by J. L. Madore
Weapons drawn against the Scourge—Aust was more than ready to take up arms against the enemy of the realm. He yearned to prove his value, burned to avenge his dead. There were moments, the fury boiled so white-hot in his blood, he almost drowned in the lure of vengeance.
Yet the choices made during the Ambar Lenn remained as important as its completion. And so, he waited . . . .
CHAPTER ONE
"Ah hell Paige you're killing me." I shook my head and sighed as my boss steadied her boots on the bench beside me and straightened. Swaying full hips to the bass line of the Goth-rock blaring from all sides, she clinked her glass with a spoon and waited until my friends raised their glasses.
I glanced across the pitted, wooden table and over the sea of eclectic patrons. Were the exploits of my intimate office soirée registering with the crowd in the pub? Nope. High-backed leather booths lined three sides of the dance floor, secluding those of us who were seated in our own little rectangular worlds. Besides, the hedonistic hypnotism of the crowd beyond had everyone's attention locked down tight. Annnd that is the beauty of Spankz.
"Here's to Mika," Paige said, her mocha cheeks more flushed than usual. "The Nimithic Group may have thought themselves untouchable, but were they?"
"Nooo," my girls chimed in.
"That's right. Thirty-four counts of trading in illegal exotics, five warrants for arrest, three properties searched, and the largest seizure of black market animal products in Canadian history taught them different."
"Fucking A!" Kat placed two fingertips in her mouth and nearly popped my eardrums with the shriek of her whistle.
"Now ladies," Page continued, "let's down a hearty drink in honor of the most decorated investigative journalist Canada's wildlife has ever seen. A woman who takes warm and fuzzy to a new level, who, quite honestly, could spend a little less time with her pets and a lot more time getting petted, our very own . . . Mika 'the bandit' Silverbrook."
"Wooo Mika!"
Focused on the glowing red beacon of the Exit sign across the dance floor I considered my odds of escape. Not good. They'd just drag me back by my hair. "Thanks guys. Oh, for god's sake Paige, get down before you fall." I tugged at her skin-tight jeans until we were all seated around our table. "Really, thank you, but can we get back to the drinking and dancing and stop with the dinner theatre?"
Paige snorted. "Whatever you say, honey. It's your—"
I held up one finger as the vibration changed in the air around us. Fishing into the front pocket of my jeans I grabbed my phone and waited. When my ring tone sounded and the Heartbeat Drum Song started, I answered it. "Eduda? Everything all right?"
"My question to you, Rabbit," Grandfather said, his graveled voice thin. "You were mentioned on the evening news. Are you safe and well?"
Damn. I closed my eyes. If I'd been at home tonight, I would have remembered to call him before he saw the news. I touched my cheek as it tingled beneath his mystical caress and I breathed deep. "I'm fine, Eduda. I'm sorry. I should have called."
The pause on the other end of the phone tightened my gut. "The destination is as important as the path, child. The power is in the path."
Grandfather didn't like my path. Even so, he supported me and only asked that I keep him involved while I worked in the city so he wouldn't worry. "I'm coming to the reserve this weekend. We have a date with your telescope and a comet, don't we?"
"We do indeed." I could picture him sitting in the willow chair at the base of his stairs, leaning over the old walnut phone table. This late in the evening, he'd be chilled and would have the worn Thunderbird blanket my mom wove for him, wrapped over his curled shoulders. The rhythmic tap of his cane in the background spoke volumes.
"I'm sorry I worried you. It won't happen again."
The tapping stopped. I was forgiven.
"You make an old man proud, Rabbit. A true guardian of the Earth Mother."
"Thank you, Eduda." After saying goodnight, I flipped my phone shut, then refocused on the scene in front of me. "Sorry. What did I miss?"
Paige wagged her finger toward my phone, her eyes narrow. "One day you'll tell me how you do that phone trick. I swear you're psychic or something."
Or something.
Paige stuttered mid-sentence and her eyes widened. From our table, near the back hall, we had a clear view of the club's landscape. "Major stud alert, four o'clock."
Cue the peanut gallery: "Oh, I need me one of those." "Yep. Click, add to cart." "Call my travel agent. I'm eloping."
I laughed, but they weren't wrong. The half-naked sea of dancers parted for two, colossal men. Shoulder to shoulder, they each stood at about six-foot-four and looked like cover models—if GQ ever printed a tall dark and lethal edition. One had ink black hair, a goatee, guy-liner and a half dozen platinum piercings. He looked like a Goth hit man, all tone, no fat. His body language said he'd take you down and enjoy the carnage—whether fucking or fighting.
The other man balanced a perfect blend of bad-boy meets muscle builder. Collar length, medium brown hair fell messy around a chiseled face while shaggy bangs hid his eyes. His worn leather vest covered a crisp white, button-down hanging untucked over blue jeans. Good gosh, Hugo Boss. Designer denim hugged thick, muscular thighs. Casual classy was something we didn't see a lot of in this club. The charge in the air shifted and the hair on my arms stood on end.
