Tooth and Claw (The Harry Russo Diaries Book 2)

by Lisa Emme

  I sidled up to Tomas, giving him my best simpering smile. “Baby, how long are we going to have to wait,” I said in my best pouty voice. “My feet are killing me. You never said we’d have to stand in line.” I patted his breast pocket looking for the bug.

  “Looking for this?” Tomas pulled his hand from his pants pocket and held it between our bodies out of view of the security. He had the bug. “You should have asked me. I told you about the security.” He wrapped his fist around the bug. “No cellphones or recording devices allowed. How do you think they’ve managed to keep under the radar and off the internet?”

  “Wait!” I hissed. “Don’t break it. I have an idea.” I looked over at the security. They were all low-level vampires. I was sure I could ‘Obi-wan’ them like I had others in the past.

  “So do I,” Tomas replied, closing his fist around the bug again. He waited a moment then opened his hand wide like a magician saying ‘ta-dah’. The bug was gone.

  “Neat trick. But what good is it going to do us?”

  “Trust me,” he replied, wrapping his arm around my waist and goosing my side. “Baby.”

  Before I could respond, a man hailed Tomas from across the room. He was average height and build, dressed in a dark suit. His most distinguishing feature was a cragged scar that carved its way across one cheek and down his neck. He read as a mid-level Vlad to my supernatural power meter.

  “Tomas, mon ami” he said. “I was wondering when you’d show your sorry ass again.” He reached out and grasped Tomas’s hand in a firm handshake, his other hand patting Tomas’s shoulder heartily. “And Isaac, I heard you had decided to rejoin society.” He nodded at Isaac.

  Isaac shrugged noncommittally, keeping his vigil slightly off to the side of our little group.

  “Marcel,” Tomas replied with a nod. “I’ve just been giving you time to recover your losses from my last visit.”

  “Merde. Don’t remind me. I still can’t believe that scrappy little Mexican took down my big Russian.”

  “Never discount speed over brawn, my friend,” Tomas said with a wry smile. “You should know by now I only back winners.”

  “Oui, yes, and speaking of winners, who is this lovely prize?” Marcel directed a lecherous stare my way. Yuck. I fought the urge to run home and take a shower. He pushed Tomas aside and reached for my hand, grasping it in his before I had a chance to avoid it. “Enchanté mademoiselle. So lovely to meet you.” He covered my captured hand with both of his preventing me from pulling free. He smiled up at me, a wicked glint in his eye. “I am Marcel, but you may call me mon amour, especially when we are in bed tonight after I steal you away from Tomas.” He bent over my hand as if to kiss it. No way that was happening.

  “No, I don’t believe I will,” I said, pushing his head away with my free hand and yanking my captured hand from his grasp.

  A look of surprise passed over Marcel’s face for a brief second, only to be replaced with a much more predatory, pissed off look. “My, my, la petite minette has claws.” His fangs descended. “Bien sûr. I love it when they fight back.”

  “This cat has fangs too, mon ami.” I felt my fangs snap into place and I gave him my best snarl – I’d been practicing. “Touch me again and you’ll lose your hand.” I would have felt more confident with that threat if I had my katana.

  For the second time, I had shocked Marcel. I watched as he processed the change in my status from human to other, from prey to possible predator. Isaac, who had remained standing off to one side tensed, ready to step in if necessary.

  “This little kitty is not for you, Marcel. You’d best mind what the lady says.” Tomas took a step towards me, putting himself between us, his hand at my elbow.

  Marcel eyed me again speculatively. Man, I’d love to play poker with this idiot. Every single thought flashed briefly across his face. “Could this be the famous Mademoiselle Russo? Salvador’s new pet?” Marcel grinned.

  I bristled at his words, but Tomas squeezed my arm painfully and I kept my mouth shut. “You must forgive Marcel,” he said to me. “He’s French which makes him believe he has a way with the ladies.” He turned back to look at Marcel. “There are some things that are need to know and I would prefer if they didn’t get spread around the whole club.”

