by Seana Kelly
He opened his mouth, but I plowed on ahead.
“No place is safe for me, Clive. If I’d stayed home tonight, I’d have frozen in my bed alone. The only reason I’m not a chunk of ice is because I went out and ran into you. And for the record, I did call.”
“Why do you think I was out looking for you?”
No idea.
Eight
Pole Dancing Is Harder Than It Looks
Clive’s ride glided up to the California Street entrance of the Tonga Room. I assumed he’d drop me off, but instead, he slid out of the car, grabbed my hand, and pulled me along. The car drove away as he tried the handle of the Tonga Room’s back door. Past closing time, but the door remained unlocked.
We found Tara sitting on a barstool, a cup of coffee in front of her. Her eyes widened at seeing Clive with me.
“Clive, it’s lovely to see you again. Sam.” She walked behind the bar. “Can I get either of you anything?”
“Nothing.” Clive picked up her cup and motioned her to a nearby table. “Let’s sit and talk.”
Fear jumped into Tara’s eyes. She appeared at ease, but I sensed a reluctance to abandon even that small protection of the bar. She played it off by lazily swirling a towel over the bar top as she rounded the side. I couldn’t read the look she gave me as she breezed past. There was something, though.
I followed her to the table. The bar was empty, but it felt off. Was it a scent? No. I didn’t think so. It was more a feeling, a raising of my hackles. Someone had just been in here. Someone or something left as soon as we’d opened the door.
Clive sat with his back to the wall, Tara across from him. I took the empty seat to his left. I had the bar at my back, but I trusted Clive to keep an eye out. The dark reaches of the long room drew my attention.
“Tara, I accompanied Sam because I, too, am very interested in what you have to tell her.” He sat, legs crossed, the very image of a bored British aristocrat. Beneath the exterior, though, he was pulled taut.
“This is embarrassing.” Tara’s smile warmed the shadowy room. A rosy flush suffused her cheek. “I meant what I told her before. I don’t know anything about anyone wanting to hurt her.” She fingered the end of a curly lock of hair. “I—well, I just liked her. I was inviting her back for a drink.”
She reached for me across the table. “I’m sorry if you misunderstood.” Shrugging, she added, “I was attracted, and I thought maybe you might be, too.”
“A succubus in love,” Clive said. “What a charming lie.”
Tara’s body language changed. She crossed her arms over her impressive assets. “Not a lie. I thought she might be interested in more than the drink we’d had.” Her eyes flicked toward me before going back to Clive. “She’s lived here a lot of years. No man on record.” A hand waved in my direction. “Thought maybe whatever caused the scars had put her off men, so I tried. No harm, no foul.”
“Impressive. You have an almost fae-like ability to make truthful statements that are, in fact, lies.” Clive studied her a moment. “Tara, what do you know?”
“Nothing.” A sheen of perspiration appeared on her brow.
“Let me rephrase. Tell me everything you suspect.” Clive hadn’t moved, but his stillness felt like a snake preparing to strike.
“Clive, I’m low-level. You know that. The brass don’t include me in their plans.”
“And yet, here we sit.” When Tara remained silent, Clive added, “You need to ask yourself, who do you fear more? Your kind or me?” The smile on his face caused sweat to pool at the base of my spine, and he wasn’t even directing it at me.
It was my turn to try. “Tara, who was here? Right before Clive and I walked in, someone was here. Who was it?” Their gazes snapped to me, Tara’s in fear, Clive’s in speculation.
“Now, that is an interesting question.” Clive turned from me and focused once more on Tara, who flinched, her fingers trembling.
“I’ve got no way out here.” She flicked her hair back in frustration rather than seduction. “Either he’ll kill me, or you will. He’ll torture me first, though.”
“You’re underestimating me.” Clive’s voice was almost a purr.
Her eyes fluttered, and blood began to drip from her nose.
“Okay,” I said. “I think we need to throttle back. No one needs to be tortured—or whatever the hell it is you’re doing to yourself right now. Just give us something.” When she opened her mouth, I held a finger up. “Something that is actually helpful. Someone higher up the food chain to talk to.”