"Those hard bodies are making promises for a wild, night." Em breathed.
"And every woman in here knows it." Kat nodded.
I giggled at the estrogen surge in my posse. "Okay, I'm off to the bar. You ladies close your mouths before something flies in and chokes you." With the next-round list in my head I skirted the dance floor and made my way to the main bar.
"Blender drinks will take a sec, hon," the bartender said. "You mind waiting while I thin out this crowd a bit?"
"Not a problem." I turned toward the dance floor and rested my elbows on the wood rail while the show unfolded. You have to love a place where women in go-go boots and micro mini's jockey for the honor of shaking their junk in cages.
Fifteen minutes of fame.
I chuckled as two Barbie-blondes in thigh-highs and bustiers started sword fighting with their tongues in the cage closest to me. Spankz, always a good time.
"Here you go, hon." I whirled around, but the bartender wasn't speaking to me. She handed a frosted tumbler to the drop-dead guy with the shaggy hair. "I'll send the bottle and your tab to the back, baby. You boys setting up camp in VIP?"
He emptied his glass and set it up for a refill. "That's the plan. Hey Laney, how's that little girl of yours? Still as stunning as her Mama?"
"More," she replied and topped up his glass, "but she's not so little any more, Bruin. She turned seventeen last month and boys are lined up around the block."
"If you need a hand beating them off, give me a call. I'd be happy to scare a few dogs out of your yard."
She laughed and shook her head. After popping the caps off two Corona's, she squeezed quartered limes down the bottle necks and set them on a waitress's tray. "That would be a big-ole no thanks. She'd never forgive you and I'd never hear the end of it. For some reason, she thinks the sun rises and sets on you, Bruin."
"She's got impeccable taste." He snickered as he sipped from his glass.
Down the bar, a pink haired chippie in a seventies, vinyl onesie waved at the bartender. The bartender chuckled as she headed off. "Duty calls, baby."
Settling back against the rail I listened to the clink and swish of ice cubes as he moved in beside me. As my senses tingled, I gave myself a brisk inward shake and stared straight out into the club. He took another swig and gazed into the writhing bodies—maybe taking inventory of the prospects for the night.
There were plenty to pick from and I wondered what a man like him hungered for. I eyed the after-office flocks unwinding, the usual leather-clad party girls advertising easy pick up, the scary chicks dressed like Dracula with safety pins through their purple
painted lips, and the ever amusing dazed and confused who probably walked into this anything-goes club unaware—and now found themselves lost in the Twilight Zone.
He rested his arms on the rail next to me and his white cotton shirt strained to contain his biceps. "Busy tonight."
"Mhmm."
"So, tell me pretty lady, what band are you with?" The din of the club couldn't drown out the rich, cultured timbre of his voice, but really . . . was that the best he had?
I leaned back a bit to get a good look at him. "Sorry, not a musician."
With a flip of his bangs, his turquoise eyes stole my breath. Against the dim light cast by brass and glass sconces, those two turquoise pools practically glowed. He looked me up and down without apology. How many times had he choreographed that move to dazzle a woman?
Full lips eased into a heart-stopping smile. "Not that kind of band. You're First Nations. What band you're from?"
I ignored his cocky smirk and studied his chiseled features. "What gave me away?"
He sipped at the clear liquid in his glass and studied me back. "Well the copper skin, chestnut hair and deep brown eyes are obvious. More impressive though, is your essence of being one with the Earth. It sets you apart from every other female in this crowd."
It took a moment to grasp that little tidbit. Was he kidding or was that the most original pick up line ever? He nursed his drink, watched me and waited for my reaction. Too sexy to be real. Probably had an ego the size of Vancouver Island.
"You're all set, miss." I forced myself to turn and reached for the tray the bartender held out. "Sorry for the wait, hon. It's crazy here tonight."
"It certainly is." I nodded farewell and headed back to my table. After my girls each claimed their libations we moved en masse to the dance floor. Hunk-in-vest still stood at the rail where I'd left him, assessing the sea of leather and denim, muscle and grind. When he tipped his glass to me, I turned my back and swayed to the music.
Well, if he was looking I should at least give him something to see. Right?
Releasing the clip in my hair I let it cascade down my back. Liane's jaw dropped when Kat sidled up and brushed her hands over my backside in a little girl-on-girl action.
Kat leaned in close and whispered, "He's still looking at you."
Wrap him up, I'll take him to go.
JL Madore is a romance novelist of many genres: fantasy, paranormal, timeslip historical, and contemporary. She loves to twist Alpha heroes and kick-ass heroines into chaotic, hilarious, magical situations and make them really work for their Happily Ever After.
JL lives outside Toronto, Canada with her love of over 30 years and a menagerie of family, friends and animals.
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