance floor, a guiding hand super-glued to her elbow. The limpid-eyed girls flocking around the booth scattered on their approach, casting longing gazes back in the direction of the two men seated there. A pinched, leggy blonde loitered, raking Ash with an openly hostile, derogatory glare, before turning on her heel and stomping off in the direction of the next booth, ass swinging like a baboon in heat.

  Like popped toast, the two men rose to their feet in unison as she reached the table, a towering wall of testosterone-pumped muscle. Any female would have been crazy not to step back, and Ash wasn’t so crazy she didn’t acknowledge the threat. They were shorter than Connal, taller than Madden. One was a hairy beast, a monster of scruff, wild hair as dark a brown as the few days growth of beard colouring his jaw. His eyes were like honey, narrowed on her face, nostrils flared. He reminded her of a dog o
n the scent. Single, predatory concentration. Turning her head slightly, she sniffed. Nope. She smelled fine. His waistcoat gaped, black, buttery leather falling open as his hands stuffed into the worn pockets of his broken-in jeans, dark-faded and hanging too low on his hips to be decent. The man looked like he should be in a Western. Ash didn’t dare look down to check for boots and spurs. Instead, her gaze hit chest level, broad and muscled, dark hair thick on his pecs and travelling lightly down his abs, arrowing somewhere she didn’t want to look. Her eyes jerked back to his face, switching from wide-eyed and blushing to scowling embarrassment at the lusty sneer curving his lips.

  Plastering her best, haughty ice queen face on, Ash looked away, switching her attention to the male at his side. There couldn’t have been two more opposite people. His friend would have fit quite well at a cosplay convention, or the nineteen hundreds, sleek and suited in Steampunk couture, silver-white hair drawn back in a ponytail at his nape, jagged wisps slightly shorter, falling into hazel eyes. Green popped bright around the iris, a thick ring circling the colour within. Dipping her head to peer closer, Ash had half the mind to ask if they were contacts. But she got distracted. If his ensemble didn’t amuse her, the moustache on his face certainly did. It was ... she couldn’t decide between the images in her head so she merged them. A cross between a Chinese dragon and Biggles the Porn Star graced a smooth, exquisitely handsome face. He could have been of Asian descent, but the lights distorted his features somewhat and her brow furrowed, trying to pin down his origin.

  Damn, if the good doctor had told her this was a costume party, she’d have come dressed for the occasion.

  Maybe they were band members.

  More like extras from a Terminator movie. Whatever they were, they were totally out of step with Doc Madden’s tailored suit. Ash snickered quietly, logging into the chatter at the sound of her name.

  ‘Ashling DeMorgan, may I introduce two of my friends, Brandr and Fite.’

  ‘Friends?’ Brandr, the hairy cowboy, growled, pinning Madden with a withering glare.

  ‘Miss DeMorgan.’ Fite interjected and before she knew what was happening, her hand was swept up in gloved fingers, the velvet graze of the man’s moustache brushing her knuckles. ‘Enchanté.’ Intelligent, hazel eyes met hers for a brief moment before she felt her hand released. She shivered a little, the cool brush of metal dimpling her skin before he withdrew from her.

  ‘These gentlemen can tell you all you need to know about your new acquaintance, Connal Savage, and the beasts you so wish to research.’

  Brandr stiffened visibly, upper lip curling off his teeth. Once again, Fite drew the focus of her attention back to the mesmerising green rim of his eyes. Stepping aside with a grace out of keeping with his considerable size, he motioned for Ash to take a seat while Madden dismissed himself on an errand to get them a round of drinks. She squeaked a little, panic flaring in her eyes as she found herself trapped in the middle of two very large strangers, planting her ass on the lush booth seat and keeping her eyes straight ahead until they sat. She didn’t want to come into any crotch line of sight.

  Ash prided herself on sticking to the plan until Brandr went to sit, his smile more like a sneer raking her as he lowered down at her side. The leather of his waistcoat flared a little more, gaping completely open and her eyes snagged on a flash of something under the left side. Her hand trembled, reaching to push the material away from skin, daring and tentative as she revealed what she thought she’d seen. Bold and vicious, the stylized wolf brand lay like a mark of death on his skin, a visual trigger stimulating her heart to race with galloping panic. Her spine tensed a little straighter as she drew calming breaths in through her nose, letting the leather fall back into place. This time, Ash was determined to tamp down the fear and get some proper answers.

  Her voice was a little weak as she forced herself to look up at the man who bore the image, the man who was staring down at her with faint surprise, and, was that a flare of lust? on his rugged features. ‘The mark on your chest. What does it mean? I’ve seen it before. On Connal.’ On the stepfather who watched my mother torn limb from limb.

  Fite threw Brandr a loaded stare, but the words discharged from Brandr’s mouth like bullets.

  ‘Do not mention me in the same breath as that traitorous, murdering cur.’ Hair lashing, Ash jolted, slamming into the cushioned back of the booth like she’d been whipped, flinched away from the violent outpouring of words.

  ‘You should know better than to take the Devil’s name in vain.’ With that low-timbre growl, Ash groaned. The night was promising to get worse and worse the more people that joined their table, their latest addition jamming anger into her throat, dropping lead into her stomach and bolting her with molten heat.

