Laire pfttd. “Sure, mighty Dragon Slayer, watch me shake in fear.”
“Just…go home.”
“Oh hells no.” In the play of light and shadow across her face, Laire’s face lost its usual softness, and now her features were a blade, sharp and battle-ready. “You don’t do this alone. I don’t care if you officially tell me about it or not – go ahead, give me plausible deniability. I’m still standing with you.”
“Any plan that involves the Master Vampire is the wrong action. Even she knows this. She follows you out of loyalty, not out of believing this is the right choice.”
Officially not listening to you as of now, so please, though I know there’s no breath to waste, how about you give it a break? Fallon held firm against the urge to rub her head against the ache that was forming there. “Fine. Since I can’t get rid of you, I guess we’re going together.”
“It’s not like it’s the first time I heard that.” Laire took her arm, and together they stepped forward.
As they walked deeper into the club, the innocuous décor became sparser, the obvious accoutrements of whips and ball gags and the like coming more to the foreground. The only thing that didn’t change were the signs of obvious, overwhelming wealth. “I need to find the Crimson Room,” Fallon said as she took everything in in quick, unnoticeable glances, blueprinting everything in her mind should she need it later.
“Why do you think I know where that is?” Under Fallon’s unblinking stare, Laire gave an offhand motion. “That way, elevator in the back right corner, takes you straight there. Crimson room is crème of the crème. Who are you meeting that deserves that?”
“Plausible deniability, remember? Otherwise I would have brought you here to begin with and used your membership number.”
“I so do not have a membership number. They don’t have those here.”
As they made their way to the back, a man came to stand in their path. He was tall and good-looking in a dark and brooding way. The suit spoke of wealth, and the body beneath it spoke of long hours at the gym.
Seeing as he wasn’t moving, Fallon shifted to walk around him, but he side-stepped to remain in her path, ending up only inches away from her. He was a couple inches taller, enough that he could peruse her figure in what he probably thought was in seductive display. “A woman as beautiful as you should have a collar.”
Laire piped up. “And if you’re meeting who I think you’re meeting, a collar would be a nice choice. A little extra neck protection is never a bad thing.”
Resisting the urge to bop Laire for that remark, Fallon instead focused on McDom in front of her, giving him the most uninterested look she could plaster on her face. “Doesn’t go with my outfit, but thanks for the fashion tip. Now I have places to be, so excuse me.”
The man did not give up, mirroring her movements yet again. “You should be dressed in nothing but silk, deep red, and I would make you a collar the same gold of your eyes.” He leaned forward a scant inch, tilting his head in a way that highlighted the fantastic bone structure of his face and had probably been practiced multiple times in front of his mirror. Lowering his voice to a seductive rumble, he said, “Deep down, every woman desires to submit.”
Yeah, he was good-looking, and no doubt that line had dozens of women wanting to be chained up for him, but come on – she had a sword strapped to her back that was as big as he was. Shouldn’t that put the guy off? Fallon glanced over to Laire for guidance, only to see the mage’s eyebrows arched high in surprise. At Fallon’s look Laire shrugged her shoulders high. “Don’t ask me. I’m not the one who thinks that’s a good line.”
“As if I don’t have enough BS to look forward to.” This time Fallon maneuvered around the man before he could get in front of her.
A hand shot out and grabbed her above the elbow. “We haven’t finished speaking.”
As Fallon turned to face the man, every person around them within several feet stepped back from the pure menace the redheaded woman was projecting. Even Laire took a step away. The man faltered, his hand loosening though not falling away, and for the first time the smug assuredness was missing from his face.
“Laire?”
“Yes, Fallon?”
“The rules of the Club don’t allow him to touch me, do they?”
“Nope, completely against the rules. No touching unless permission has been established.”
“Oh, goody.” Fallon stepped forward into the man’s personal space, pressing her forehead hard against his, her lip curling in a snarl, and in a voice that resonated with a terrible echo, said, “Go away.”
