by Helen Harper
‘Are you here to see Lord Horvath?’
‘No.’
‘Because he’s at home at the moment. I can call him and make an appointment, if you like.’
‘I’m not here for Horvath,’ Devereau growled.
‘Are you here to make trouble?’
‘I’m here for a fucking drink.’
The vamp didn’t react to his snarl. ‘Wolves don’t usually come here.’
‘So?’
‘It’s probably best if you find an alternative venue.’ The vamp smiled nastily, opening his mouth just enough to display his fangs. He tilted his head a fraction to the left and Devereau noted his earpiece but, even with his newly enhanced hearing, he couldn’t make out what was being said.
The vamp stepped back and, with a grimace, gestured to the door. ‘However,’ he said, ‘if you really do want a drink then you’re welcome to come in and have one.’
Finally. It was tempting to rub the vamp’s face in the fact that he’d been told by some blood-loving middle manager to let him in, but Devereau knew better than to make an issue of it. After all, you never knew when you’d need a favour from a toothy vamp bouncer.
He swallowed his ego and nodded. ‘Thank you.’ The look he received in return was nothing but suspicious but Devereau chose to ignore it and ducked inside.
The gloomy interior was at odds with the daylight outside. Although vampires didn’t turn to dust in sunshine or burn up at the first hint of dawn, Devereau knew that they preferred the dark. Perhaps Heart was trying to give the illusion that it was permanently night.
He looked around. Despite the low light, the club’s opulence was striking. This was only the main lobby and it reeked of money. Devereau had an eye, and a penchant, for such things. He reached out to brush his fingertips against the dark-red flocked wallpaper. It felt expensive and the colour matched the faint tang of blood clinging to the air. Well, this was a vampire club...
He walked through to the main club floor. The smell of blood was now overladen with something else, a herbal concoction that made his nostrils twitch. Whatever it was, it smelled incredibly alluring. His pulse accelerated and a curious sensation of delight zipped through his veins. Glancing round, he spotted the cunningly disguised air vents. Whatever the scent was, it was obviously being pumped through the whole room. He doubted that it was purely to conceal the tang of iron-rich blood; no, the herby smell was designed to enhance the customer’s experience. If the vamps packaged it and sold it on the open market, they’d probably make a fortune.
There was music to accompany the enticing aroma, although it was a chilled-out melody rather than the harder dance beats that probably vibrated from the speakers later on. He noted the rather large and showy throne on the empty balcony area and the various booths dotted around the mezzanine floor. There were fewer than twenty people in the club; they all appeared to be either staff members or hardened drinkers who didn’t let the time of day stop them from getting their alcoholic fix.
Hoping that they would all be more interested in their drinks than making conversation, Devereau walked up to the bar. ‘Double whisky,’ he grunted.
The barman put down the glass he’d been polishing meticulously and raised an eyebrow. ‘What kind?’
‘Whatever’s nearest.’
The barman nodded and turned away, reaching up to the Famous Grouse optic to pour Devereau’s drink. Before he could, however, there was a delicate cough. ‘Not that one. Mr Webb is a special guest. Give him the Balvenie instead.’
‘Are you sure?’
The female vampire standing less than a metre away stared hard at the barman. He swallowed and moved to a glass cabinet, almost tripping over his feet in his haste to do so.
Devereau glanced at her. All of a sudden, his day was looking up. Clever dark eyes, smooth brown skin covered with a smattering of tiny freckles, a cute button nose and perfect red bow lips confronted him. He already knew that vampires were physically attractive. All the better to seduce you with. In the same way that scorpions had stingers, vampires had good looks. He had never seen any vampire who looked quite like this, though.
His gaze travelled down. She was dressed head to toe in a tight leather catsuit that accentuated her tiny waist. When he saw the fuzzy purple slippers on her feet, however, Devereau couldn’t stop himself from barking out a short laugh.
The vamp grinned and shrugged. ‘What can I say? I wasn’t expecting a guest of your stature to wander in this morning.’
