by Jessica Lee
He cleared his throat, trying to knock the strange, tight feeling out of his windpipe. “Wow, what?” He hung one of the helmets on the handlebar and held out his hand to Gabrielle to steady her as she slid off the bike.
“The ride. I can’t remember the last time I was on a motorcycle.” She slid her palm from his and ran both under her hair, lifting it off her shoulders and allowing it to fall back in place. So enticing. He curled his fingers inward, resisting the urge to touch a few of the silky strands. “I’d forgotten how exhilarating it was.”
Looking down at the bike, he couldn’t help but grin. “Yeah, there’s nothing like it.” He secured the chain between the two helmets and spun the dial on the combination lock. What he wouldn’t give to have her on the back of his bike again, going flat out on an open road at night with nothing but the moon and stars as their guide. A part of him was so tempted to take her, right now, where no one they knew would ever find them. Lost in a place where they could discover every inch of each other.
Oh, but that was the catch. He grabbed the spinning dial, bringing it to a dead stop between his fingers.
The ugly reality.
He didn’t want her to discover anything about him. The real Arran MacLain. The vampire with more blood on his hands than any DEAD. And a trail of lovers from his past he couldn’t begin to name or count. He disgusted himself, and God forbid if she ever found out about the things he’d done.
Dropping the dial from his hand, he pushed away from the bike, and whipped around. She stood by the parking meter, looking for something in her purse. “You ready?” He sounded impatient as hell. God, this wasn’t her fault. He’d made the choices that had taken his life on a skydive into shit.
She jerked in his direction at the abrupt change in his mood. “Yeah—sure. I was just looking for my cell phone. I must have left it at home.” She snapped the closure together on her purse and released it, allowing the black handbag to dangle from the silver chain draped across her chest. Whirling in the direction of the club, she headed off without him. His gaze followed the delicate S of her spine to the creamy section of exposed skin between where her top ended and her pants began. The sway of her hips drew him lower still. Her red leather pants hugged the curves of the most perfect rear he’d ever seen. He groaned, remembering how round and soft she’d felt in his hands. Damn, she looked good. Too good. He hurried after her, and within seconds, he was wrapping his arm around her shoulders.
“What are you doing?” She tried to shrug his arm off.
“This is supposed to be a date. Remember?” He lowered his head to her ear. “We need to act the part.” He nipped her earlobe as they stopped in front of the bouncer at the door. She jumped, spun out of his hold, and punched him in the arm. Ouch. Hard.
“Oh, Johnny! You are so bad.” She giggled. Actually giggled. The Gabrielle he knew had never been a flighty girl. She didn’t like games. Gabrielle was straightforward about what she wanted. It was one of the many things he appreciated about her. She was all woman. But one who was thrust toward adulthood way too fast by a horrible childhood, in addition to suffering a brutal attack at nineteen that would have broken any female. But not his Gabrielle. She had survived, and her scars were part of what made her so damn special. Even though she couldn’t handle the monster lying beneath his surface—fuck, he couldn’t blame her—to him, she was still stronger than any other woman he’d ever met. He respected the hell out of her.
So this new playful act of hers…. He smiled and pulled her into his arms with her back to the bouncer. Yeah… it was cute.
Leaning in, he hovered above her mouth. “Kitten, you haven’t seen bad.” His lips covered hers, explored hers in a delicate dance of seductive promise. And then it was over. He’d gone further than he’d had a right to. With trembling fingertips, she brushed the spot where his lips had met hers. She looked confused as hell. And she should be. Because he didn’t know what had possessed him to do that.
“Let’s get inside,” he muttered, needing to put an end to the awkwardness. Taking her hand, he slipped it into his, and led her toward the door. She didn’t resist, and neither did the bouncer at the entrance. One hard glare from Arran and the bouncer stepped aside. Smart man.