The look she gave me was one of pure loathing, as a tear of blood slid down her face. “And I will die because Dave decided to bring you to my doorstep.”
I lost my breath.
“No. If you die, it will be because you lured her out tonight when you knew she’d be attacked.” Clive leaned forward, and Tara jolted, her eyes rolling back in her head. “What do you know?”
“Sitri,” she breathed, before falling to the floor unconscious.
“Are you sure she wasn’t dead?” I felt guilty, sitting in the passenger seat of Clive’s sleek roadster, for leaving Tara lying on the floor. I mean, yes, she conspired to kill me, but other than that she seemed nice.
“Demons are not easy to kill.” Clive changed gears, a low growl as it powered up California Street before turning right. “Unfortunately.”
“So,” I said, checking out the interior of his ridiculously posh ride. I was driving with Bond, Clive Bond. “Are we just stealing cars off the street, now? What happened to the sleek Mercedes with the silent driver?”
He barely spared me a look.
“Not that I have a problem with the thug life. I’m totally down with grand theft auto. Unless we get stopped. If that happens, I was kidnapped and am completely innocent.” There were remarkably few people wandering the streets after two in the morning. Go figure.
“Good to know I have your support.”
“I take a tase for no man. That shit stings.”
“Been tased a lot, have you?” Clive swung to the curb, parking in front of the Demon’s Lair. “Looks like we’ll be hitting a strip club tonight, after all.”
“Demon’s Lair? Seriously? They don’t believe in subtlety, do they?”
Clive got out and waited on the curb for me. “Regardless of how much of a stone-cold gangster you believe yourself to be, I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your mouth closed. I have no desire to buy your soul back after you’ve offered it up to a starving demon.”
“Hey! I’m a hardass and super wily.” Who the hell put him in charge?
“Remind me where are your cap and scarf are.” Clive straightened his topcoat, checked his watch, and then grabbed my hand, pulling me along behind him. “I mean it, Sam. Don’t speak.”
When I flipped him off behind his back, he spun so quickly I had trouble tracking his movement. Between one blink and the next, he was in front of me, my hand caught in his, the incriminating middle finger standing between us. My sad little finger withered under his glare.
“What is it about you?” he said, almost to himself.
“My charm? My effervescent personality? My almost encyclopedic knowledge of Tolkien?” I kept my voice steady, but it was difficult in the face of…his face. Damn. He was all smoldering good looks, and I was a silly, scarred pain in his ass.
“No. That’s not it.” Shaking his head, he pulled me toward the door. “I mean it, Sam. Keep your lips zipped.”
I mimed zipping them, not that he noticed.
Large, padded double doors were the only piece of ornamentation on the front of the Demon’s Lair building. It was flanked by a liquor store on one side and a pawnbroker on the other. Both storefronts were still open. Anemic, yellow lights flickered in the liquor store. A sidewalk sleeper had wedged his curled form into the narrow walkway between the strip club and the pawnshop.
Clive swung open one of the enormous doors. Loud music throbbed in the still air. The shadowy entrance made me hitch
a step. I’d seen nothing to explain it, but I wanted to run the other way and keep running until I was safely under my covers at home. Clive must have felt the sudden tension in my grip because he slowed as the door closed, rubbing his thumb over my fingers in comfort.
We followed the narrow hall to the source of the dark, pulsing music and murky light. The cavernous main room was filled with small tables, their chairs flipped over and hanging off the sides. A thin, hunched woman slowly shoved a dirty mop haphazardly around the floor. I did not want to think about what her half-hearted cleaning was leaving behind. Really didn’t.
A topless woman in a g-string swayed to the music in the bright spotlight on the stage. She appeared dead on her feet. Swinging herself around the pole, she tried to hoist herself up, wrapping a leg around it. The awkward maneuver failed when her hand slipped, sending her sprawling to the floor. Low chuckles sounded in the dark, smoke-filled room. Four men sat at a table to the side of center stage, playing cards.