  When Connal had materialized at the table, she didn’t even know, shades pushed up into his dreads, lips quirked in a grin that clearly irritated the hell out of the tag-team of Cro-Mags flanking Ash, who shot to their feet like a pair of stone columns at his arrival,

  Jerk bastard.

  ‘Chewbacca!’ Connal sneered at Brandr. ‘Hans Solo let you off the leash for the night?’ Ash snorted so hard her brain was promising to exit through her nose but she hid the whip of amusement behind a glare so dark it could have been worn as shades.

  The table shook like it just took a four-point-nine hit on the Richter scale and Brandr actually snarled. ‘You defile this place with your reeking stench, Vargrliker!’

  ‘Such a sweet mouth, Brandr. You mean I wasn’t invited to the Wookiee Convention? I suppose you and Gandalf the White here are going to make me leave?’

  Brandr bared the whites of his eyes, Fite’s narrowed to cruel slits and Connal sucked on his teeth, his mouth tugged into a sneering grin. She could feel the testosterone poisoning kicking in with every second that passed. The men she was smushed between had enough to out-do an entire generation of pre-pubescent boys, adding another to the mix had her choking on the fumes of rivalry. If they whipped out a measuring tape, she was outta there. But not before she’d levelled a good hard kick to the crotch of their newest member. She owed him pain. Ash glared at the rough, handsome face of her once saviour, and constant stalker. Connal. Her insides may have swooned ... just a little, but there was no feeling it through the storm of pissed off that rose to replace an awkward uneasiness. She knew how she felt around him. Could anticipate and quell the good emotions and stroke the bad until they burned her. He didn’t unnerve her, not like the doctor and his friends. He set her on edge, but it wasn’t with a worry for her life, not really. It was more because she knew she’d have to brace for the heaping dose of arousal that hit her at a dead run whenever he was near.

  ‘Much as I’m aching to spend the night flirting and ego-stroking with you girls, I’m here to speak with Ash.’ The taunt in his words died as he spoke her name and steel-grey eyes settled on Ash’s face. Annoyance darkened her expression, raising a pink flush to the high slashes of her cheekbones and a hard set of defiance to her delicate jaw. That look did things to his insides, stoking up hot, erotic memories like smouldering embers in the pit of his stomach.

  ‘Dance with me, Ash.’ His tone was grave. It was more than a request.

  He demanded and it cranked her chin a little higher, levelled her glare more solidly on his face. Let him burn in the laser heat of her anger. ‘I don’t like this song.’ Not quite a lie, the trance beat was tripping up the rhythm of her heart. ‘I’m busy, getting acquainted with these gentlemen. They actually talk to me.’ She stressed the word into an almost growl, he’d never once told her the utter truth ... never told her what she wanted to know. And when she found people who would, he barged in, in all his dreaded glory, to keep that knowledge from her reach. They knew something, the giant mammoth males fixed like barbarian sculptures at her side. She wanted to know too.

  ‘Research for your thesis, I presume?’ His tone was laced with sarcasm.

  ‘I don’t want to dance, with you.’ Ash had steeled her spine
into titanium defiance, but his gaze was softening and she could feel her resolve melt with it. The song switched up in the strained silence that followed, slowing and morphing, a mood ring to her turbulent emotions.

  ‘Please.’ He spoke to her with his eyes.

  No ... It was in her head but the word wouldn’t translate to her tongue. Ash swallowed, the daggers in her eyes starting to turn inwards. She hated him, for leaving her on her knees, for withholding something her entire being knew was linked to her. Yet she still contemplated going with him, that voice that had told her to run from the hospital was back and urging her to give in, to trust, to get away from the couple of beefcakes effectively caging her in. She was weakening the longer his gaze held hers.

  It was the briefest second, logged in time by the vicious tensing of the powerful males she’d been seated with, and her decision had been made. Spine curving, Ash took the easiest, less bulky, muscled path, stood to slip around the silver-haired gentleman. There was no resistance save the rumbling growl she told herself was just the hum of a ... generator? ... and then Fite’s gloved hand circled her wrist, cool points of metal tapping on her vein as his fingers tightened, holding her back.

  ‘You really don’t want to go to him, Miss. He can’t be trusted.’

  Annoyance-darkened, jewel-blue eyes narrowed on the hand that restrained her, pulling up the metal fingertips of his grip. Not that it did any good, she still had to murmur, ‘Please, let me go, Sir.’

  His acquiescence was immediate, reluctant and tamed only by the manners he managed to retain in the company of his Ice-Age friend, and Ash tripped from the booth.

  While Ash’s back was turned to the two men, Fite, his face cloaked in shadow, slowly drew two fingers across his neck in a cut-throat motion. As he walked backward onto the dancefloor to stand opposite Ash, Connal flipped him the bird.

  Time froze, the few inches separating them a vast chasm of unvoiced antagonism. Closing the distance, Connal rested his hands on Ash’s hips and she went rigid beneath his palms. He circled her waist and drew her closer, had to lower his mouth to her ear, the scruff on his jaw grazing her flushed cheek. The contact was incredibly intimate, yet loaded with tension. ‘You have to get out of here, Ash.’