The Red Circle: A Seven Sons Novel (Bad Moon Rising Book 2)

by DB Nielsen

  Its timber door looked plain and ordinary, but it was merely an illusion. When an immortal was feeling desperate and there was nowhere else to turn, or perhaps ready for the sordid pleasures or adventure that only could be found in the devil’s playground, or if they just wanted to conduct some nefarious deal, its Art Deco double doors suddenly and temptingly materialized, opening to its seeker and beckoning them to enter and sample its unearthly delights.

  “Come on, we’re already way too late,” Aislinn commanded, heading down the spiraling marble staircase and into the opulent, three-story barrel-vaulted antechamber at a breakneck pace. “Vlad knows what Cooper’s been exposed to. I want to find them and get out of this place as soon as possible.”

  “How do you know he’s still here?” Mia asked curiously, staring at the vast chamber with its maple veneer and stainless-steel Ionic columns, dazzling black granite fountains, and enormous cremation urns. There was more bling sparkling on the ceiling than on the crystal-mesh dress she was wearing.

  “He’s here,” Varya responded, feeling the same degree of intimidation as on her previous visit. “Caleb told Benjamin to sit tight as we’d be arriving soon.”

  “Actually, Caleb told Benjamin that Aislinn couldn’t kill him if he stayed put at Styx,” Cole murmured confidentially.

  “I heard that,” Aislinn said in a sing-song voice.

  “He’s a smart guy.” Cole tried whispering even lower.

  “I heard that too,” she replied with a curve of her lips that might have suggested amusement at another time. She deliberately ensured that Caleb could hear as she continued. “You think they’re so smart? There’s more than one way to kill a Malum. I intend to Flack them.”

  “No!” Caleb groaned, understanding her meaning perfectly.

  “Flack them?” Mia asked, her eyes wide and vacant.

  “As in Roberta Flack, killing them softly with his poems,” Aislinn explained as she motioned to Cole. Caleb carried on moaning in pain at the thought of having to endure Cole’s poems at Styx, and both vampire millennials continued to look blank—which was just as well.

  Upon entering Styx, there was a curiously convivial atmosphere, despite being plunged into virtual darkness and mingling with their immortal enemies. The bar was in full swing and at its busiest. Circulating rounds of frothing cocktails and swirling smoke permeated the lamplit corners. The air was alive with cool amusement and gossip and dark innuendoes. There were immortals making shady deals and ferociously having sex behind dark velvet curtains.

  An attractive redheaded cocktail waitress in a slinky sequined dress sidled up to the group, proffering a tray of drinks. “Welcome. Would you like to try one of our signature ABO-infused cocktails? There’s a Dracula’s Kiss or Bloody Good Time? Or perhaps you’d like a Corpse Reviver?”

  Aislinn was disgusted. Dracula’s Kiss? Oh, for Vlad’s sake! Seriously? When would they stop with the demeaning, derogatory stereotypes? It was so un-PC.

  Noticing the young Sanguis poet among them, the redheaded cocktail waitress said flirtatiously, “Oh hello, Cole. Didn’t think you were working tonight. I managed to catch the last ten minutes of your act on Friday. It was brilliant. It slayed them in the aisles.”

  For a vampire, Cole blushed and stammered, “Th-thank you, Candy.”

  She leaned forward, allowing an embarrassed Cole and everyone else to get an eyeful of her voluptuous curves. “I’m on my supper break in fifteen minutes. Perhaps you’d like to join me?”

  Mia gave an unnecessary cough that came out like a possessive growl, making Cole blush even more, if that was at all possible.

  “Who’s the suicide blonde?” the redhead asked with a flick of her head, giving her rival the onceover.

  “Biatch, did you just throw shade at me—” Mia began, straining forward to reach the sexy redhead, wanting to tear her eyes out as she teetered in her stilettos. Aislinn grabbed her arm to drag the other vampire away before a fight broke out on neutral ground. She was hyperventilating within microseconds. “I can’t even. She was all up in my face. And did you hear her name? Candy? What kind of name is that?”

  “Cole, we’re going. Move it.” Aislinn tossed over her shoulder.

  “Erm, sorry, Candy,” Cole stammered apologetically, trying to extricate himself from the situation. “Maybe another time. I’m here with my—maker.”

