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She’d already stumbled off with the rest of them. He didn’t, easing into my space. Borgus just watched from the sidelines.
“Too bad she spilled that good champagne. No worries, baby. I’ll wipe it off for you.”
“Um, no you won’t.” I didn’t need any acting for my next trick. As one of his hands came up, most probably to grab my breast, I gripped his forefinger and bent his whole hand and arm backward and upside down. He turned to avoid the severity of my hold, allowing me to twist his entire arm behind his back. He cried out as I pushed his hand closer to his spine and higher. Wings ruffled in my face when another Morgon grabbed him by the shoulder, dragging him toward the arena.
“Stop fuckin’ around, Drom. I’ve got money on this fight.”
His friend hadn’t noticed what had happened in the blue gloom of the underground club. But I didn’t miss the glare of malice Layla’s beastlike friend, Drom, shot over his shoulder as he was hauled into the crowd.
“Well, now,” said Borgus, clinking his glass to mine, half-empty from my struggle with Drom. “That was impressive. It’s not every day I see a beautiful woman send an angry Morgon violently on his way.”
I took a sip of champagne, letting him get a nice, long look at my vulnerable throat, deciding this was the moment. It was now or never. I needed to go for the jugular, or in this guy’s case, the groin.
I set the champagne glass on the table and snapped his handkerchief from his front lapel to wipe the liquid from my breasts. I didn’t need to look up to know he watched the slow move of my hand across my cleavage.
“I’d have to say”—I finished dabbing and folded the handkerchief in a perfect square, leaning my body against his—“that I’m not every woman.” I tucked the cloth back into its place, smoothing his lapels with both hands, letting them rest near his shoulders, my breasts brushing the silk of his suit jacket. “And I’m picky about my men.”
“Oh?”
“Strong. And confident, of course.”
“Of course.” He edged closer.
“A man with unwavering determination who knows how to please a woman. And one who understands what a woman wants, even if she doesn’t know herself.”
I blinked, realizing my description matched a certain Morgon with ice in his voice and fire in his kiss. A roar erupted from the crowd at the arena as I held his gaze, mere inches from his face.
“Do you know, Moira, that you carry the scent of another Morgon man?”
The fact that he was harping on this issue meant I needed to step up my game and convince him Kol didn’t matter. I let my lashes fall, then lifted them in a provocative manner. “He doesn’t mean anything.” My stomach twisted. “I need a new Morgon man.”
He slid a finger along my jawbone and across my lower lip. I didn’t move, praying he wouldn’t kiss me, wishing I had my medal for comfort. I had refused to wear it. A woman looking for a promiscuous liaison would never have something of that sort around her neck. My heart hammered despite my bravado. He leaned in close, his tone seductive and dominant. “Come. Take a walk with me.”
I smiled, hoping no fear shone in my eyes. He wrapped a hand around mine, leading me away from the bar, winding around table-tops and the few couples engaged in amorous play rather than watching the fight. He led me toward the exit. The exit as Kol had warned me the first night I’d met him.
“Where does this go?”
He pulled me closer. “Outside.”
“Oh.”
My witty banter came to an abrupt halt. My throat felt thick. This was it. Soon enough, I’d be whisked away to God knew where. The noise of the cellar grew distant. The hollow clopping of my boots and his expensive shoes echoed off the walls, sconces of golden light tossing long shadows across the cavern. We rounded a bend. The silence heavier, I needed to say something just to ease my nerves. “Do you live close by?”
I shivered at the eerie smile I caught in the torch-light.
“We’ll be alone soon enough.”
A few more steps and he stopped, his grip easing around my wrist, holding me still.
“What is it?”
I stared up ahead, unable to discern anything in the gloom. An odd scraping or ticking sound reverberated from the shadowy recesses. A tendril of malevolence permeated the air, twining itself up my body and around my throat. I could no longer keep my pulse from pounding away. Something terrible lurked in the dark. Something terrible drew closer. My courage evaporated like mist. Suddenly, I didn’t want to do this anymore. I didn’t want to be the bait. Primal fear shook me senseless, screaming at me to run. Borgus tightened his hold on my wrist, staring fixedly into the gloom, willing whatever was there to come forth. My whole being drew back, sensing an evil otherness hovering in shadow, waiting to take me.
All at once, a stomping of several feet approached fast. I spun around to the sight of Drom barreling toward me, rage marking every strained line of his face. “There’s the bitch.”
“Shit,” I mumbled.
Drom grabbed me at the same time three of his friends attacked Borgus. Then it was mayhem. Streaks of Morgon men flew into the melee, evaporating out of thin air. Growling. Yelling. The whoosh of flapping wings. I caught the profile of Lorian zip past me as Drom shoved me back against the wall. Scuffling and grappling filled the corridor.
