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The blonde stepped in front of Declan, her hand falling to his chest. “What’s the rush, sugar? Don’t you wanna play?” She laughed softly. Her eyes were dilated, filled with the synthetic happiness of whatever kind of drug she’d ingested.
“Not interested.” He removed her hand and followed Ransome, ignoring the expletives she shouted after him. The dense crowd parted like the Red Sea, allowing them easy access to Ransome’s office located on the upper level of the bar.
The door closed behind them, muffling the heavy beat of the band. Declan exhaled slowly and watched as Ransome poured a generous tumbler of bourbon, but declined when the wolf offered him a glass as well.
Ransome smiled lazily, his slow Louisiana drawl falling from his lips like a melody. “So, what brings you back to these parts, my friend?”
“I’m looking for someone.”
Ransome snorted. “Aren’t we all?”
“This one’s special.”
Again the wolf laughed. “Aren’t they all?”
Declan shook his head. “Not like this one.”
The smile that graced the wolf’s face fled immediately and his eyes narrowed. Declan nodded. Now he had his full attention.
Ransome took a long swig of bourbon, hissing as it went down, though his eyes never left Declan’s.
“Where you been for the last two years?”
The wolf’s question took him by surprise, and Declan was silent for several seconds. To Hell and back.
“Around,” he answered softly as he eyed the shifter closely.
Ransome smiled though his eyes remained aloof. “It’s a dangerous world, my friend, and we don’t always know who the enemy is. A little elaboration would be welcome.”
Declan didn’t like where the conversation was headed. He had no time for posturing.
“It’s common knowledge you broke ties with the Castille brothers, but the rumors of your whereabouts have been murky at best. You working alone?”
Declan wasn’t surprised at Ransome’s words. The werewolf had always kept a paw on the pulse of the otherworld. “No,” he replied dryly. “I’ve got a new boss.”
An image of Bill flashed in front of his eyes and he clenched his teeth together tightly. The little bastard was one of the Seraphim, angelic creatures who had absolute dominion over the upper realm. They also dipped into the affairs of humanity or wherever else they saw fit.
Two years ago Bill had pulled Declan from the bowels of Hell. Unfortunately his one-way ride out of darkness had come with a price. The Seraphim currently owned Declan’s ass for several lifetimes to come. He was now part of a group of soldiers known as the Seraph. They did the bidding of the Seraphim, no questions asked.
“A name would be good.”
“I don’t have time to play twenty questions, LaPierre.”
The werewolf studied him in silence and a slow burn of frustration hit Declan’s skin.
“What does your boss want with this pe
rson who’s different?”
Declan’s anger spiked and rode the edge of pissed-off. “My new deal doesn’t come with a lot of answers. I do as I’m told and move on.”
LaPierre poured himself another drink, this time not offering the same to Declan.
“Nothing is ever as it seems, O’Hara.”
“No shit,” he answered, his voice tight. “Bill might be an arrogant little prick but he’s Seraphim.”
Ransome’s eyes narrowed at that. “And how’s that going?”