  “That’s your mum?” Candy asked surprised, gazing after Aislinn, and gave a low, wolf whistle. “She’s seriously hot. Hashtag, Woman Crush Wednesday.”

  “Yeah, my little brother thinks so too,” he said, sounding a bit strained. “It’s a Freudian thing. Anyway, gotta go. Catch you later, Candy.”

  “Wait. Here, take this.” She thrust a blood cocktail into his hand before he could leave. It was a Bloody Good Time. “It’s just a taste of what you’ll be missing.” Candy gave a sultry laugh and blew him a kiss before walking away. He watched her sequin-sheathed booty wiggle as it disappeared into the crowd.

  “Bottoms up, I’ll take that, pup,” Caleb said, relieving Cole of the drink in his hand as his eyes followed the redhead. The intoxicating whiff of rebellion and danger lingered. “That one’s way out of your league. Vlad knows what your maker was thinking when she allowed you to work in this place. If she wasn’t the daughter of Kayne, I’d say she’d had too much vitamin D and was suffering from sunstroke.”

  From across the club, over the noise of the chatter and laughter and the band playing on stage, the sound of tinkling bells reached them as Aislinn tossed back, “I heard that.”

  Chapter 21

  “Kitten, where were you last night? We missed you.” Styx offered a smile from his thin, hard mouth. Although she didn’t fear him as much as she probably should, Aislinn noted that he was still the most dangerous demon she knew. Shining, dark eyes dominated his smoothly weathered face, giving him an aggressive appearance. His dark, jet-black hair was slickly combed back, and he wore a tailored, black Gucci suit with a kind of casual decadence that was careless and sophisticated at the same time.

  “Oh, you know, putting out fires.” She shrugged nonchalantly, approaching the center of the circular chamber where Styx reclined, elbows resting on the arms of the chair and hands clasped in front of his chin.

  “And lighting others, I hear.” His dark eyes traveled over her, lighting up at the figure-hugging black leather dress she wore which ended mid-thigh. There wasn’t a lot of dress, but it was cunningly crafted. The crystal and gold sequined sleeves fanned down her arms from her shoulders, giving the impression of wings. No other ornamentation was necessary, except for her braided bracelet.

  As soon as she entered Styx’s establishment, Aislinn noted from her acute olfactory sense that Benjamin and Cooper were with Styx. She felt equal parts relief and unease.

  Now, as she saw them sitting uncomfortably on what passed as Styx’s blackwood and leather bondage horse, she was glad she couldn’t read minds because she was pretty certain she wouldn’t like to hear either of their thoughts, especially as she could read their expressions. Behind Benjamin’s stillness, there was a wariness, and behind Cooper’s feigned attempt at enjoyment, he was afraid.

  “Well, I’m practicing,” she said shortly, smiling enigmatically. Languidly, as if she wasn’t concerned, Aislinn moved forward, until she was able to stand between Cooper and Styx. She’d left the others to stay safely behind, just outside the chamber’s entrance. She didn’t know what she would see entering Styx’s office. He enjoyed his carnal delights and was happy to introduce other immortals into his sinful ways.

  Even with the Benjamin, an experienced, older Malum, sitting next to her fledgling offspring, protecting him, it made her breathe easier to block Cooper from Styx’s view. There was already too much interest in the former human hunter-turned-vampire for her liking.

  “Practicing for what?” the demon exclaimed, startled.

  “For when I finally accept your boss’s invitation for an extended stay in Demura.” She smiled, and it was a
mocking smile.

  Styx threw his head back and roared with laughter. “When that time comes, kitten, I’ll be happy to vouch for you.”

  Aislinn raised one pale eyebrow, playfully stating, “You’re too expensive for me, Styx. Unfortunately, you’re also too late. A person can only sell their soul once, and dear old dad has that ticket. Vampirism is an eternal gig, I’m afraid. Besides, you never did much care for those crossroads demons.”

  “Those cheap thugs tasked with buying human souls? Hell, no. Don’t know why Lucifer bothers. Demura’s crowded enough as it is. But it’s still the best freakshow downtown.” He moved a broad, flat hand to sweep the luxurious chamber and gave a wink. “Still, I would certainly have made an exception for you.”