There was something oddly contagious about her smile, or maybe it was the heady herbal scent in the air. Either way, Devereau felt himself grinning back. His tension was already easing. ‘Let me guess,’ he said. ‘You’re the one responsible for allowing me inside. Your bouncer was going to turn me away.’
‘Don’t take it personally, Mr Webb. We’ve learned to be wary of lone wolves. Usually when one tries to gain entrance, it’s because they’re looking for a fight.’
‘I’m not looking for a fight. And you can call me Devereau,’ he murmured.
Her eyes glinted. ‘Very well.’ She extended a manicured hand. ‘I’m Scarlett.’
He took her hand and shook it, resisting the temptation to kiss it. He had the sudden notion that everything about this woman, from her words to her clothes to the way she smiled at him, was deliberate. Even her ridiculous slippers. There was something slightly odd about her. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was, but he was sure it would come to him.
The barman placed a heavy crystal glass in front of him. ‘The Balvenie,’ he said.
Devereau could already smell it. Hints of vanilla, cinnamon, nutmeg combined with earthy peat.
‘It’s fifty years old,’ Scarlett told him. ‘And to buy the bottle, you’d have to fork out almost fifty thousand pounds.’
He looked at her. ‘Are you trying to impress me?’
Her gaze remained steady. ‘Yes.’
Devereau reached for the glass, lifted it to his lips, then threw the contents down his throat. Scarlett winced. He licked his lips and shrugged. ‘It’s alright, I suppose.’
She laughed, a crystal-clear sound that rang across the near-empty club and made the other punters look up from their drinks. He caught a few knowing glances and he realised what was going on. Vampires were predators – and Scarlett here had just found new prey. Him. Strangely, the knowledge didn’t bother him.
‘So, Devereau,’ she said, drawing out his name with a deliberate purr, ‘what brings you here at this hour of the day?’
‘I hear that Heart is the place to be. I thought it was about time I checked it out.’ He continued watching her. Right now it was Scarlett he was checking out, not the club. She looked back at him, doing exactly the same thing.
‘And?’ She moved forward slightly until her hips were touching his. ‘What’s the verdict?’
‘I’m withholding judgment for now.’
She placed a hand on his arm, a light touch that still made him shiver. ‘Well, let me know if there’s anything I can do that will help you make up your mind.’ She stepped back and sat on a bar stool nearby.
Devereau let a moment or two pass before glancing at her again. ‘You don’t have to babysit me. I won’t cause any problems. I wasn’t looking for conversation or company.’
‘I know,’ she answered. ‘You have the look of someone who’s having a very bad day and wants to drink himself senseless. You might not want company, Devereau, but you need it. I’m here to offer a sympathetic ear. And I promise you won’t even have a hangover afterwards. Call it your first dose of supernatural therapy. Whatever you say here won’t go any further. Here at Heart we offer all sorts of services.’
He considered telling her to get lost. ‘And what will you demand in return?’
A smile played around her lips. ‘Nothing that will harm you in any way. Besides, I’m a vampire – I’ve been here for fifty years. There’s nothing you can say that I’ve not heard before. There’s nothing to be afraid of.�
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He gave her a look of mild irritation. That was the second time in as many hours that someone had accused him of being frightened. These people had a lot to learn. ‘I’m not afraid.’
‘There you go, then.’ She gestured towards him. ‘Tell me all your woes.’
Devereau sighed. He supposed he had nothing to lose. He needed advice and, in the absence of Emma Bellamy, it appeared this vampire was all he was going to get. He hesitated for a moment, considering where to start. ‘It’s taken years to get to where I am. The Shepherd. The man who looks after his flock. I’ve earned my respect. I’ve built a community.’
Scarlett raised a dark eyebrow. ‘A community? Is that what criminal organisations are called these days?’
He growled. ‘We might be based on crime but our success goes far beyond that. I only did what was necessary to help my people.’
She tapped her long fingernails on the bar. ‘I’m sensing a but.’
