But Cora and Mom were gone, and tonight the spotlight shone on me. I could already feel the stares, hear the whispers. Unofficially, this was my demon coming-out party, and I’d have much rather camped out in the closet. I hadn’t seen the wolves since Brandon. Dominic would be snarling my way for sure. And Ewan and Lysander were once again thrust in the same room together, which lately, hadn’t worked out so well.
This was going to be so much fun.
Ewan squeezed my arm and urged me forward. I pasted on a smile and squeezed back. “Let’s get a drink,” I said. The supe life had become hazardous to my liver.
A posse of men in tuxedos manned the bar that shamed the best of nightclubs. The twelve-foot oak table straddled retractable glass doors that opened to the courtyard containing the sculpture of Naala. The first time I’d noticed the sculpture, I’d found it oddly beautiful and now . . . it made my skin crawl and the chagur itch. I carefully settled on a stool, swiveling it so my slit opened to the inside of the bar while Ewan ordered a Scotch for him and a martini for me.
“Everything under control?”
I turned at the voice belonging to Mark, the sandy-haired Alpha wolf of the local pack. He seemed short standing next to Ewan’s six plus feet, but even Ewan never underestimated the Alpha and respected him in the tense way of supes.
Mark regarded me through veiled eyes. I had no idea where I stood with the pack. He’d made it quite clear he didn’t care much for necros, especially after Cael forced me to make one of his wolves, Brandon, a revenant. I’d really liked Brandon. He’d exuded a sense of peace and humility not typical of supe males, but maybe that was because he’d been a priest, which had also blown my mind.
“No more monsters leaping out of the portals or zombies on the loose?” Mark asked.
I coughed up the alcohol I’d just swallowed. Had he found out about Olive? I slid a glance at him and found him smiling. I took another sip. Not anymore, thank you very much.
Ewan laughed. “Just the usual freaks. I’m surprised to see you here.”
“I guess after the excitement with Cael, everyone’s curious, wanting to know where things stand.”
“You mean, if the necromancer is going to turn more supes into zombies?” I said.
Mark smiled at me over the rim of his frosted beer glass. “There are rumors floating around about vampire zombies. You’ll tell me if I should be concerned about something, right?”
“We value the wolves. Of all the supernatural races, ours have coexisted with the least amount of stress. I hope that hasn’t changed,” Ewan said.
“I’ve always trusted you,” he replied then placed his hand over mine on the bar. “I apologize for my harshness during the situation with Brandon.”
My eyes flew to his in surprise, unsure how to respond. I wasn’t going to blow his behavior off with an “it’s okay,” because it hadn’t been. He’d acted like a snarling asshole. After unsticking my tongue, I settled on a simple thanks. “I was really sorry about Brandon. I hadn’t known him long, but he seemed like someone I’d like very much,” I added.
“We felt his loss deeply. He was a rare type of wolf, a peacemaker of sorts. Fitting, I guess.”
“How did he become a wolf, priest and all?”
“That’s a story for the ages. It all started with a woman. Doesn’t it always? A man’s downfall, no?” He slapped Ewan on the back and took one more swig from his beer. “Guess I’ll tackle the dance floor. I’m glad we had a chance to talk,” he said to me, sincerity clear in his tone.
“You believe that about a man’s downfall?” I asked Ewan after Mark disappeared in the throng.
“Absolutely.”
I slapped him on the arm, which probably felt like a harmless fly landing on his hard muscle.
His face turned serious. “Sometimes a woman can be a man’s destruction . . . or his salvation.”
“What are you saying?”
He leaned closer and kissed me on the cheek while looking up at the loft. “I have to go talk to Xavier and Malthus.”
He drew his eyebrows together, having caught my sigh. “You going to be okay?”
“Yes. Jeez, I can take of myself.”
He smiled and brushed my jaw with his thumb, then tensed and frowned. I sensed Lysander behind me as a result of the blood exchange. The three of us remained silent and still, unsure if a word or movement would set off another epic battle. Then Ewan’s shoulders sagged. “I’ll catch up with you later.” He kissed me again, this time on the corner of my mouth, without removing his eyes from Lysander, before turning and walking off.