  Of that, she had no doubt. She’d seen his basement. “You’re such a charmer, Styx.”

  Aislinn noted that neither Benjamin nor Cooper had yet to say a word, remaining silent as they listened to the wordplay between herself and the demon club owner. She could understand Cooper’s reluctance to speak, but Benjamin was a powerful and articulate Malum. She found this to be the most worrying part of the evening so far.

  “Besides, you’re the only immortal whom I somehow trust since it’s obvious how much you despise me.” Styx powerfully launched his enormous body from the armchair, the suit straining over his large shoulders. “Let me pour you a drink.”

  Aislinn protested sweetly, “You flatter me, Styx, though I don’t despise you. That would assume I have feelings for you, which I don’t. But that’s because I’m a vampire, and my heart stopped beating almost a millennium ago. We generally don’t have feelings. Except for vengeance, rage, and triumph. Though, strangely, I have noticed a lot of fear and self-abasement when I walk into a room. I’m fairly certain you’re no stranger to that yourself. But in all honesty, I don’t despise you.” Her voice was melodic, a lyrical, vocal compulsion that made the others listen attentively. Even the demon was trapped by its spell. “However, as much as I’d like to stay, I think we’ll be going.”

  “Don’t be in such a hurry. Let’s discuss some business.” He crossed the lavish red leather floor with its brass shoe tacks and stopped at the burled wood and brass drinks’ table.

  Her blue eyes narrowed dangerously. “Business?”

  It seemed she’d only just been discussing business with Stanislav. But business in their world—a world of gangsters, thugs, and demons—was all they seemed to care about. Well, business and revenge. But maybe it was the same thing to them.

  Styx held the glass out toward her. His speaking voice, a gruff husky tenor, added to the impression of the absolute authority he conveyed within his domain. She wasn’t going anywhere soon. “Business. It seems you’re sharing love bites with the Underground Russian Vampire mafia boss. And don’t pretend like he’s dead. You can’t deceive a deceiver.”

  Aislinn remained silent. It was like fencing but without rapiers. She deliberately took a sip of the drink in her hand, knowing its heady effects. As before, the chamber rippled around her. Her curse was that she saw everything. But now it was amplified, instantly increased by the rich, metallic taste that spread through her limbs. Aislinn experienced a moment of lightheadedness where she teetered on the edge of some great abyss. Then there was an immediate spark in the brain that brought the world into crystal-clear focus. Every sense sharpened.

  She glanced over at Benjamin and Cooper then back to Styx, and finally asked, “Jealous much? Would you like me to introduce you to him?”

  “You think I don’t know Stanislav?” He snorted. His gaze was sharp, and his eyes were an unhappy, all-consuming black.

  “I think you know a psycho bitch from hell in his service,” Aislinn countered, with a flash of obsidian. She’d smelled the Russian vampire’s scent still lingering in the room as she’d entered. Zhenya had been here. And recently. “Oh, and Dorian. If that’s the company you keep, no wonder you don’t trust anyone.”

  She felt the heavy, reassuring weight of the skean where it rested against her skin, sheathed under her short hem. She knew a demon’s moods were fickle. Readying herself for retaliation, she didn’t expect it when Styx’s dark brows rose thoughtfully, and then he laughed. It was more like a bark. “Kitten, you are a worry.”

  Aislinn shrugged, easing off.

  Styx gave a grimace. Then moving to pour himself another whisky neat, he swirled the amber liquid in his glass, took a long, slow sip, and asked cunningly, “How did you know about Dorian?”

  She rolled her eyes. Wasn’t it obvious?

  “Business is business. You forget, I’ve seen your basement. I’m not stupid enough to think Dorian won an Iron Maiden in a plushie vending machine at Disneyland.”

  He grunted. “You’d be surprised. And Zhenya?”

  “Stab in the dark,” she answered with a twitch of her lips and another shrug. She wasn’t about to tell him she could smell the bitch. Styx shook his head in amazement. “Which is going to happen to her, one day soon. It just depends who’s gonna get there first, Caleb or Varya.”

  He threw back his drink, and the onyx-black ring on his left ring finger absorbed the surrounding darkness. “Gotta love familial dysfunction. I should start taking bets. Aren’t you all related? Kayne’s progeny and all that?”