“If you can’t work the pole, you don’t dance here, Christine. Simple as that.”
“Mr. Sitri.” A man slid out of the gloom to tower over us. “You have guests.”
All four men turned to us. On stage behind them, the woman pulled off the move she’d tried a moment earlier, but no one was watching. The men were an arresting array of terrifying. One was short and squat, built like a fire hydrant, with angry lesions on his face and hands. The man to his right was his opposite, rail-thin, sallow skin stretched over a skeletal face, his lips trapped in a rictus of pain. The man across from the fireplug could have been a model, golden brown skin, a face that made angels weep, with a predator’s eyes. It was the one closest to us, the one who had turned to us last, that drew all the attention, though. Dark hair hung almost to his shoulders. Deep eyes burned black in his chiseled face. He radiated power. This was who we had come to meet.
“Clive. What an unusual surprise.” He stood, walking toward us. “And you brought me someone.” He reached out a hand to me. Clive’s fingers twitched, but he made no other move to stop the demon from touching me, so I shook the offered hand. Sitri did more than shake my hand. He pulled it up to his lips and inhaled deeply as he kissed my knuckles.
Heat rolled up my arm and through my body. Painfully aware that I was surrounded by men, my breath shortened, nipples hardened, and an ache throbbed between my legs. I imagined in detail what each of these men, naked and ready, might do with me. I could think of nothing else.
“Was that necessary?” Clive’s bored, oh-so-British voice momentarily cut through the morass of lust crushing me.
“One must have some fun in life.” Deep chuckles echoed in the dark room, brushing against my overly-sensitized body. “You can thank me later.”
Sitri was tall and broad shouldered. His hands were beautiful. They looked like something Michelangelo would have painted. His eyes slid from Clive back to me, a knowing grin tugging at his full, sensual lips. Lips like that…
“I was going to ask you if we could speak privately, but as I can no longer allow her out of my sight, I suppose we’ll talk here.” Clive’s voice was like a cool wind, blowing frenzied sweaty fumblings from my mind, and causing nausea to roll through me. Until Sitri spoke again.
“You don’t trust my friends to look after your little wolficche?” He made a tutting sound, causing the men at the table to laugh. Flames licked up my body as demons stared at me, hunger naked in their eyes.
“I’m here about her.” Clive’s voice doused the flames. I closed my eyes, concentrating only on him. The need to shift, to protect myself with sharp teeth that could tear his vocal cords out, was overwhelming.
“She doesn’t look like a dancer.” The men laughed again, but this time the touch of their words felt like rough, pawing hands. I mentally twisted to get them off me.
“Not unless your establishment now employs women in baggy jeans and long-sleeved t-shirts, no.” Clive’s voice pushed the invisible hands away. “Someone has been mentally attacking her. Prior to you, that is.”
“What is it to me, what happens to her?” Sitri’s words stopped tormenting me. Either he’d lost interest, or he’d heeded the annoyance in Clive’s voice.
“That depends, doesn’t it?”
I took a deep breath and opened my eyes. Bile, hot and sour, hit the back of my throat. Having a man take control of my body brought back memories I’d worked hard to bury. I wanted to run and hide in The Slaughtered Lamb, but first I wanted to hunt and kill every demon in the room.
“If this has nothing to do with your kind, we’ll have only interrupted a poker game. And for that intrusion, you’ve already taken your retribution, considering the games you’ve been playing with her. If, however, I find that the visions incapacitating her are demon-based…well, let’s just say, it would be better for the health of all concerned if that is not the case.” Clive’s voice remained pleasant if not bored, but the skin around Sitri’s eyes tightened.
“I won’t say her scent—the promise of her—doesn’t intrigue me, but I will say I know of no plot against her.” Sitri studied me with more interest than before. “In the name of professional cooperation, I can look into this for you. If I hear anything, I’ll be in touch.”
Clive nodded. “Thank you for your time.” He turned to the table and inclined his head a fraction. “Gentlemen, sorry to interrupt your game.”