I watched him climb the stairs to the loft. I was relieved yet sad Ewan had retreated. When I turned to face Lysander, I saw him watching the loft and noticed a brief flicker of regret cross his face. I’d hoped the two could find some way to salvage their friendship, but with the current status quo, I couldn’t see how it would be possible.
“You look amazing,” Lysander said, returning his gaze to me and smiling, dispelling the moment of melancholy.
“And you have shed that old snakeskin and look amazing yourself.” He did in his tux. He’d tamed his unruly hair into slicked-back sexiness. Jesus. Why were supes absurdly good-looking? “You almost look like a true debonair vampire. Love the bow tie.” I tugged on the black bow.
“Well, this debonair vampire would like a dance.”
I couldn’t help my quick glance at the loft, saw the demons in conversation and Ewan standing with his back to us. Lysander guided me onto the floor, out of the loft’s line of sight.
“So you’ve managed to avoid this dysfunctional gathering in the past. What do you think?” Lysander asked.
“So far, no zombies or dead bodies. I call it a success. Why did you come?”
“I have no agendas and can actually enjoy myself, at least, I have in the past. Things are a little different this year.” He tugged me closer. “Hey, let’s enjoy this dance. No more talk of supernatural bullshit.”
We swayed to the band’s version of I Want You by Marvin Gaye. He pressed his hand on the curve of my back, moving me closer to his chest, and brushed his mouth on my cheek. “People are wondering if you’re with me or Ewan . . . or both.” He chuckled.
“How any woman could muster the stamina to satisfy both a vampire and demon is beyond me.”
He stilled his laughter. “Have you? Satisfied both?”
“Are you kidding me?” I stopped in mid-sway and gave him an incredulous eyebrow wag. His comment hadn’t offended me. In fact, I found the whole insinuation rather amusing, given my past, rather dull love life.
He coaxed me back into the groove. “Sorry. I couldn’t help it. I hate playing the insecure whelp. Ewan just seems way too calm tonight.”
“I know. Scary, isn’t it?” I stiffened when I spotted Ewan dancing with Portia.
“What?” He twisted his head around to scan the dance floor.
“Nothing.” I placed my hand on his cheek and redirected his gaze back to me while nestling my head in the crook of his neck and closing my eyes. Lysander breathed deeply and kissed my hair. Despite all the complications, Ly had become an important non-demon ally whom I trusted. I sincerely hoped whatever the future threw our way, at minimum, our friendship would survive.
I lowered my head, but he stopped the movement with his fingers, lifting my chin. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m just sorry for dragging you into my sordid life.”
He laughed. “You say this to a vampire, the synonym for sordid? I’m a very old and wise big boy and make my own decisions. You didn’t drag me into anything I didn’t choose beforehand.”
I smiled and nuzzled back against his chest. We swayed a few more moments before bumping into Kara practically glued to Jax. Neither of them did a very good job of tempering their curiosity about seei
ng Lysander and me dancing together, and I half thought the bump had been a poorly-executed fake accident. Jax gave Ly a curt nod.
“Mind if I escape with Kara?” I whispered in Ly’s ear.
“No.” He kissed me on the lips, not pressuring for more, and I smiled at him when he pulled away.
“I’ll leave you two,” Jax said, then gave Kara a sensual, lingering kiss, leaving her staring after him with a schoolgirl-crush-look on her face.
“Good to see you’re enjoying yourself,” I said.
“I am. How about you?”
“It hasn’t been as horrible as I expected, but the night is still young.”
“Ivanka did you right with that dress.”
“Yes, she did. You look pretty amazing yourself.” Kara’s black gown rose to her neck and covered her chest, a prim contrast to the enticing slit exposing her back. We strolled to the bar, where I decided on water, not wanting to reach the incoherent stage, yet.
“I ran into Mark. He actually apologized,” I said.