Wannabe couldn’t move fast enough after that, half-tripping as he turned tail. As Fallon glanced around in an instinctive check for other threats, instead what was apparent was the intensity of several of the men and women as they looked at her, an ill-defined eagerness that had them stepping forward with hesitant motions.
Laire glanced around too, and with a growl of disgust stepped forward to grab Fallon’s elbow, leading her to the elevator with determined steps. “Stop that. You’re riling up the subs.”
“He started it!”
In quick time they arrived at the elevator, and now as the mood once again became weighted. Fallon began, “Laire–”
“I’m not asking questions,” Laire interrupted. On her face was a serious expression Fallon saw only in intimate and dire situations. “I’m here to back you up.”
“It’s not necessary.”
Neon orange was not made to go with such a grave countenance. “I’m not sure if it makes me more nervous to believe you are saying that because you are trying to protect me, or if you are saying that because you really think that’s true.”
“I’m not giving myself a headache to figure out what you said.” But Fallon’s hand on Laire’s shoulder was gentle as she ushered the tiny mage into the elevator.
The ride was brief, and the doors opened to a waiting Zemar. “Lady Fallon.” He did not acknowledge Laire as he led them both to the two large red doors at the end of the hall.
In front of the doors Fallon glanced down at Laire. One thing to be said for a long partnership – your partner often knew what you mean with just a look. Laire rolled her eyes again but nodded, and Fallon turned to Reign’s bodyguard. “Laire is waiting here. I will take an attack on her as an attack on me.”
He never looked at Laire, but he said, “We will defend ourselves, but the mage is as safe as you are.”
Not exactly the most risk-free promise, but as that was as good as she was going to get, Fallon left Laire behind and walked with Zemar into an interior room, more opulent and private. With a bow he let himself out.
The Crimson room was aptly named. Not garish as she feared, but instead everything about it spoke of elegance, the red hues dominating similar to the shading in Reign’s eyes.
She went farther in, past the living area, into a lush room with furniture in dark, sumptuous fabric. Amongst gorgeous silver filigreed chains which fell in waves down walls and whips and crops of finely crafted leather stood Reign, with danger and sexual power clinging to him in a way the pitiful boy from downstairs could never hope to replicate. For the first time Fallon understood the draw of this lifestyle. Saw, at least in small measure, the allure.
That deep, rich voice shook inside her as he spoke. “Fallon.”
“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”
“When have I ever turned you away?” He pulled on a chain, the silver links sinuous against long fingers. “I am glad my meeting spot was acceptable.”
Fallon moved to a wall where chains hung which were so delicate, they were more decorative than durable. The metal was cool as she wrapped one around her left wrist, twisted and turned until it encircled her, then pulled until her arm was between them, the chain pulling taut. “Interesting accommodations. Can’t say I’ve ever thought to try them before.”
Reign’s answer was in the way his eyes turned hungry, the red depths boiling as they fastened on where the filigre
ed metal bit into her skin. His only words, though, were, “I will see to it the man who accosted you is dealt with.”
Fallon freed her arm, the chain giving a small clink as it fell against the wall. “Do I look worse for wear? Don’t insult me by inferring that idiot could possibly do anything.”
The silence grew heavy around them. They faced off, neither willing to give an inch. Fallon fought against speaking first, but he was here at her invitation. The power was his, and he wielded it without pity. She spoke. “You know why I’m here.”
“Hmmm.” He neither confirmed nor denied. She was on the hook, and he was letting her squirm.
Heh. And if the situation were reversed, she’d do the same thing and wouldn’t be able to control the giggles as she did it. Bastard, and damned if she didn’t smile at the hint of pleased smug in his gaze. Giving up, Fallon leaned against the wall, positioning herself so she fell into the line between comfortable and battle ready. “I need your help to get the Spellbook. Merc controls it. That sums up our problem right there.”
