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“Where’s Ransome?” Declan asked.
The wolf ignored his question and moved to the side. He smiled down at Ana. “It’s been what, fifty years?”
“Closer to sixty,” she answered stiffly.
“How’s Jean-Charles?” The wolf’s eyes glittered strangely and Declan felt an immediate shift in the air.
Who the hell was Jean-Charles?
“I have no clue.” Ana stepped closer to Declan. “Let’s go,” she said tightly.
“Really?” the wolf murmured. “I’m sorry to hear of your estrangement, but then again he was always the wild one, no?”
“You’re so full of shit,” Ana said tightly. “If Jean-Charles walked in here today you’d crap your pants.”
“Where’s Ransome?” Declan asked once more, and took a step toward the wolf as he did so.
Asher growled, a low warning shot from deep in his belly. “You will give me some space, sorcerer.”
Declan’s fingertips burned with energy and he flexed them in warning. “I won’t ask you again.”
“Back off, Asher,” Ana hissed. She took a step forward until she was at Declan’s side. “Or I will rip your throat out.”
Asher’s eyes narrowed as a wicked smile cut across his features. The air around him thickened and Declan knew he was close to the change. “I think I might enjoy that but there’s no time tonight.” The wolf nodded toward the mezzanine. “Ransome is expecting you.”
Declan grabbed Ana’s elbow and guided her through the crowd. The heavy beat was fueling the crowd something fierce. They walked through the sweaty, writhing bodies and he could taste the decadence.
Ana yanked her arm from his grip and proceeded up the stairs, leaving him to follow. The jeans she wore were faded, soft, and worn, and they gripped her curves like a second skin. He tore his eyes away and glanced down at the crowd. Asher licked his lips and smiled up at him, though his eyes were on Ana once more.
Declan ignored him even though he wanted to smash the wolf’s aristocratic nose. There could be no distractions. Not tonight.
Ana made her way toward the office, and it occurred to him that she’d been there before—she knew exactly where she was going. She didn’t knock and he followed her into Ransome’s office.
The wolf sat behind his desk, feet up, cigar in hand, and looking totally relaxed—a direct contrast to the borderline chaos that threatened his club. Declan nodded in greeting but it was the large man leaning against his desk who grabbed his attention.
Nico.
“Holy fuck,” Declan murmured. The jaguar warrior was dressed head to toe in leather and denim, but it was the blue Mohawk he sported and accompanying nose ring that had Declan’s attention.
Nico pushed away from the desk. “O’Hara.”
“What the hell happened to you?”
The warrior shrugged his shoulders. “A dancer at Ringo’s. I thought it was time for a change.”
“I see that,” Declan answered. “For most of us a change might mean more or less hair product, some facial hair. You look like you belong on the freakin’ A-team.” He glanced at Ransome and grinned. “Seriously, Mr. T’s got nothing on you.”
The jaguar ignored him and turned his attention to the vampire. If he was surprised to see her, he gave no indication. Ana stood a few feet away, legs wide and hands held loose at her sides, though the fists were still clenched.
Nico nodded to her. “You’re looking better than the last time I saw you in Vegas.”
“Considering I’d just been staked I sure as hell hope so.”
“Miss DeLacrux.” Ransome rose. “Welcome to the Voodoo Lounge.”
Ana arched a brow. “I’m sure Asher has told you I’ve been here before.”
“Yes, he did, though fortunately I missed your last visit and the ensuing chaos it produced.”
