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The former, he said, voice full of censure. You really need to start trusting me more, Risa.
I do trust you—to watch my back and keep me alive. What I don’t trust is that you’re ever going to be completely honest with me.
I have never been dishonest with you.
No. But you never tell me everything you know, either.
Sometimes it is better that way.
And that is why I trust you to keep me safe but not to keep me informed.
A shadow loomed in front of us, forming into a long stick of vampire. He had carrot red hair and the eyebrows and beard to match, and his eyes were a merry blue. He smelled faintly of lilac and soap, which was a damn sight more than could be said about the other vampires in the room. It seemed they were upholding Aunt Riley’s pet peeve about certain sections of the vampire community—or the great unwashed, as she tended to call them. They were usually younger in vampire years, although—again according to Aunt Riley—there were a few guardians who apparently had an aversion to cleanliness, too.
“Risa Jones,” the vampire said, stopping in front of us and holding out his hand. “I’m Brett Marshall. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“I’d love to say the same,” I replied, noticing that his flesh was cool and his grip without real strength. Maybe Hunter hadn’t told him that I was half werewolf, so he was adjusting the handshake accordingly. I had certainly expected someone capable of curtailing any wayward actions of the better part of a dozen vampires to hold more physical strength than what he’d just shown. Maybe Hunter had meant something other than physical strength. “But that would be a total lie.”
He laughed. It was a pleasant sound, but sat oddly against the tense, almost needy atmosphere in the room. “I would have questioned your sanity if you’d said anything else.” His gaze flicked over my shoulder. “I see you have brought along a rather impressive guard.”
“His name is Azriel,” I said, “and can you blame me?”
“Certainly not. Please, follow me.”
He turned and walked down some steps. The darkness seemed even deeper here, a blanket that was lifted only by the flickering of Valdis’s fire. It was hard to see anything, but I could smell booze and blood under the stink of vampire. Another shiver ran down my spine and my pulse rate jumped a little—never a good thing in a room filled with needy vampires.
I followed Marshall across the room. Tables and chairs gradually became visible as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, but the vampires remained curiously out of sight. They had to be shadowing, because the scent that surrounded us indicated that some of them were quite close.
Marshall opened a door at the far end of the room, and faint amber light fanned out across the nearby shadows, briefly lifting them. To the right of the door stood a vampire who was little more than skin and bones. His face was gaunt—sunken-cheeked and pop-eyed—and he reminded me very much of someone on the edge of starvation. But given the underlying aroma of blood in the room, that surely could not be the case.
I stepped into the room and looked around. Like the foyer, it was comfortably furnished, with an office set up at one end and a sofa and chairs at the other. A percolator burbled away in one corner, the rich aroma thankfully overwhelming the smells coming in from the larger room.
“Please,” Marshall said, “help yourself to coffee.”
I glanced at the percolator, but—mindful of my somewhat uneasy stomach—opted not to take him up on his offer. I perched on the edge of one of the chairs instead. Azriel stopped behind me, the heat of his presence swirling around me, a blanket I wanted to wrap close to chase away the increasing sense of trepidation. And I wasn’t sure whether it was this place, Hunter’s warning, or something I sensed but had yet to uncover.
Marshall walked past us and took a seat on the sofa opposite us, one arm stretched across the back of it. If he was worried about the deaths linked to his club, he wasn’t showing it.
“So tell me,” he said pleasantly, “why you?”
I shrugged. “I have more experience roaming the gray fields, so Hunter thinks I may spot something the Cazadors would miss.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And did Hunter give you the nanowire you’re wearing?”
I hadn’t felt him attempting to read my mind, but then, with the best telepaths, you didn’t. “No. That’s something I thought might be handy considering who I’m often dealing with.”
“It’s not one I’ve come across before.”
“Because it’s not actually on the market yet.” I’d gotten it from Tao’s cousin, Stane, who had some very well-placed fingers in the black-market pie. “I haven’t come here to discuss nano implants. Hunter tells me the five victims were all regulars of your club.”
He crossed his legs and plucked at lint on his pants—a gesture that reminded me oddly of Hunter. “They were. Although Jack Mayberry was a recent inductee.”
I wondered which victim Mayberry was. Hunter hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with their names. “Inductee?”
He studied me for a moment, then said, “What has Hunter told you about this club?”
“Only that it caters to a particular type of clientele, and that it would be extremely dangerous for me to be here after dark.”
He half smiled. “It’s typical that she would send you here expecting results without fully explaining the true purpose of the club.”
