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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 RÄksasa?”
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.>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.”