“I figured he’d come around. He’s a good guy when the Alpha wolf part of him isn’t asserting itself. Have you run into Dominic?”
I shook my head. “What about Sybil?” I asked, as we ticked off our list of allies and enemies.
“She’s out there working the floor in an atrocious dress.”
“One I’m sure leaves little to the imagination.”
“Oh, shit. Speaking of Satan’s bride . . .” Kara whispered to me before turning to the bar.
Sybil had her arm wrapped around one of the vampires, her head tilted at a suggestive angle, giving him a full view of her neck and cleavage. Her dress wasn’t abominable at all. The low-cut green silk accentuated her curves, and I had to admire her lushness. Not too fat, nor skinny. She spotted us, detached herself from the vamp, and sauntered over.
“We seemed to have lost one of our witches, Olive. I don’t suppose you know of her whereabouts?” Sybil asked, her tone more accusatory than inquisitive.
Courtesy never nagged on Sybil’s conscience. She’d hung it out to wither along with niceness. She’d opposed Matilda while Matilda was Wiseacre, and I suspected she had her finger in some very bloody pots. I’d grown to hate her, which was an emotion I avoided because it was just too damn negative. Maybe Sybil had experienced some horrible childhood trauma which had turned her into a frothing bitch, but I just didn’t care. She’d fucked with Adam, my former revenant, by assisting his girlfriend, who’d been thrown into a comatose state by a spell gone wrong, with an untimely suicide. She’d deeply hurt him, and I hoped one day karma would return the favor. Except I didn’t think she cared about anyone, or anyone really cared about her.
“If there’s something you want to say, just say it,” I said, trying to sound bored.
She pursed her lips as if she were sucking on a lemon rind. “When one of our witches goes missing, the trail always seems to lead back to the demons and necros. No one believes Cael masterminded the deaths of five supernaturals. We’ve opened an inquiry into Olive’s disappearance and plan on starting with you.”
I stepped closer to her. “Inquire away. I—” I drew out the I with satisfaction—“have nothing to hide.”
“I think you have plenty to hide, maybe things you’re hiding from yourself.” She leaned against the bar next to Kara, who’d succeeded in ignoring her until now.
“What?” Kara managed the curt question with a modicum of politeness, surprising me.
She nodded to Kara. “And of course, Olive’s disappearance will bring unwanted suspicion in your direction, since you were roommates. Pity.” She straightened, smirked, and trounced off.
“Fuck her,” Kara said. Kara always put up a tough front, but I knew she was worried.
“You’re not letting her get to you, right?”
She sighed heavily and turned to me, her expression fixed in resigned determination. “Not anymore.”
So how’s Elizabeth Taylor?” I asked, referring to Matilda’s sentient deck of tarot cards that had insisted on being called Elizabeth Taylor. Ornery little Morgan-Greers. Matilda had unleashed Elizabeth Taylor, or E.T., from a miscast future sight spell. E.T. had named herself, and it suited her well.
“They miss Matilda.” She clutched my shoulder. “So do I. This whole situation scares me. What about you?” she asked.
“Yes, hell yes, and it’s not because of zombies or demons or vampires, although they’re scary, fucking scary. It’s the mundane shit that scares me, too. Driving, stepping out onto the street, standing at the edge of the balcony. It all scares me.”
“Yet we soldier on, no?”
“Yeah. We soldier on. Except I’m a necromancer, and soldiering on means bringing the dead to life and making zombies.”
“Some people have it worse.”
I cocked a brow.
“The people living on the street, the housewives of Beverly Hills. Now, they have it tough,” she said, her sarcasm evident.
“God, they’d make scary zombies—the housewives. I mean.”
“Don’t even give voice to such a horrendous thought.” Her mouth twisted in an exaggerated grimace.
“But I’d win the war.”
“Yeah, probably, ugh.”
We bantered a few more moments, dispelling the tension lingering in Sybil’s wake until Kara said, “Should we join the fray?”
