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“Too bad we couldn’t keep any alive,” Malachi says dispassionately, as he uses his foot to flip over one of the bodies. He’s got his phone out and takes a picture. It’s one of the Latians, but not all of them are here. And this dead demon was working for them. They’d grown their network with whispers and toxic lies.
Malachi is right though. I should have left one alive for questioning. The one wolf shifter, his head almost fully detached from his torso, is the only Latian shifter here. Along with him, there was the demon and a vampire I don’t recognize.
“ID that one.” My voice is vacant as I point to the unknown. I make it a point to know each creature in the Barrows, and I don’t forget faces. That one was new. My shirt sticks to my chest, soaked with blood and I look down at it in distaste. This suit is ruined now, all because my hunger is setting me on edge. I can’t bring myself to feed, especially not from the creatures I’ve been killing each night. Their blood is tainted with drugs, whether it’s coke, heroine, or Rapture. The small amounts that make it into my mouth burn my tongue and I spit whatever I can out as I fight. I’ve drunk tainted blood before, so I know I could if I had to.
It’s not her blood though. The only blood I crave. I know what my eyes look like, how those around me watch me with more care. I’ve been snapping more, quicker to fight, to kill.
“Get a crew down here and clean this mess up,” I bark out but Malachi knows better than to offer commentary. His phone is still in hand and he starts sending out orders. “And get a team down here to finish the offload. I want every single glass vial accounted for.”
My phone vibrates as Malachi brings his own to his ear with a sharp nod. He’s less bloodied than me, having stayed further back and covered me with the rifle now slung behind his back. I never drew my own handgun. I shake my head in disgust at myself. Shucking off my jacket, I find a relatively clean spot on my shirt to wipe the tacky drying blood from my hands. Pulling out my phone, I go to absently swipe the notification from Malachi’s text away but my thumb hovers over the screen.
It’s an image notification from Eloise. The first text message she’s ever sent me. My rage reignites as well as my desire. Her sheer disrespect and attitude earlier in the night nearly pushed me to the edge. I wanted nothing more than to throw her over my shoulder and haul her upstairs where I’d show her exactly why I’m the fucking king.
The rage is why I will not let myself close to her until I master it.
Opening the image, the world around me freezes as time stands still. She’s outside of Tooth and Claw, a fucking dive bar of an excuse for a club. A place I would never allow her to step foot in, a place I’ve considered razing to the ground for all the violence and danger towards women there. Only the balance of the Barrows keeps me from acting. And she’s there, wearing nothing but the fucking slip of a dress I couldn’t resist picking out. A dress meant for my eyes only.
More than that, though. I don’t give a fuck that she’s flipping me off. It’s the fucking neon blue vial at her lips, her head tilted back as she stares at me in direct challenge. Fucking Rapture. The drug that Deidre is currently going through withdrawal because of. A drug that should never have made it into her hands.
My phone shatters under my grip a moment before I let out a guttural roar of death and throw the crumpled phone into the ocean. It disappears into the night long before my hearing picks up the soft splash of it hitting the water.
“Sire?” Malachi is at my side, his brows narrowed and his rifle in his hands, ready to go to battle.
“Stay fucking here,” I snarl, as the final threads of my tenuous control start snapping like violin strings.
I’m running before my words have finished, darkness roiling around me as I make my way through the twisted roads and alleys of the Barrows. Creatures, even humans, sense me as I run, the former diving for cover and the latter cowering in place.
A small part of me tells myself to calm down, that I can’t go to Eloise like this, but I fuckingwarnedher.
I halt at the curb in front of the seedy nightclub, right in front of a familiar motorcycle. Regardless of the stares of the terrified creatures, I sink my fingers into the seat and gas tank, the metal buckling under my grip. I slam it into the ground, the machine crumbling into pieces as it dents the asphalt. Screams accompany the sound of the blow, and the smell of terror cuts through the scent of blood in my nose.
Then I smell her: lavender and apricot. Strong enough to know she hasn’t been here long.
I stalk towards the door, the crowd fleeing from my bloody visage. Not even the bouncers try to stand between me and my goal. I step over the pathetic velvet rope and kick the door off its hinges, sending it flying inside. Harsh music violates my ears as a cacophony of screams and scents washes over me.
Unlike the crowds outside, everyone in here is too fucked up on something to recognize death has arrived. The prickle of a vampire’s stare itches in my skull and I locate them—fucking Lan. He will pay for bringing my mate here. She’s pushed me too far to ignore the truth of my connection with her. She’s my goddamn mate and I will bring her to heel.
The only reason I don’t rip Lan’s throat out is because of his stance and proximity to Eloise. It only takes two heartbeats to scan the situation, and see he’s sober and ignoring the women around him. His glare is the only thing keeping a small circle of space around the dancing woman.
If I found out anyone touched her, I will have their hands.
I stalk through the crowd, shoving dancers out of my way. Strangled shouts or insults are cut off when they realize who and what I am. The closer I get to her, the more people realize what’s in their midst and they’re faster to clear the way.
She has her back to me, her arms up and bent over her head, her hips swaying to the music. Her back is on display, though fortunately for everyone around, not as much as the dress I’d picked for the dinner. A bead of sweat rolls down her spine, and I want to lap it up. She’s sultry in her movements, the plump bottom of her ass playing peek-a-boo as she gyrates, her thighs taunting me above the boots.
I ignore the dancers who watch us with horror and press right up against her back. I grip the front of her thigh with one hand and capture her loose flowing hair in the other, yanking her head back and making her cry out. I want to lick the sound from her mouth.
She looks up at me, her eyes clear and only the faint hint of vodka on her breath. She didn’t take any Rapture. Eloise fucking played me. Dared to manipulate me, thinking she could get away with it. My lip twitches into a snarl, my fangs bared as the lights of the club pulse and flash around us. She grips my forearm near her thigh with both hands, as if she could rip me away from her.
Her eyes widen as she recognizes me and then takes in the blood smeared across my face. I bend my lips to her ear and her fingers dig into my arm.
“I told you that you would lose if you tested me.” She shudders against me, her gasp only for my ears before it’s drowned out by the music. My fingers dig into her thigh, my thumb sliding up just under the hem of her dress as I pull back to relish in her regret.
Except my little lamb is smirking at me, pressing her lush ass against my hardness without shame. “Are you sureI’mlosing, Ambrose?” Her words are lost in the music but I hear them all the same.
I sweep her into my arms, spinning on my heel as she wraps her arms around my neck. Then I’m racing us back to the house, back to my office, the door slamming shut behind us. Only the ancient fear deep inside keeps me from taking her to my bed. If I got her there, I’d ravage her body, breaking it under me.
Eloise is breathless from being carried so quickly, and I drop her onto her feet and shove her against the wall before she can get her bearing. I keep her there with a hand wrapped around her throat and finally I smell the sweet and sour scent of her fear.
