“Let it go, Dallas!” Her voice was barely a croak, every word trembling harder than her legs. “He’s not worth it.”
The werewolves disappeared into the throng of people, and after giving Loren and her friends a few stern words, the bouncer returned to his station at the entrance. With the excitement over, everyone who was watching the scene unfold returned to their dancing and drinking, releasing Loren from their gazes at last.
Sabrine’s mouth curled into a frown as she looked at her cellphone, the screen illuminating her silken black hair and the sharp planes of her honey-brown face. “Girls, it’s almost Witching Hour. We should reserve a cab.” Oh, crap.
Loren pulled her own phone out of her cross-body purse to check the time, as if it might display different numbers than Sabrine’s. They’d done the one thing Loren had always promised herself she would never do after sunset: lose track of time. City buses didn’t operate this late at night, so cabs were their only option.
Dallas hummed thoughtfully. She shoved her Focus into her purse, the glowing amethyst reflecting in the black leather of her dress—a strapless number that hugged every curve and dip of her hourglass figure. “What’s tonight’s forecast?”
Loren felt the blood drain from her face. “Don’t even think about it, Dal. That’s how people get eaten or attacked by machetes. Have you already forgotten what happened last summer?”
Dallas rolled her eyes. “Relax, Lor,” she sighed, snatching up her vodka soda from the sticky linoleum. She took a sip, being careful not to smear her ruby lips—colored not with makeup but with a glamour, though still susceptible to touch. “I was simply asking. Though I hope you realize how long we’re going to have to wait for a cab.”
Loren hated to admit it, but Dallas made a point. Although nightlife in Angelthene was limited, the few clubs and cabarets dotting the downtown core were packed on weekends, so cabs were a rare commodity. Nobody walked anywhere after sunset, not unless they had a death wish.
Or unless the moon was full, and they decided to take their chances.
Sabrine’s stiletto nails clicked against her phone screen. “Skies are mostly clear. Sturgeon moon.” She quirked an arched brow and gave Dallas a look heavy with implication.
Dread curled in Loren’s stomach. “If you guys want to walk, go ahead. It’s not my funeral,” she said. “But I for one would rather take my chances with the cabs.” She peeled a strand of wet hair off her cheek. As soon as she got home, she would take a shower—but first she would have to worry about making it there in one piece. While most cities had rat infestations, Angelthene’s pest problem involved feral demons that crawled on all fours and cared about onlyonething: the taste of flesh.
Especially human.
Dallas gave a shrug and drained the last of her vodka soda. The look in her eyes suggested she was itching to argue about the situation further, or perhaps call Loren out on how there was no way in hell she would ever choose to split up from them. But a meaningful glance from Sabrine stilled her tongue.
“Call a cabby, then,” Dallas said to Sabrine. But Loren was already on it.
She wasn’t surprised to find the lines tied up. She got through after making two dozen calls to several different companies, but by that time the clock was inching past Witching Hour.
They waited for the cab out front of the club, beneath the bright, protective glow of the HID lamps that were normally seen at sports stadiums and warehouses. The dry, late-summer heat threatened to bake Loren’s very bones, and she found her eyelids drooping shut as she sat at the base of the winged statue of Ignis, Her Infernal Majesty of the Seven Circles. Only the honk of car horns slicing through the night and the music that dribbled through the metal doors of the club kept her from drifting off.
The full Sturgeon moon shone as brightly as the city’s display of billboards that advertised everything from grimoires and magic staves to blood donor clinics for the more civilized vampires of Angelthene. Palm trees lined either side of Gamma Pagasi Street, fronds swaying in a balmy wind that carried the smoky hint of creosote and the cool bite of sage.
If Loren tipped her head at just the right angle, she could make out a faint greenish cast from the protective forcefield that formed a dome over the city, its magic stemming from the Control Tower in the heart of the North End. The forcefield wasn’t perfect by any means, but it served as protection for its citizens from outside forces, mainly the creatures that awoke during Blood Moons. Of course, it did nothing to shield them from the dangers that were already under the dome, but Loren didn’t let herself think about that. Her mind was a dangerous place, especially when she was this tired.
The club began to empty at one in the morning. Werewolves, warlocks, witches, vampires, and humans piled into taxicabs that took off as quickly as they rolled up to the curb at the brightly lit entrance. The odd limousine flitted by with windows half-down, the bass of the sound systems thumping over the asphalt.
Loren sighed. “Our cab driver’s sure taking his sweet-ass time.”
“School starts in seven hours,” Sabrine grumbled. The harsh light of the HID lamp she was leaning against turned her face a sickly shade of gray. “At this rate, I’m not going to get any sleep.”
“Wecouldstart walking,” Dallas said. She bent over to rub at her ankles, the skin scraped raw from the straps of her heels. At the sight of her muscled golden legs on full display, a wolf and a warlock staggering past leered and catcalled at her. She rolled her eyes and flipped them off.
The werewolf slowed. His gaze snagged on Loren…and lingered there. He was cute, in that boy-next-door sort of way.
Before he could look away from her—as Loren knew he would—she dropped her eyes to the ground, feigning a sudden interest in the cigarette butts and neon glowsticks littering the sidewalk around her feet. Immortals had little interest in humans, and if they did it was only for an hour or a night. Another reason she hadn’t cared to dance with Jerome: all she was to guys like him was something pretty to look at. A mere blip in a gloriously immortal lifespan. Ahalf-life.
Dallas’s voice made Loren jump. “Don’t even think about it, fur-face!” Loren looked up in time to see the wolf and his warlock pal scurrying toward their cars.
Loren sighed. “I could’ve handled that myself, Dal.” Maybe she should consider giving Jerome’s question some more thought—about whether Dallas was a bodyguard or a cock-block. Even though Dal always had Loren’s best interests in mind, sometimes she wondered if there were times when the witch simply couldn’t handle not being the center of attention.
Dallas snorted and gave her a once-over that was anything but kind. “As ifyouwere going to tell him off.”
“Maybe I was,” Loren snapped.
Every trace of humor vanished from Dallas’s face. “You’re grumpy tonight.”
“I never even wanted to come out.”