As before, the club pulsated under the heavy bass throbbing from the sound system that surrounded the dance floor. The smell of sweat, drugs, arousal, and sex clung to the air. A century ago, he would have been all over a place like this. Hell, two days ago he’d been in a bar that wasn’t much more innocent. Now, with Gabrielle at his side, he wanted to be anywhere else but here. She made him want better than this.
He guided them toward the back of the club. Two rows of small round tables and chairs circled the dance floor. Beyond that were the private viewing rooms he’d seen during his last visit. Each room appeared to be fitted with a one-way mirrored glass window facing the interior of the club. A perfect spot for when a vampire’s appetite called or for whatever else needed to be satiated.
A muscle-bound bald man in a sleeveless black tank stood with his back propped between two of the rooms. Had to be one of the bouncers, and he’d bet, the guardian for the premium seats. Taking her hand in his, they made their way through the crowd. As he neared, Arran pulled a one-hundred-dollar bill from his wallet. Holding it between his fingers, he lifted the Ben Franklin in front of the bouncer’s face. Arran never had much need for the green stuff. But Kenric had insisted on financially compensating his team. And he’d have to admit, lately, the money had come in handy. New towns required cash for new identities, new sleeping arrangements, or like now, when you needed to bribe the bouncer at your local goth club.
“How much for a private playroom?” Arran pulled Gabrielle in close and draped his arm over her shoulder. She took her cue and began nuzzling his neck.
The bouncer arched one brow. A hard task, considering the size of the barbell he’d stabbed through the fleshy center. The silver balls screwed to each end glinted in the flashing strobe lights. He reached up with his right hand, flicked the bill from Arran’s fingers, and shoved it in his pants pocket. “Room three. One hour.” He nodded toward the room he’d sold them.
A black velvet curtain covered the entrance to the private playroom. Arran slid the material back, and they stepped inside. The room was narrow, only large enough to hold an extra-wide padded leather bench along the wall in front of him. A single round table sat to his left against the end of the room that faced the club with its one-way mirror. The angle gave him a clear view of the dance floor, plus anyone entering the club.
She leaned in, sending her sweet scent washing over him. “What’s your plan?” she asked at his ear. He shifted a step away, but the room was too damn small to put enough distance between him and her pheromones. This better be quick. “How are we supposed to find out anything sitting back here?” She reached down and twisted the switch on the small lamp that sat on the table. The room washed in a glow of warm red light. “Oh man.” She grimaced. “Does everything around here have to be black or red? I think I’m going color-blind.”
“This won’t take long. If your sister’s disappearance is connected to the colony here at Wicked Ways, we’ll find out shortly.”
“What do you mean? How?” Gabrielle sat down on the bench.
“You’ll see.” He dropped onto the seat beside her and cupped Gabrielle’s cheek in his hand. “Just stay by my side. Promise me. Let me handle this.” Her lips parted.
“Promise me.” He wasn’t backing down about this one. He couldn’t take the chance. She would have to follow his lead.
After a few seconds, she nodded and added, “I promise—whatever it takes to find Alexandria. That’s the only thing that matters.” At that moment, a knock sounded at the entrance.
“Bar service.” A female voice came from the other side of the curtain.
“Come in.” He stood.
A young girl draped in layers of black entered. Matching black-painted lips formed a smile before she spoke. “I�
��m Rose. What can I get you two?”
He glanced over at Gabrielle still sitting on the bench. “Something fruity, I think.” She smiled and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “How about one of those Appletinis I’ve heard of?”
Turning back to the server, he stepped forward, and braced one hand on the wall. “An Appletini for the lady, and I’ll take a Bud Light.” Rose scribbled the order on a piece of paper, then her pen slowed to a crawl. Her nostrils flared. Dark eyes, lined with kohl, lifted from the pad and met his. For a brief second, a red glow flashed around her pupils, and then it was gone.
He’d been made.
Exactly what he’d intended.
In one move, he dropped his arm from the wall and stepped back. “Thanks, Rose.” He turned his lips up into a smile.
“Yeah. You’re welcome.” She took a step in reverse. “I’ll be right back with your drinks.” She turned and darted through the curtain.