  “D’accord, of course,” Marcel nodded his head in apparent understanding. “Well, I see that perhaps the stories haven’t been exaggerated.”

  I frowned. “What stories?”

  “Perhaps we could take this conversation inside?” Tomas interrupted. He pointed to the double doors on the other side of the security line.

  “Certainement. When I heard you were coming, I had a table reserved for you in the balcony.” Marcel gestured with his hand for us to precede him. “Après vous.”

  Marcel walked us right past the security. I needn’t have worried about the bug. In fact, I bet that jerk Tomas knew we wouldn’t have to worry about security and made me leave my katana at home for no reason. Damn him. I shot him a dirty look. He laughed, as if he knew what I was thinking.

  We stepped from the relative calm of the foyer into chaos. The evening’s event was well underway and the club was crowded. Nash’s warnings did nothing to prepare me for what assailed my senses. My shields were already full force, but I did what I could to bolster them against the assault. What hit me first was the feel of the energy in the room. It was a potent mix of sex and violence.

  The room was set up concert bowl style with a caged-in boxing ring at the lowest elevation in the centre of the room. Tiered seating circled the ring, a mix of booths and tables, rising up to the level where we stood. The place was packed, not an empty table in sight. From what I could tell, the clientele was solely vampire, the norms that were present appeared to be there as snack food and fuck buddies and I’m not exaggerating. It looked like something that was half sporting event, half orgy.

  In the ring, three bare-chested combatants wearing nothing but tight fitting shorts wailed on each other in what appeared to be a no-holds barred, anything goes attempt to be the last man standing. Those vampires that were watching the melee in the ring did so with a look of carnal desire. The majority were fanged out and the scent of blood hung heavy in the air. It took all my will power to keep my own fangs hidden. Isaac shot me a look of sympathy. I’m sure he was picking up on my distress.

  Marcel had stopped at the top of a set of stairs that led down further into the room. He breathed in deeply and then exhaled with a loud ‘ahh’ as if he was savouring the atmosphere. A roar went up from the crowd as a fighter executed a spinning hook kick to one of his opponents. The man’s head snapped to the side, blood spraying out across the ring and into the audience, as he fell to the mat. The spectators closest to the ring reacted not with revulsion but with excitement. One tall, thin male wiped the blood from his cheek and sucked his fingers clean. There was a scantily clad brunette, obviously human, sitting beside him. He yanked her closer by her arm and proceeded to lick the blood spatter off her bare chest. She was wearing a collar that was attached to a long leather leash and the vamp pulled on it, forcing her head down towards his crotch.

  My right hand itched for the feel of my katana. I clenched my fists. As much as it outraged me, I couldn’t react. Isaac took a step towards me and unobtrusively put his hand on my arm. Marcel looked back over his shoulder at me, taking in Isaac’s hand and my clenched fists.

  “Not to worry minette, where you will be seated you won’t have to worry about the blood.”

  “A little blood doesn’t bother me,” I replied, running my tongue along my fangs. I was getting much better at this whole on-demand fangs thing.

  Marcel laughed heartily. “C’est bon!” He turned to Tomas and added, “She is a feisty one, mon ami.” He winked at Tomas.

  Tomas wrapped his hand around my waist, pulling me close. “Yes, she is.” I wanted to wipe the s
mirk right off his face, instead I had to settle on sticking my tongue out at him once Marcel had turned his back on us and continued walking.

  We came to a set of stairs leading up. There was a bouncer on guard, so wherever we were going, was obviously by invitation only. The top of the stairway opened out to another circular room. At the centre, the room was open and looked down over the cage below. It was plush and extravagant, reminding me of Salvador’s private lounge above Dante’s. Several of the tables were occupied by vampires with their human servants. Marcel led us to a set of low tables with a front row view of the ring. The seating was set up for easy conversation and viewing of the fight below, a mix of low backed arm chairs and sofas that also allowed a good view of the rest of the room.

  I moved to sit in one of the armchairs, but Tomas grabbed my hand and yanked me over to sit beside him on a small two-seater sofa.

