Night Huntress (Otherworld/Sisters of the Moon #5)

Night Huntress (Otherworld/Sisters of the Moon #5) Page 33

Rozurial was strangely silent, and I noticed there seemed to be some sort of communication going on between him and Menolly. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it was as if the two were talking. Whether they’d developed some secret rapport, or whether they’d just come to an understanding, there was a connection between the two. I wondered if they were sleeping together, then brushed the thought aside. Rozurial was many things, but reticent wasn’t one of them. He wouldn’t have been able to keep a secret like that to himself.

“When we get there, what should we do? Will Zach be one of your pets, too, and if so, why isn’t he in a Speedo?” I grinned as he let out a grunt.

“Speedo? You’ve got to be kidding. I’m a boxers man all the way,” he said, though I knew very well that at least some of the time, he went commando.

Menolly coughed. “Zachary in a Speedo leaves less to the imagination than I care to think about. No offense, Zach—you’re handsome enough, but it just doesn’t translate.”

He laughed. “The thought of you eyeing my bare skin with those fangs hanging out doesn’t make me comfortable either, so we’re even. No Speedo unless we’re swimming. In broad daylight.”

She let out a snort. “Good thinking. And yeah, Zach better go in as one of my newest acquisitions, though you’re right; he’s really not dressed for it.” Glancing over her shoulder, she shifted into the left turn lane, then turned onto Giles Boulevard. We were a few blocks away from the Fangtabula.

“Sounds good to me. I take it I walk in a few steps behind you, since you’re my mistress?”

“Both of you, yes. And both of you make sure you never contradict me in public, or speak before I do unless it’s with a request.”

“Heard and understood,” Zach said.

As she smoothly pulled off the street into the parking lot of the club, I saw that there was a number of cars already here. I glanced around the lot. Not many people hanging outside, but given the rain, that wasn’t a big shock. The double doors leading into the warehouselike club were painted bright red, a shocker against the white and black stripes that patterned the walls. Three stories tall, the club was housed in what had once been—by the faded sign still propped against the back wall—a meatpacking plant. Leave it to irony.

As we climbed out of the car, I noticed the bouncers by the doors. One moment, there had been no one in sight. Now two very hefty, tall gentlemen were manning the velvet ropes gating off the entryway. We’d have to get through them to get into the club. The men were wearing PVC that looked almost as tight as my costume, and they had on motorcycle boots and dark glasses. They were carrying nasty-looking billy clubs that looked capable of breaking bones on first strike.

“Make a note,” I said softly. “Don’t let the leather twins get the first swing.”

“This is not going to turn into a confrontational situation,” Menolly said in a strained voice. “Those men are vampires. Get in a fight with them, and they won’t need their nightsticks to take you out, Kitten. One of them feels old—very old. He’s been around a long time, by my guess. And the longer the life, the more power he’ll have. I wonder why Wade hasn’t mentioned him.”

“Maybe Wade doesn’t know about him,” I said, making sure my fringe was hanging straight.

Zach looked uncertainly at the door. “I so do not want to go in there, but I’m right behind you.” His voice squeaked a little, and I detected the whiff of fear emanating off him. I didn’t blame him. My stomach was having a butterfly party of its own.

“Don’t worry.” Menolly patted Zach on the back. “We won’t let anybody get you. If Fraale approaches and introduces herself, let me speak first.”

I took a deep breath and tried to get into the mind-set of what a vampire’s pet would act like. Then it occurred to me. When I was in cat form, and when I wanted to be petted or brushed, I cozied up to Iris or my sisters and played the sweet and fuzzy card.

The domesticated puss is, as all cats know, just a ruse. Yes, cats most certainly love their humans, and yes, they cherish having a good home. But beneath that veneer of cooperation still lurks the tiny heart of a tiger. I’ll willingly walk into a gilded cage with my feet, yodels the housecat at night, but you can’t imprison my spirit.

I focused on Iris holding me, coaxing purrs from my throat. I conjured up the memory of curling up on the pillow next to Camille, and her waking in the middle of the night to scratch behind my ears and tell me what a good girl I was. Yes, in tabby form, I’d willingly wear a collar if it meant love and protection and acceptance.

