When she heard that deep, rich voice talking again, his name floated through the fog in her thoughts.
Darien.
His voice was so angry, so loud, that it made her jump out of her skin. The drug was blurring her vision, rendering her nearly blind, but from what she could see of Darien’s features as he approached their group, pushing people aside so hard they crashed to the floor, he was livid. The other Devils were flanking him now, and under the pulsing blue lights sweeping about the room, Loren swore she saw sharp horns on their heads.
“She’smine,”Darien growled, the two words ripping through the night.
The warlock gripping her waist said something else, but it sounded like static to Loren. Her tattoo was beginning to burn her arm, and she swayed on her feet, only held up the stranger’s hold.
Loren blinked, willing her eyes to cooperate. She caught sight of the two other men in the trio—the wolves—heading for the club doors, the idea of challenging the Seven Devils clearly not something they were interested in entertaining.
But the warlock wouldn’t let go of her.
Darien said to the wolves who were making for the doors, as the warlock partially turned to glare at the backs of his friends’ heads with fury, “You’re lucky you’re walking out and not crawling out.”
The warlock spun around to face the Devil, his body pushing into Loren, though he did—wisely—let go of her waist. She teetered, grasping at the air, and barely stopped herself from faceplanting on the floor. “Who are you, her boyfriend?”
“I’m Darien fucking Cassel.”
A beat of silence followed his words; it bled into the surrounding crowd until nothing could be heard but the thumping of the music and the distant sound of fighting continuing down on the bottom floor. Up here, movement had ceased, and all eyes were on them.
“Yeah, I’m his,” Loren slurred, teetering in her heels. “And he’s Darien fucking Cassel.”
The warlock, at last realizing whose soil he stood on, fully stepped away from her, as if she’d suddenly burst into flames.
Loren staggered across the room, but before she could get to Darien, the warlock lunged for her in a dark blur—
And then Darien was there, grabbing the warlock by the windpipe, his grip so hard the warlock’s face instantly turned purple. “Touch her again and I’ll cut your goddamn heart out.” His words had Loren more sober than she was before, fear slicing so deep that whatever drug was in her system was nearly scared right out of it.
The warlock finally took that as his cue to leave, and the moment Darien let go of his throat, he practically ran for the exit, the doors banging open with his departure.
Loren gurgled a laugh. She didn’t think they’d be back for a while. Her hands grazed one of Darien’s arms, feeling the hard muscles beneath his skin. “I love these arms,” she burbled. She was vaguely aware of him clipping a chain around her neck.The Avertera talisman,said a small voice in her head. “Ilovethem—”
Suddenly top-heavy, she veered for the floor, propelled forward by her own weight. The ground got closer and closer…
And then she was floating.
No, someone was carrying her. His touch was gentle. Soft, yet very strong—stronger than the men who’d grabbed her. Her head felt light as a feather as this angel carried out of the club and down the street, toward a black vehicle that was parked by the curb.
She was safe now. Shefeltsafe. There was nowhere in the world that was safer than here.
Instead of trying to see, she listened.
The sound of a car door swinging open. Her gauzy dress tugging and sliding across cool leather. The door closing behind her, and other doors opening.
She peeked through her eyelashes to see that she was lying on the backseat of Darien’s car. Darien had just got into the driver’s seat and was starting the engine. Maximus was in the passenger seat, and Dallas was sitting beside Loren, brushing Loren’s hair back from her sweat-slick face. Dallas was speaking, but Loren couldn’t hear a word, the sounds that were shaped by the witch’s red lips nothing but unintelligible echoes. Loren’s mouth was dry, and she felt like she had to vomit.
A strange, high-pitched music wailed through the night. Sirens, she realized. She felt like she was dreaming as the edges of her vision shimmered and sparked like fireworks.
Suddenly, people were shouting. Max and Dallas were screaming at Darien to start driving, to get away from here before the peace officers, who were screeching to a halt out front of the club, came up to the car. Loren had no idea what was happening, or why Darien was delaying, but then he was accelerating onto Angelthene Boulevard, the motion causing Loren to roll into the backrest of the seat. She nearly threw up, bile rising to coat her tongue.
Everything went black, and Loren didn’t come to again until she was lying on the couch in the sitting room at Hell’s Gate. Darien was leaning over her, hands braced on his knees, his face colorful and shimmery. The ceiling fan was on low, and she watched it like it was a mobile spinning above a crib.
“She’s awake,” Loren heard him say, his words echoing again and again and again. Her surroundings twisted and duplicated like the inside of a kaleidoscope. “I need you to sit up for me, Lola.” His sentence was repeated by her own mind, again and again.
I need you to sit up for me, Lola.
I need you to sit up for me, Lola.