  “Join me on the love seat,” he said with an obnoxious grin. I rolled my eyes, but kept my mouth shut. When he placed his hand on my bare knee, I scowled at him and pushed it away, earning a laugh. He was having way too much fun making me pretend to be his date. I think I preferred broody, scowling Tomas over this new flirty one.

  There was a bottle of Bollinger chilling on the table in front of us. While Marcel and Tomas continued to chat, and Marcel poured us each a flute of champagne, I took a minute to look around. The fight in the ring below had come to its conclusion with two of the fighters moaning on the mat, while the third, the apparent victor, swayed on his feet, leaning against the side of the cage. Despite his injuries, he looked triumphant, one hand raised above his head in victory. Several men in dark track suits swarmed the ring. They must have been the clean-up crew, because they helped drag the fallen men away and then began a quick wipe down of the splattered blood. The victor managed to stagger away on his own two feet.

  A few minutes later, a tall, hulking man, dressed like the fighters from the ring, stepped off an elevator at the back of the room. I was shocked when I realized it was the winner from the fight below. He walked carefully across the room, you could tell it was taking a lot of effort not to stagger, and stopped before a striking female vampire with long black hair. She was dressed in a floor-length, slinky black gown and her expression was the definition of ‘resting bitch face’. The man was covered in blood, both his and his opponent’s. He wavered on his feet, barely able to remain standing. The vampire bitch eyed him critically, casually reaching out with one finger to run it through the blood dripping down his chest. She leaned back in her chair and seductively sucked on her finger, her eyes never leaving the man. She said something to him that was too quiet to hear, but the man nodded vigorously and dropped to his knees, the pain the effort took etched on his face. He knelt silently, his head bowed.

  Even from across the room, I could see his laboured breathing. The guy must have had some broken ribs or something. As the minutes passed, his breathing became more like a loud, gasping wheeze. Just as I was beginning to wonder why the hell he was there instead of getting medical attention, the bitch vampire said something else and the man’s body visibly relaxed. The vampire leaned forward, reaching into the bodice of her dress to pull out a small blade, like the kind cutters use. She quickly slashed her wrist and then held it out to the man, blood dripping freely from the cut she had just made. The man grabbed her wrist and greedily slurped at the dripping blood, a look of euphoria on his face. I turned away, unable to hide my look of disgust.

  “Tu t’en sors, petite minette? You okay?” Marcel asked with a grin.

  “I’m just fine,” I replied trying to keep my emotions off my face. “Are all the fighters blood addicts?” Vampire blood, besides having healing capabilities, was terribly addictive to norms.

  “Bien sûr! But of course! What better reward for a fight well won then to have your injuries healed. All our fighters aspire to be candidates for the kiss.”

  That explained a lot. No wonder these men were willing to be beaten almost to death. The possibility of immortality was too big a lure. I looked back at the fighter. The vampire had withdrawn her wrist, which was now healed completely, while he remained kneeling at her feet. His bruises were fading, his cuts and scrapes healing and his breathing was already improving - a sign that his internal injuries were also on the mend. The vampire rose to her feet. She pulled a black leather collar from her bag and snapped it around the fighter’s thick neck. A delicate chain was attached to a ring on the collar and served as a leash. The vampire gave the chain a tug.

  “Come along, pet,” she said, loud enough for the room to hear.

  The man rose quickly to his feet, but he couldn’t hide the flush of embarrassment on his cheeks, so maybe he did still have some pride left.

  “So tell me, petite minette, is it true what you did to that morceau de merde Thorley?” Marcel’s question pulled my attention away from the bitch vamp and her pet fighter. “And Sabine?”

  “What? Who’s Thorley?” I frowned and shook my head. I had no clue what he was talking about. “What about Sabine?”

  “Thorley, the how do you say? Pederiste?”

  “The pedophile,” Tomas volunteered.

  “Ah, c’est bon. The pedophile.”

  “That was his name?” I asked. “Thorley?”