As I sank into the energy, I moved a little closer to Menolly and let out a small mew. She turned to look at me, then smiled.

“Good, girl. I see it in your eyes, Kitten. While we’re in there, I’m calling you Desiree, so nobody hears your real name. You just call me Mistress. Are you ready?” She looked at me.

I nodded. “Yes . . . Mistress.”

“Very good. Zach, you should really call yourself something else, too. Why not Jerry?”

He blinked. “Jerry? Where’d you come up with that? Okay, I’m Jerry. Uh . . . yes, Mistress.” Sucking in a deep breath, he looked over at me. “Delilah—be careful. Please?”

I nodded. Roz indicated he was ready and then he broke off from our group. He’d go in separately and keep a low profile until he was needed. With one last look around the parking lot, Menolly led us toward the doors of the Fangtabula.

The bouncers were no problem, once Menolly showed her fangs. They backed away, gave her a curt nod, and eyed the rest of us as we followed her in.

The Fangtabula was vampyr to the extreme. In other words: They were hyping it up for the wannabes and tourists. The color scheme was red and black, with touches of silver and white tossed into the mix, and the vista that opened out before us looked like it was right off of an Elvira movie set.

The main room was huge, with a staircase descending from the entrance to the main floor, which had been tiled in a checkerboard of black and white. The ceiling stretched a good twenty feet overhead, and large cloth panels in black and red velvet draped down to produce a labyrinth of billowing walls.

The lights were dim and strobing, creating a vortex of light and shadow. It was like being in the middle of a gothic Cirque du Soleil tent. Only this was a warehouse, not a tent, and the acrobats here relied on supernatural powers rather than the strength of their mortal bodies.

Two grand stairwells led up to a second level, one on either side of the room, and in the center of the room I could see a railing surrounding three sides of an open area below, where yet another staircase descended into the underground levels of the club.

Drinks were served at a bar along the left wall that was surrounded by a number of tables and booths. On the other side of the enormous hall was a grotto, looking a lot like the “pit” back at the Collequia in Otherworld. The Collequia was a nightclub and opium den Camille used to frequent. She was never into the drugs, but she met a number of interesting men there, including Trillian, which pretty much summed up the kind of place it was.

The grotto was thick with conveniently placed divans and giant beanbag chairs, where several lovers’ triads lounged. It was obvious that one woman was playing blood host for a vamp who looked like he’d just stepped out of a biker’s version of GQ, though there was no way of telling if she was a blood whore or not.

The vamp was simply gorgeous, with brilliant red hair that draped down to his lower back. He wore skintight leather pants and not much else. He nuzzled her throat, and at first I thought he was kissing her till I saw the trickle of blood flowing from the blonde’s neck. Her eyes were closed, a look of bliss on her face as his tongue coaxed the blood out, drop by drop.

As I watched, the vampire glanced up. His tongue never missing a stroke on her neck, he gazed into my eyes, and I couldn’t look away. I stopped in my tracks, mesmerized by his absolute beauty. My breath quickened in my chest, and I started to blush. It felt like his gaze was peeling layers away, down to my skin, down to my muscle, down to my very bone. To my horror, I felt myself getting wet, and even though I tried not to, my hand slid toward my crotch.

I whimpered.

Menolly whirled around, took one look at me, then glanced over at the vampire. So quick she was only a blur, she opened her mouth, her fangs sliding down as she let out a loud hiss. Startled, he pulled his energy back, and I felt him receding out of my space. He gave her a courteous nod and returned his attention to the young woman on whom he was feeding.

“Shit,” she said under her breath. “That was just lovely. Try to keep your eyes down, Kitten. You, too, Zach. Some of these vamps are very old and very powerful, and I might not be able to stop a few of them from coaxing you away. Don’t look at any of them face on. You’re supposed to be my pets, anyway, so you shouldn’t be looking anywhere but at your feet unless I tell you to.” She nodded to us and headed toward the center of the room. Zach and I swung in behind her, following about three paces behind. I could sense Roz near us, but couldn’t see him anywhere. He cloaked himself well.