“No.” I smiled. “But I guess we have to. Actually, I need to use the little supernatural girl’s room.” We exchanged quick hugs, and I headed for the restroom while Kara sought out Jax.
The restroom resembled more of a spa retreat replete with warm towels and leather couches and sea mist lotion. Maybe I’d hang out here the rest of the night. I dropped onto one of the couches and smeared lotion on my perpetually dry arms, lifting my head when the door opened.
At the sight of the new visitor, I set the bottle on the shelf and made for a hasty exit. There was only so much I could take, and small talk with Portia was not included. She glided toward me before I could slink past her. She only stood an inch or two taller than me, but she made me feel short and clumsy, like a stumbling circus clown standing next to a graceful ballerina. I wondered why Ewan had bothered with a used-car-lot-clunker when he had access to the ready and willing sleek Mercedes.
“We should talk.” Even her voice held an ethereal quality, a timbre you’d expect to grace an angel, not a demon.
“I don’t think we have much to discuss.”
“But we do, please.”
She sounded sincere enough. Shit. “Someone’s going to come in,” I said, digging around for another excuse to avoid a heart-to-heart with the pain demon.
The room blurred in a spell of vertigo. “Where did you take us?” I asked.
“I simply ensured no one will notice us if they come in.”
A space within a space. We were in the restroom, but we were not. No one would notice us.
“You mistake my association with Ewan,” she said.
I quirked a brow. Jealousy kicked through me, and I fought to stem the stabs of regret and longing as I imagined Ewan free to pleasure Portia. Yet I’d shared intimacy with Lysander, and somehow I was holding Ewan and Portia to some higher standard?
“Humans take things personally. My relationship with Ewan should not prevent you and me from being cordial. I don’t mind sharing.”
“Ewan doesn’t like sharing.”
She smiled. “Yes, the warriors are quite possessive and roguish. That’s why they’re so delicious.” She licked her lips, and I choked back a cough.
“It really doesn’t matter anymore. He and I can’t be together,” I said.
“Is that what you want?”
“No.”
“Ewan cares about you, and I see why. I admire your spirit, but
I’m also concerned you may yet bring him pain, and not the good kind,” she added.
She really did seem to care about Ewan, and I let my guard slip a few inches. “I’ll do everything I can to keep him from getting hurt,” I said.
She gave me a small smile. “Ah, but sometimes we don’t have a choice.”
I LEFT THE restroom, still trying to dispel Portia’s words. Fucking demons and their portents. I stood next to the two-story metal sculpture rising from the middle of the gallery, followed its twisting spiral to the ceiling with my eyes, encountering Malthus, Xavier and Fiona poised behind the balustrade of the loft. The view up there was spectacular, but right now I preferred the grounding provided by the bottom floor. The angle of my neck elicited a spate of dizziness. I brought my gaze back down to my level.
I missed my grandmother. She’d have known how to navigate the River Styx out of this demon business. Jesus. I’d killed a man, and here I was at the supernatural ball, with the demon version of a parolee ankle monitor branded on my arm. I no longer recognized myself and had no one to remind me of the person I used to be before all this shit went down.
A hand I knew all too well rested on my shoulder. “Come dance with me.”
My first impulse was to huff, having watched him with Portia, but I smoothed my feathers and smothered the small fire that had been smoldering all night. If Ewan wasn’t going to bug me about Lysander, then I wasn’t going to disturb this quiet, soothing, if not a bit dangerous peace. It probably helped that I was just buzzed enough to agree, and maybe that had been his devious plan. I let him lead me to the floor and envelop me in his arms for the slow dance. His hesitation joined mine for a brief moment when our bodies connected, melting every nerve ending.
I can’t do this to myself.
I moved away from him, but, sensing my skittishness, he tightened his grip, pulling me against his chest. My breath caught and my body buzzed with longing and want. We danced for a few moments to let the popping world around us settle. I understood why it was so much easier to attack each other, find an irritation to mine, an axe to throw, because all of that was easier than enduring this crippling longing, feeling this gaping hole carved in my chest.
The Necromancer's Betrayal Page 17