He gave her a long look. ‘Nothing I do is by accident. I deliberately allowed myself to be bitten enough times to be transformed into a wolf. I wanted the power that the werewolves have. And I wanted to show the clans that they’re not as special as they like to think they are.’
‘You wanted revenge because they refused to turn your niece,’ Scarlett said mildly.
‘You know about that?’
‘You’d be surprised at how much I know.’ She waved at him. ‘Carry on.’
His eyes flashed. ‘I don’t like it when people say no to me.’
‘Your niece is a child. To turn her into a werewolf would have caused far more problems than it would have solved. But, hey,’ she raised her shoulders, ‘I’m not judging.’
Devereau raised his empty glass at the barman who nodded. ‘I think that’s exactly what you’re doing,’ he said softly. ‘In any case, I thought it was a clever next step. Create a new clan with my own people. Take what power and strength I already have and turn it into something else.’ He grimaced. ‘Except it’s not turned out that way. I misjudged how far my people were prepared to follow me.’
The barman placed a fresh glass in front of him. Devereau eyed it for a moment and then, like before, downed it in one.
‘Oh you poor baby,’ Scarlett mocked softly. ‘You thought becoming a werewolf would turn you from a prince into a king. You thought your people would love you even more. Instead, they fear you. They might even hate you.’
Devereau couldn’t deny it. ‘I expected some resistance. I thought they’d come around eventually but there are people moving away to escape the supposed threat that I’ve become. People I used to trust. People I’ve helped. There are others who see me and turn in the opposite direction.’
‘They’re weak. And stupid. People often are.’
‘My niece’s friends no longer want to spend time with her.’ The bitterness gnawed at him. ‘She’s done nothing wrong but they’re afraid to be with her because of me. And now I’m being told that if I don’t pack my life up and move to Lisson fucking Grove, I’ll be locked up. Locked up! Not because I’ve done anything wrong but because of my postcode.’ His jaw clenched. ‘I can’t abandon my people.’
‘It sounds to me as if they’ve already abandoned you.’
Devereau’s face spasmed into an angry snarl.
Scarlett rolled her eyes. ‘What?’ she asked. ‘Do you want a glass for that whine? Or are you simply looking for sympathy? That’s not the sort of therapy I offer. I didn’t realise big bad Devereau Webb was such a moany bastard. You said it yourself – you planned this. You wanted this. You’ve got more power at the tips of your furry paws than you could have ever imagined and all you’re doing is complaining about it. Some members of the supernatural community haven’t had the choice you’ve had. They’re supe whether they want to be or not, but they still have to deal with the rest of the world’s derision. Humans will always hate what they fear. And you’re hardly alone in the world. There are hundreds of werewolves. Pick a clan to join, and you’ll have your new little world all ready for you.’
‘Follow their rules, you mean. Be their leashed dog.’
‘Big fucking deal. From what I’ve heard, you’re already strong enough to make a splash. You’ll rise through the ranks quickly enough. Get over yourself and adapt. You’re not a teenager, so stop sulking and move on. You know you have to.’
Devereau’s fingers tightened round the glass until it cracked. He hadn’t gotten himself bitten to become someone else’s lapdog, he’d done it to prove to the four clans that they didn’t hold all the cards. It had been a petty act, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t justified.
He cursed and released the glass. ‘So which clan then? Which one would you join?’
‘I’m not a wolf.’
He folded his arms.
Scarlett smiled. ‘Fairfax is a possibility, but they’re a mess right now. They’ve been weakened because their previous alpha was an idiot, and they won’t establish a new leader until the next moon in just under a week’s time. You’ll rise quickly through the Fairfax ranks, but you won’t learn as much as you could as with the others, and you’ll always be viewed as weak for joining them. Sullivan is out – Lady Sullivan will recognise you for the threat you are and probably refuse you. If she does accept you, she’ll do everything possible to keep you down. And Lady Carr eats boys like you for breakfast.’
‘So McGuigan, then.’
‘They’re broke, so they don’t have the resources to do much. Someone of your capabilities could help them with that.’