Clive got us out without appearing to hurry. Once on the sidewalk again, icy air rushed through me, blowing away the last of the manufactured lust. I stood immobile, wanting to rip their smug, laughing faces from their heads, wanting to taste their blood on my tongue.
Suddenly Clive was there, standing in front of me, carefully not touching me. “I know. Please believe me when I tell you he will not live long. Once he’s served his purpose, he’ll pay for his games.”
His words, the truth behind them, allowed me to pull in a deep breath and unlock my body. Vengeance would come soon. That would need to be enough for now.
Once back in his car, I had a moment of quiet to think. “Why are you going to so much trouble to help me?”
He glanced over, then returned his attention to the road. “You remind me of someone I knew a long time ago.”
“Was she awesome, too?”
A grin tried to tug at his lips, but it gave up quickly. “I thought so.” He turned down a dark, narrow street, slowing as a cat sauntered across the road.
I turned in my seat, angling myself toward him. “So, who was she?”
He was silent so long, I didn’t think he’d answer. “My sister.” He paused, as though gathering himself for the tale. “It happened when I was still human. My younger sister was a daydreamer. Our mother would get so angry, but Elswyth had no intention of ignoring her chores. She’d begin them and then get lost in the stories running through her mind. She’d wander unheeded through the woods for hours at a time. It wasn’t her fault. She had a head for whimsy and fairytale.”
He glanced over again, a soft smile on his face. “She’d tell such wonderful stories in the evenings, as we sat by the fire, tales of dragons and warriors, fair maidens and battles. I didn’t mind doing her chores, especially when her daydreaming meant an evening’s entertainment.”
He parked at the top of the stairs leading down to The Slaughtered Lamb. The silence was charged as he turned off the ignition. “One afternoon, she didn’t return. Our mother slammed pots, enraged that Elswyth had wandered off again. I, however, was concerned. It was close to dusk. Elswyth loved the woods but would never have been caught there alone in the dark. She believed her own stories too much. She worried over monsters and fairies. When I’d finished both our chores, I went out in search of her. By that time, our mother was beside herself, anger had given way to worry.”
I reached out and placed my hand on his. This story wasn’t going to end well.
“I found her about a mile from home.” He shook his head, misery in his eyes. “I should have gone to look for her when I’d rea
lized she’d been gone too long.”
“You couldn’t have known.”
“Regardless, I was too late. She’d been brutalized. I found three sets of horse tracks, three sets of footprints. They’d beaten and raped Elswyth, left her dead body in the woods she’d loved, a mere quarter of an hour from safety.”
“I’m sorry, Clive.”
Nodding, he squeezed my hand. “Me, too.” He looked me in the eye. “Those were the first men I ever killed.”
I met his gaze, conviction ringing in my voice as I said, “Good.”
Nine
Who Invited the Wolves?
I awoke abruptly the next morning from another nightmare. I’d been clinging to a pole while shadowy men watched and hooted. Staring into the darkness, I tried to see who they were, but the floor opened up and swallowed me down. I dropped into a dark, dank basement. Skittering sounds moved relentlessly closer. I opened my mouth to scream and then clear gray eyes filled my vision, startling me awake.
Clicking on the lamp, banishing the shadows, I went to the kitchen to make toast and coffee. A strange noise sounded out in the bar. Not again. I eased the door open to look into what should have been an empty bar and saw movement out of the corner of my eye. A squeak escaped before I realized it was Dave, stretching and yawning, walking out of the bathroom.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Dave rubbed his eyes and rotated his shoulders. “That couch is shit for sleeping.”
“How did you even get in? I haven’t opened up my wards yet.” It wasn’t so much that I was afraid of Dave, but that a protection I relied on had failed. Helena and Nathaniel, the wicches who had created them, were out of the country. If my wards were failing, I had no way of fixing them.
“Maggie kicked me out, and I needed a place to crash.” His jeans were unbuttoned, his shirt rumpled. He reached behind the bar for a glass and drew himself a beer from the tap. He continued to rotate one arm, trying to loosen it up.