They were approaching the top of the staircase when Ivy fell into step beside her. “Baylor is seated at one of the booths by the dancefloor.” She nearly had to shout for Loren to hear her. “That’s where we’re headed.”
Loren gave a shaky nod.
“Keep breathing, girl,” Ivy said. “You’re doing great.”
Far below, the dance floor was studded with colorful lights and crowded with scantily clad patrons throwing back shots and grinding up against the laps of strangers. Over a dozen cages hung from the mirrored ceiling, where half-humans, vampires, and witches writhed provocatively behind the bars, stripping off their clothes bit by bit for an audience that just couldn’t get enough.
At the head of their group, Darien turned midstride and held out a hand for Loren, and she hurried forward and grasped it. Butterflies twitched in her stomach at the contact, and her heart jumped into her throat, nearly choking off the uneven breaths she was drawing.
Could she do this? She was no longer sure, and her soul felt like it had snapped free of her body.
Every thought in Loren’s head eddied into nothing as Travis came to her left and took hold of her free hand just as they began descending the stairs.
Confused, she glanced between Travis, who winked down at her, and Darien, who was completely focused on the clubbers surrounding them. “Won’t people think this is weird?” she asked.
“They’ll just think we’re sharing you,” Travis said with a wolfish grin, his tattooed hand lightly squeezing hers.
Loren peeked up at Darien to see that he was stifling a smile, that adorable dimple in his cheek showing.
“The more the merrier in a place like this,” Darien said, though the set of his mouth suggested the words tasted like ashes to him.
Needless to say, no one tried to bother her, not with Darien and Travis both holding onto her like she was their property, though there were a few men—most of them warlocks and wolves—who eyed her with interest and curiosity. The Devils led the way down to the dancefloor, to a booth not far from the base of the staircase. Travis told her the location would give them the best view of the entire ground floor—and the best view of Baylor’s booth, which was situated along the east wall, in exactly the right place for them to keep an eye on him all night. Logan and Sabrine were already here, reserving the booth for them. They must’ve arrived early to scope out Baylor and find the best seat, Loren realized. Sabrine gave her a nervous smile as their group approached.
Travis let go of Loren’s hand when they reached the booth, and their group took their seats at the bench that curved around a long table. Darien slid onto the bench beside Max, leaving Loren to sit on the very end. This decision made sense, she supposed, for she would need to be in Baylor’s line of sight for this to work properly. But she found that her stomach flipflopped as she lowered herself to the bench beside Darien, who wrapped his arm around her to pull her snug against his side. The bench was made of glittery plastic so cold, she shivered. She leaned into Darien for warmth and reassurance—that, and because she wanted to.
“That’s him,” Ivy said, leaning across the table so Loren could hear her. Ivy made a subtle gesture to where Baylor sat with another male vampire. Loren tried to look across the dancefloor without making it obvious that she was staring, but she wasn’t sure if she succeeded.
Baylor looked to be about thirty in physical age, with shoulder-length flaxen hair and eyes an eerily pale shade of teal. His chalky skin and hair were tinged with a slight blue shade under the strobe lights, the texture of the latter reminding her of cotton candy.
It wasn’t a good look.
“He looks…charming,” Loren said with a shudder. She tried not to look too closely at Baylor’s elongated incisors as he tipped his head back and laughed at something the other man said.
Where he was sitting beside his wife, arm slung around her bare shoulders, Jack chuckled. “I hear he’s even more charming when he sucks your blood.”
Loren shuddered.
“Quit freaking her out,” Darien cut in. “Maybeyou’dlike to take the task of getting Baylor’s attention. I’m sure he’d enjoy a fine piece of ass like yourself.”
Jack flipped him off. And Dallas, who was practically sitting in Max’s lap, cackled so hard she was nearly in tears.
A venefica waitress wearing little more than lingerie approached their table, smiling brightly. “Can I interest you folks in some of Ignis’s Fire?” The shots that were balanced on the silver tray she carried were the deep red of blood, and a misty substance that reminded Loren of dry ice was rippling out of the glasses.
“We’ll take two each,” Max said. The waitress used her magic to levitate the number of shots they’d requested to the table, where they floated to a rest before each person.
When Darien snatched one up, Loren copied him and grabbed one of her own, though her movements were far more hesitant than his. She sniffed at the mist rippling out of the glass, her nose crinkling. It smelled spicy and…green. Like a forest.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“Drink it.” He was already throwing back his second. “It’ll help with the cold. You’re rattling like a little leaf.”
Dallas shouted, “Bottoms up, biatch!” and tossed hers back.
Sabrine followed suit, though the encouraging smile she tried to give Loren when she was finished swallowing looked more like a grimace. Her eyes, now painted with the same fire as Logan’s, were watering, and she looked like she was trying not to gag.
Loren muttered, “Here goes nothing,” and threw back her first shot, wincing from the burning sensation that spread across her tongue and knifed down her throat. It tasted like pine needles and cinnamon. “Gross,” she coughed, setting down the glass.
Darien pushed her second shot closer to her. “You’ll need both, sweetheart. You won’t be able to focus if you’re too cold.”