Reign’s body projected perfect nonchalance. “Your problem, not mine. The knowledge of the Spellbook in Merc’s hands amuses me no end. It lends our game a wild card element I find…exhilarating.”
“You mean, unlike the Corpse Bloom Queen, who lends a wild card element you might not describe as exhilarating?”
His lip curled in a half smile, allowing a peek of fang to show through. “How was your meeting? I’ve only heard snippets.”
“Pure sunshine and roses. We should all do a group date sometime.”
“Good to hear. Will you sit next to me at the movie?”
Even putting the whole vampire thing aside, Fallon couldn’t imagine Reign – well-tailored suits and so sexual men and women fell to their knees in front of him – surrounded by popcorn and sitting in sticky chairs. Still, she said, “Sure, as long as you get me the Spellbook. I’ll even let you hold my hand.”
“Tempting.” In a deliberate sweep, his gaze traveled at slow speed over her, from her face to where her neck met shoulder. From there, it caressed its way down to the hand hanging at her side – A hand she took no notice of until this moment, and now fought to keep still.
It was a mistake to let down her guard and play with him, one she needed to rectify now. Stripping the humor from her voice, Fallon said, “Problem is, Merc isn’t keeping the book. It’s going to auction, and while we haven’t been able to pin down a buyer’s list, I can name a dozen people neither of us would be happy to know they got their hands on it.”
“That’s what we’re meeting under? The enemy of my enemy reasoning?”
Fallon shrugged. “Strange that a book which can cause as much mayhem and destruction as this one can is useless to necromancers. More than that, it will hurt your kind beyond even what it can do to us. If you’re smart, you’ll want it in our hands, since you know we won’t sacrifice a continent in the hopes of getting rid of you. You can’t make the same claim about some other factions. Unfortunately for me, that line of reasoning means you are the most trustworthy–” and not for gods or money could Fallon hold back the snort that followed that word “–person I can ask to help me get it back.”
He inclined his head, the move touché. “And payment?”
“Mutual benefit not enough?”
Now Reign began to move, a slow, circular pattern that had Fallon straightening from the wall and had her wary senses sharpening to pinpoint readiness. “While you make a compelling argument, the fact is there are others beyond the Guild who I would entrust the Spellbook to with full belief they either could not or would not use it against my kind, and indeed, they would be very generous in their thanks should we deliver the Spellbook to them.”
“And what kind of thanks would sway you to our side?”
Reign stopped a hairsbreadth from her, all pale skin and burning red eyes. “Are you willing to deliver on my price?”
Bravado was what this situation called for, and no one would know whether it was real or faked. “Nice try, Master Vampire, but I never agree without details.”
“I ask for nothing unreasonable, merely…” and here he paused, lowering his face to hers, close enough his breath brushed across her lips. “I wish to touch Tenro.”
The vein in her neck pulsed, so hard that even though his eyes never left hers, Fallon could not convince herself he hadn’t noticed. “There has to be something else.”
“You heard my price. Will you pay it?”
“And if I do?”
“Those under my control will deliver the Spellbook to your control. Now, may I?”
“Do not allow this!”
Her tongue begged to be let free to swipe over her mouth, but Fallon pushed back against her body, brought her breath and heartbeat under control, deadened her eyes into careful amusement and detached observation. “I won’t stop you.”
Without touching her, he ran his hand over the contour of her face, the curve of her neck, down her shoulder, to reach behind her for the sword.
Tenro glowed red. Magic pulsated in violent shock, and Reign fell back under the attack, shielding himself in instinctive motion before turning back to face Fallon.
Triumph glowed in those deep red eyes, and his smile showed every inch of white fang within that seductive mouth.
Weariness fell over Fallon, further battering her ruined defenses. But not here. She couldn’t fall apart here. With practiced nonchalance, she turned and walked to the door, calling over her shoulder, “I expect the Spellbook soon.”
It took two steps to notice Laire in the doorway, a puzzled look in her eye. Not now, not…now. Fallon pushed past without waiting to see if Laire followed, heading for the elevator, heading anywhere away from here.