“Well, that was interesting,” Gabrielle announced the moment Rose was out of the room. “Based on that glowing red display, I’d say our server is a vampire. And you made damn sure she knows you’re one too.”
He returned to the bench beside Gabrielle, stretched out his legs, and crossed his ankles. “Well, you know what they say, kitten.”
“No, what do they say, warrior?” She tilted her head in mock anticipation.
“A skilled hunter knows how and when…” He gently traced the smooth curve of her arm with his fingertips, not missing the trail of gooseflesh following his touch. “To flush out his prey.”
…
“Where is she?” Markus snarled in the face of the pale vampire minion who should have been guarding Alexandria. He could barely refrain from snapping the neck of the incompetent fool.
“Forgive me, Commander.” The minion squeaked. “I—I don’t know what happened.” The other vampire gulped hard. More than likely, the tight squeeze Markus had on his neck made swallowing—and breathing—difficult. He didn’t give a fuck. Alexandria was not in her room, and if this idiot was responsible for her escape, the bastard would pay. With his life.
He dragged the fool by his neck up the wooden stairs from the basement holding area that exited into the home’s large open kitchen, then tossed the minion forward onto the white tile. The vampire scurried along the floor, putting as much distance as he could between them. He grabbed his throat, trembling as he turned to face his commander, and sat back on his heels. The minion’s hard coughs, followed by the high shrill of air squeezing past his damaged trachea, pinged and echoed off the stainless steel and ceramic that filled the area.
“Tell me what happened here!” Markus stormed across the room, chewing up the space between them in a blur. The panicked vampire flung his arms up and crisscrossed them over his face in self-defense. When the expected blow never arrived, his arms dropped away like a scared female at a horror show. Jerking the minion to his feet by the neck of his black cotton shirt, he brought them face-to-face. “Speak, vampire. I don’t have time for your fear.”
“When I returned from my break,” he began, the words tumbling from his quivering jaw.
“Your break?” What the hell? Vampires didn’t need a break. “Who ordered you to leave your post?”
“Enrique came to me, stating he’d received orders from—from you, sir, to relieve me for a one-hour break.”
Markus stilled. Enrique? That son of a bitch. What kind of game was he fucking playing? Tracing Alexandria through the blood she’d ingested from his vein would be simple. But no one knew that Markus alone had been the only one to feed her, making that little feat possible.
If Alexandria got too far away, he would only be able to trace her general direction, and if she kept moving, there was a possibility he could lose her. At this point, he’d lost maybe an hour at most. There was still a good chance he would easily find her.
And then he’d deal with Enrique.
He opened his palm and released the minion from his grip. “Remember this, minion. There are no breaks. And the only orders you are to follow are the ones that come from me—personally.”
“Yes, sir.” The vampire backed away and bowed. “I understand, sir.”
Markus waved a dismissive hand. “Get out of my face.” The minion whipped around, dashed out of the kitchen, and down the hall.
Making time behind him, Markus aimed for the front of the house. Once outside, and in the quiet of the night, he’d reach inside for Alexandria’s presence and pick up her trail.
Halfway to the door, Marguerite’s personal minion stepped in his path. “Sir, Mistress has requested your presence in her quarters.”
“Tell her, I’ll speak with her later. There’s an important matter I have to attend to.” The more than six-foot blond vampire didn’t budge.
“Her instructions were clear. You were to come. Now.” Fangs dropped into place, their tips glistening behind the minion’s lips in his attempt at intimidation. The display only succeeded in pissing him off.
Frustration surged through his veins. Damn it! He didn’t have time for Marguerite’s impetuous demands. But he knew better than to ignore her when she was like this. Marguerite knew exactly how to get what she wanted. And he preferred the pain she inflicted in bed to the agony he endured out of it.
Inhaling deeply, he spun and marched upstairs. The servant followed close on his heels. He didn’t need to inform him where she would be waiting. Markus knew Marguerite would be in her sitting room at this point in the evening, feeding from her various consorts.