  “So?”

  “Isn’t blood thicker than water, as they say?” He snickered. “You’re the biggest back-stabbing bunch of immortals I know. Well, other than my kind, of course, and our internal politics are really something.”

  Aislinn gave a snort which was kind of a no. “I thought the fae gave us a run for our money. But what about your race? Aren’t you all related? Fallen angels and all that? Shouldn’t you all be one big happy family?”

  “Demon here,” he said as if it was self-explanatory.

  “Vampire here,” she countered. “Our currency is blood.”

  Styx looked amused. “Can’t argue with that. Prefer dealing in souls myself.”

  There was a light rap on the door, and one of Styx’s higher-order minions entered carrying a sheaf of parchments and scrolls. “Sorry to disturb you, boss, but you wished to be informed when the shipment had been dispatched from Cuckold’s Point. As you suggested that the matter was of some urgency, I took the liberty of readying the hellhounds. Also, there are a few binding contracts needing your urgent attention. And these two,” he unrolled the scrolls on Styx’s blackwood desk, “require your signature.”

  Styx sighed, rifling through the stack. “You see what I have to put up with? Work. Work. Work. I haven’t even been able to break in the new cabana boy. I’m swamped.”

  Aislinn frowned. “You have a cabana?”

  “No,” Styx said blandly.

  Figured. It was Aislinn’s turn to sigh.

  “Oh, and one other thing, boss.” The minion gathered the signed documents and left the rest on the desk, readying to leave. “You have a new investment opportunity. Well, more like an underworld, ‘Shark Tank’ business partnership.”

  “Oh?” Styx’s dark eyes took on a cunning shine. “You know I hate competition, Thirteen. Though, I suppose, it wouldn’t hurt to hear about it.”

  “Just so.” Thirteen bowed his head. “There’s an arcanist. Corrupt, evil, dodgy sort.”

  “Sounds like someone I’d like.” Styx’s eyes brightened.

  “Yes, I thought so too, boss. He absolutely swears he and his pals can raise the dead.”

  “That’s good.”

  Thirteen held up a cautioning hand. “Unfortunately, it’s a bit ‘Pet Sematary’ at the moment. But with the right investment capital and a higher-order angel, whom he is willing to kidnap, he is confident of making a breakthrough in his experiments soon.”

  “That’s good,” Styx repeated.

  “The cost of backing his venture, however, is prohibitive at this time,” the minion replied. “It requires expunging human souls which devalues their worth. Consider it a one-off transaction. And then there’s the kidnapping of a higher-orde
r angel. And the arcanist also wishes to retain sixty percent control of the business.”

  “So, a shyster. I like him already.” Styx’s expression was speculative. “I presume you looked into this matter further, Thirteen? Tell me, is he just a skilled trickster, or can he actually do what he says?”

  The minion’s face was bland. He didn’t even look affronted. “Hard to say, boss. He has a rather sordid, unsavory reputation which forced him to leave Esper. They say he’s been on Earth for centuries, performing his dark arts with his pals. Since he’s a dark mage who has extended his life through stealing the life force from living creatures, I believe there’s some credence to his claims.”

  Aislinn’s eyes suddenly went wide, and she felt the bang of blood in her ears. She felt a surge of hopefulness accompanied by blood rage. OMFV! Did he say dark mages who can extend their lives too? Careful, Aislinn. Play it cool. Play it as cool as you can.

  “Are we negotiating, boss?” Thirteen asked.

  “What do you think, kitten?” Styx said, wheeling to suddenly face her.

  Play it cool.

  “A dark mage’s magic is volatile, chaotic, and unpredictable, and archangels are thin on the ground,” Aislinn cautioned, proud of the way her voice remained flat and emotionless. Styx knew enough of her history to want to provoke her just for entertainment value. She wasn’t going to provide it for him, thankful to Caleb for his tutelage, even if she didn’t always listen. “Sixty percent? Get real. If you’re negotiating, go for the jugular.”

  “That’s what I like about you,” Styx said, chuckling devilishly. “You’ve got teeth. I’m telling you, when the time comes for Demura, I’ll not only be happy to vouch for you, but I’m sure we can work something out with Satan that can be mutually beneficial.” He gave her a lascivious wink.