Chapter Twenty-Four
‡
“I don’t want to hear…I couldn’t care less…Just fuckin’ do it!!!” Hadrien flung the phone away from him in disgust before falling on the bed.
Fucking Merc. Fucking piece of shit Merc – Mister Top Dog, Mister There-Ain’t-Nobody-Better. What utter bullshit. If he was half as good as he was supposed to be, none of this would be happening.
Here he was, being hunted like a rabid animal at a time he shoulda been king of the fucking world, all because Merc got up the asses of the Guild. Merc shoulda been able to disappear, do something sneaky, fucking just appear right before the auction. Even with the bound the asshole couldn’t do anything right.
Fuck!
Hadrien rubbed his hand over his face, taking only a moment before he bounced back up and grabbed the whiskey from the bar.
Just a few days. He gave a salute with his whiskey glass to that thought before swallowing the liquor down. Just a few days, he’d have the money to be free, and he’d gift-wrap Merc to the Guild or whoever else wanted him. Hells, maybe make it easy and let the bound take care of the bastard.
Until then, he’d just hafta keep bouncing like he was.
Fuck, it wasn’t happy, but he’d had worse. At least he had the money and connections to keep to the nicer places this time, lots of people real interested in keeping him healthy and hidden so the auction would take place.
Shit ton of problems or not, grabbing that Spellbook had been a good idea. Get through to the auction, get the money, and disappear forever. Just a few more days, and the now’d be nothing but fucked memories.
The knock sounded through the hotel room, and satisfaction quickly overtook irritation. There was the other good part of this whole deal, waiting for him to let her in.
Never let it be said his hosts didn’t know how to treat him right.
She was Goldilocks – just right in every way, from the silky blonde hair hanging to her waist to the huge tits to the schoolgirl skirt that showed long, long legs. “Come on in sweetheart.”
She moved past him without saying a word, instead looking around the hotel room. Didn’t matter. As long as she knew to open her mouth when he told her to in bed, it otherwise didn’t matter.
; As she wandered the room he took in her figure, really enjoying that ass. Perfect and lush – ah yeah, he was going to do some damage. “Get undressed.”
“There’s nothing here.”
Her voice was smooth, like she took singing lessons or somethin’. She’d sound good screaming. “Whada you mean?”
“Whoever is housing you is an idiot, because there’s no protection. You’re defenseless.”
Sweat broke out over him as the girl turned to face him fully, but fuck, she wasn’t a whore, not with that look in her eyes. He turned, but his neck hurt, and he put his hand up to pull away a needle coated with…something…
*
The door to the suite was ajar as Nemesis approached. She pushed it farther open with the tip of her steel toed boots, one hand going to the dagger on her thigh.
Her source insistent this was where Hadrien was staying, but as she walked in, it took only three long sweeps to see what occurred in the now empty room, and her hand dropped from her weapon.
Sorry darlin’. I didn’t make it in time.
Chapter Twenty-Five
‡
A happy sigh escaped Amana’s sleeping form, and Merc reflexively glanced over at the small woman on the bed. Yeah, a slight, sweet smile on her face as she snuggled deeper into the bedding, reassuring him it was indeed a sound of contentment.
Too bad he couldn’t claim the same. There was a corner deep within where gladness over their closeness nestled, but other concerns crowded around his mind.
He might have had a small part of her tonight, their attraction spiking high enough to push back all other problems for awhile, but now those problems were smacking him upside the head and demanding their due.
Like how Hadrien was still out there on the run. Like how he had a bound connecting him to someone who existed on the lowest rungs of the evolutionary scale. How Amana was still twisted up with her brother, and though he didn’t believe she’d give the book to the Guild anymore, she’d still betray him to save her brother.
How the Spellbook kept reaching for him, brushing up against his consciousness in an unrelenting siege, scraping like a dog against a door to be let in.
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