  “Oui, oui, a despicable man,” Marcel replied, making a face of disgust. “A grown man raping little girls.” He shook his head. “Did you really cut off his head after you killed him?” He looked at me skeptically.

  “No.” I replied

  “Mais oui, I thought as much. Rumours, they grow and grow.” Marcel nodded his head at his own apparent wisdom. He reached for his champagne.

  “He was alive when I cut off his head,” I continued. Marcel’s hand with the champagne froze midway to his mouth.

  “With one stroke,” Tomas added with a grin.

  Marcel put his glass back down on the table, slopping champagne over the rim in his haste. “Merde! C’est impossible!” He paused for a minute, shaking his head. “A little thing like you?”

  I shrugged. He could believe whatever he wanted. I really didn’t care.

  Tomas stretched an arm across my shoulders pulling me close. “You would do well not to underestimate this little puh -”

  The last part came out more like a gasp because I elbowed him in the stomach and threw him a dark look. I pulled his arm off my shoulder, depositing it back in his lap.

  “Oui, oui,” Marcel nodded his head absently. “And so what they say about Sabine is true as well?”

  “What do they say about Sabine other than she’s a bitch?” I asked with a scowl. Marcel looked at Tomas nervously. I frowned and turned to look at Tomas as well. “What happened to Sabine?”

  Tomas shrugged as if the news was no big deal. “It seems Sabine decided to jump off the top of a building, a very tall one.”

  “Omigod! Is she, uh…dead? Why would she do that?” I looked back and forth between Marcel and Tomas. I glanced at Isaac, who shrugged. It was the first time he was hearing the story as well.

  “It seems she thought she could fly,” Tomas answered, his eyes alight. He looked at me pointedly and then I remembered. Oh. My. God. I had told her to take a flying leap! I must have given her a little push with my necromancy without knowing it and so she had thrown herself off a building because of me.

  I tried to keep my expression blank. “What happened to her?” I asked unable to stop myself from grimacing. It couldn’t have been pretty.

  “She broke just about every bone in her body. They had to scrape her off the parking lot. She will be many months in painful recovery, if she ever fully recovers.”

  I didn’t know what to think about that. I hadn’t intended anything so awful to happen to Sabine, but she had wanted to kill me. I grabbed my champagne and tossed back the contents of the glass, holding it out for more. “That’s terrible,”
I said trying my best to look sympathetic. “I wonder why she would do such a thing?”

  Marcel tilted his head and looked at me through narrowed eyes. “This is a rumour…”

  “And we all know how rumours go, do we not?” Isaac interrupted from his watchful perch behind our seats. “As you have said, Marcel.”

  “Oui…oui…” Marcel nodded his head slowly, getting on board with the idea that the topic was closed.

  A roar erupted from the ring below, providing a welcome excuse to let the conversation drop. I turned to face the spectacle below where it appeared two men, dressed in leather armour from throat to ankle, were using some sort of medieval weapon, consisting of a wooden handle ending in a chain attached to a metal ball covered with spikes, to bludgeon each other. The leather seemed to be offering little protection from the tearing blows, if the amount of blood pouring out of various holes in their armour was any indication.

  Despite the appalling scene below, I barely registered what I was seeing, my mind still reeling with the implications of what I had unintentionally done to Sabine. If Marcel, a vampire that spent little, if any, time at Dante’s had heard rumours about me, what did the vamps close to Salvador’s inner circle know? While we weren’t exactly keeping my necromancer status a secret – we couldn’t after the whole zombie situation last month – we hadn’t particularly been advertising the fact that I was able to control more than zombies. It was one of the reasons we were so circumspect about Isaac’s and my relationship when we were at Dante’s. If word got out that I had bound him to me, I would go from just having to watch my back around the few vamps that didn’t care about staying in Salvador’s good graces or who wanted to challenge his authority, to being on the shit-list of every undead in the area. What I did to that slimeball, Thorley, forcing the truth out of him, was one thing, binding a vampire as powerful as Isaac, was quite another. There was a reason powerful necromancers were so rare. They usually didn’t survive long after their powers emerged.