The door to her private den loomed at the end of the long, dimly lit paneled hallway. Marguerite preferred this end of the house due to the round design of the room and the wall of windows that showcased the night sky’s reflection on the lake below. At the door, he gripped the handle, then barged inside. He didn’t knock. She could kiss his ass. He’d come. And that was as good boy as she was going to get.
On the settee, Marguerite sat with her head held back while one of her female minions brushed the length of her long dark hair. She held her hand up, signaling for the girl to stop.
“Do come in, Markus.” She tilted her head. “Oh, but I see you already have.” Dark green eyes met his gaze. A flash of swirling fire blazed within her stare. A hot dagger of pain stabbed through his brain. Markus hissed and grabbed his temples with both hands. His knees wobbled, then collapsed, dropping him to the floor. But his gaze remained fixated on her. He didn’t have a choice. Damn her! She wouldn’t back down until she’d made her point.
“Forgive me, Mistress,” he groaned through his teeth, the pain a continuous knife through his brain.
“Forgive you for what, warrior?”
He growled, his fangs a pulsating force within his mouth. God, he hated when she acted fucking coy. “For entering your den”—he chewed the rest of his words from his lips—”without permission, Mistress.”
“That’s much better.” She blinked and released him.
As quickly as it had sliced through his brain, the pain was gone. He gasped, falling forward, his hands smacking the floor as he slumped. In rapid succession, he filled his lungs with several deep breaths.
“You forget your place, Commander.” The sound of rustling silk told him she’d risen from her seat. “Your command comes through me, and only because it pleases me—for now.” The sweet scent of lavender mixed with a thick layer of arousal inundated his senses. He lifted his gaze. “That was a little reminder, love.” She stood at his head, her eyes glazed with lust. Of course, she was aroused. Pain and power always got her off.
A loud crash on the other side of the door joining Marguerite’s den to her evening chamber jolted them, breaking the tension. She swiveled her head in the direction of the commotion, then back to him. “Ah, here is the reason I called you.” She motioned with her hand for him to stand.
Markus got to his feet. A sense of ominous dread settled in his gut as he stretched to his full height. He staggered, but quickly placed his feet wide apart
for balance. It seemed his head hadn’t got off the Tilt-A-Whirl of her reminder. Shoving his hand through his loose hair, he pushed some of the annoying strands back over his forehead. God only knew what she had for him behind door number one.
Glancing again behind her, she ordered, “Bring her out.”
Her?
The door opened, and an irritated female’s voice rang in his ears. “Let go of me!”
Alexandria.
It appeared he didn’t have to go hunting after all. A large male came through the door first, looking like he’d gone three rounds in the ring—and lost. Alexandria appeared next, struggling at the hold the minion had on her upper arm. Her stare met his in defiance. “Stop dragging me, you bastard!” She fought him every step forward, but the male was stronger and pulled her the rest of the way into the room.
“Did you lose something, Markus?” Marguerite returned her gaze back to his.
Clearing his throat, he made sure to keep his face free of expression while he leveled his stare on Alexandria. “Where was she found?”
“She hadn’t gone far,” Marguerite said. “One of the guards noticed her before she left the grounds. He brought her to me.” His mistress glided in and closed the distance between them. She reached up and cupped his chin, turning his face to hers. “What would you have me do with her, warrior?” She leaned in, flicked her tongue out, and swiped his lower lip. “She apparently isn’t happy here,” she breathed against his mouth before pulling back to meet his eyes. “And an unhappy vampire creates problems.” She shook her head. “And I don’t like problems. You fix this one, Markus. If not, kill her. Or I will.” Without waiting for a reply, she whirled about and resumed her place on her red velvet settee.
Fuck. Keeping Alexandria alive just became more complicated. If he didn’t find a better way to keep her quiet and in line, she was going to get them both put out of their misery. And he wasn’t quite ready to leave this hellhole yet.