The farther we made our way into the heart of the club, the more I understood why Menolly wanted to get here ahead of time. For one thing, it would be easier to spot Fraale, but for another, the sheer energy of the club, even sparsely attended, was overwhelming. Intoxicating, frightening, pushing me to want to shift, the Fangtabula was a smorgasbord of emotion and hunger.

Suddenly, Menolly stiffened. She held her hand up ever so slightly. I almost ran into her but managed to stop in time, and Zach put on the brakes right beside me.

Just ahead, at a round black table with red chairs molded out of hard plastic, sat a woman. She wasn’t a vampire, that much I could tell. But something about her told me we were bearing down on Fraale.

Fraale wasn’t a beautiful woman. In fact, some people might call her plain on first glance. But on second look, they’d lose their hearts. One glance at her, and she seemed fair of face but not a classic beauty, and her hair was mousy brown. But then a second look, and she glowed, her hair took on a golden shimmer, and her lips seemed especially lush.

Fraale stood as we approached. She wasn’t tall—about an inch or so shorter than Camille. Nor was she the lean, svelte woman I’d imagined. She probably wore a size twelve or fourteen. But her curves were delicious, and I followed them with my gaze, sliding over the supple, rounded breasts thrust upward by the hint of pink lace belonging to a push-up bra. My gaze lingered over the black PVC waist cincher that hugged her midriff, then flowed over the curves of her hips beneath the body-hugging red dress.

I stifled the breath that quickened in my chest. What the . . . ? I knew theoretically that I could—and did—find women appealing, but tonight my libido seemed to be on fire. First the vampire, now the succubus. Sex on the brain? Or did they spray something in the air here? Maybe an air freshener called Lust in a Can?

Menolly thrust her shoulders back. By her stance, I knew she was attracted to the woman, too. And beside me, Zach inched over to my side, one step at a time. I could feel the tension in his body.

Before Menolly could speak, Fraale beckoned us over. All our carefully laid plans flew out the window when she said, so low I could barely hear her, “I know who you are, and you put yourselves in danger by coming here. Don’t even bother playing the game I see you’ve set up. And I know who’s with you.”

She glanced around. “Rozurial, do you really think you can hide from me? I know you’re here, so you might as well show yourself. I recognize your scent even after all these years.” Her voice was soft, almost wounded, and she tilted her head in a way that made me want to kiss away the pain that stabbed into her words.

Roz stepped from behind a nearby pillar. “I wouldn’t have come if we didn’t need your help. Tell me this—and if you have any memories of the honor we once shared, speak truthfully—are you in league with the Rāksasa?”

Fraale looked at us, one by one. As her eyes met mine, I thought I caught a sparkle of what looked like a tear. She blinked. “On my honor, on the honor of our wedded days, I am not his ally. He controls me, yes, but not by my choice.”

“Then how?” Roz motioned for her to sit down, and we joined her around the table. “Speak to us.”

She gave him a pained look and ducked her head. As she returned to her seat, the glamour seemed to fade for a moment, and I found myself staring into the all-too-sorrowful eyes of a woman in mourning.

“He’s due to arrive soon. If he catches me talking to you—”

“We’ll be gone before then,” Menolly said. “Please, we need your help. If you aren’t in league with him, then at least hear us out?”

Fraale considered Menolly’s request. Finally she sighed and said, “Very well. What do I have to lose but my life?”

“It won’t come to that,” Roz said. “Now, what are you doing with Karvanak?”

“I accidentally crossed his path,” Fraale said slowly. “I teased one of his young pets into my bed, and Karvanak found us. He was furious; the boy had been a virgin, and the demon had been looking forward to . . . to . . . deflowering him. I couldn’t let that happen. The boy was young, barely eighteen. He was a poet, an artist. He wouldn’t have survived Karvanak’s treatment of him. Karvanak offered me a bargain. I let him source off my energy for a year’s time, and he’d let the youth go. How could I say no? How could I send the boy to his death? He looked like my brother, Rozurial. He reminded me of Marion.”

Roz pressed his lips together in a thin line. He hung his head.