‘Create wealth for someone else, you mean.’
Scarlett simply looked at him.
‘It’s not much of a choice.’
‘No,’ she agreed. ‘Unless you go back to your original plan.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Ignore the law and stay with my own people? Force them to accept me whether they want to or not?’
‘Not that.’ Scarlett leaned forward until she was so close he could feel her breath hot against his skin. ‘Start anew. Create a new clan with yourself at the top. You still own the full moon rights to Regent’s Park, don’t you? For three nights you have sole access to run around it with as much wolfish abandon as you like. The other clans have to make do with St James’s Park, which is far smaller. You have five times that space all to yourself. That’s already quite a lure for any wolves looking to jump ship. Poach the best wolves from all four existing clans for yourself, for Clan Webb.’ Her lips curved. ‘You could do a lot worse. The rather pesky human authorities might take umbrage, but you strike me as the kind of person who is adept at getting around the law when it suits him.’
Devereau considered what she’d said as he met her eyes. ‘Why do I have the feeling that this is the reason you sat down next to me?’ he murmured. ‘You want me to cause trouble for the clans. You’re a vampire. You want to see the werewolves in chaos and the government up in arms against them.’
‘No,’ she said, ‘I don’t want that. I want to see supes succeed. All supes.’ She bared her teeth. ‘Even the furry ones who sulk.’
He gazed at her, finally realising what it was about her appearance that wasn’t quite right. ‘You only have one fang.’
She displayed it to him. ‘I lost the other one. It was very careless of me.’
‘One-Fanged Scarlett,’ he said. ‘It kind of suits you.’
She ran her tongue over her lips. ‘Good,’ she said. ‘I’m pleased to hear it appeals to you.’
The stirrings of hot lust Devereau was feeling were reflected in Scarlett’s eyes. He reached across and brushed a dark curl away from her face. ‘Why don’t we continue this conversation somewhere more intimate?’ he suggested.
Something flashed across her face: triumph – or was it regret? ‘I can think of nothing I’d like better,’ she said. ‘But let’s take a rain check until you’re in full control of yourself.’
He frowned. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
With the tip of one finger, Scarlett drew
a line from his cheekbone down to his mouth and briefly caressed his bottom lip. Then she pulled away. ‘I’ll see you soon, Devereau Webb. I can promise you that.’
Chapter Four
Gaz’s hands were crammed into the pockets of his jeans and his shoulders were hunched, guarding him ineffectively against the incessant drizzle that had turned everything grey. England in early summer. What joy.
‘Are you sure about this, boss? It looks kinda … skanky.’
Gaz was nothing if not a master of the understatement. The building they were standing in front of had definitely seen better days. Three of the grimy windows had been smashed in and replaced with flimsy plywood. The guttering was filled with overhanging moss, and the front door had several dents in it where it had been kicked in on at least one occasion.
Devereau knew that things weren’t any better inside. There was a definite aroma of damp seeping through the walls, and the grubby floorboards were less rustic chic and more rotting death traps. The wallpaper might have once been pristine white but now it was stained yellow with years of nicotine and all manner of other, indefinable stains. Still, he’d stayed in far worse places when he was younger and this place did have two things going for it: firstly, it was as close to the boundary of where he was allowed to reside as he could get, and secondly, the landlord had been willing to rent it to him. Most of the others had taken one look at him and slammed their doors in his face. That was their prerogative, of course, but Devereau Webb had a long memory and he never forgot a slight. They’d live to regret their lack of courtesy.
‘It’ll do,’ he answered. For now.
‘Maybe I could round up some of the others,’ Gaz said. ‘We could get a team together to do the place up a bit.’
Devereau’s eyes narrowed a fraction. Gaz was the only person who’d chosen to help him move in today. He was above grovelling, especially to those who’d decided to turn their backs on him after years of loyal service. Alice had wanted to help, but he wouldn’t have her here. She was better off back at home with his sister, Natasha, where she’d be safe.