Page 41 of Death Game: Supernatural Battle

I located the journalist, cocking a hip and flicking my hair back as the cameras flashed. I hated stuff like this. I wasn’t a natural mover. MET Gala clips on YouTube were a fucking godsend. “You don’t enjoy doing things you know you shouldn’t?” I asked her, tilting my head. That would reinforce the nightclub brand.

“Is this a sign of what’s to come from the Le Spyre empire?” she called in reply. “A left-turn from your grandmother’s plaid vision?”

Andthisis part of why I hated events. In a bid not to show my reaction, I turned my gaze to a camera, dropping my chin to deliver what Ihopedwas a saucy smoulder. Part of me was glad I’d done the photo shoot with Lionel.

“My grandmother hated plaid,” I said mildly.

They had enough shots to do what I’d invited them for. As long as the Indebted hadn’t stood me up, whether the media painted the club in a good or bad light, this place would be filled to the brim for months to come. A promise of mixing with the rich and famous—with a healthy dose of exclusivity—very few could resist such an allure. Probably just Mrs Gaughton, Mr Triffz, and the rest of my realty trouble list.

“Middle left! Who can we expect to come tonight?” a man in a greasy T-shirt boomed.

Who indeed.

I scanned him up and down. “No one you’d know.”

The other journalists laughed.

Old money bitchery. I was kind of great at faking it. At least, I hoped it was mostly fake...

I’d settle for 50 percent fake.

Fred directed me through the alleyway to a small square sign halfway down. Ricky’s flashing neon2274sign was replaced immediately. If a person didn’t know whereForbiddenwas, they’d never find it.

Exclusive.

To my surprise, the doors were pulled inward as I approached.

My heart leapt at the sight of Marcus and Kirsten in their black leather outfits. I grinned at them as I entered. Cameras flashed from behind to get a glimpse. All they’d see were two beautiful creatures and a black curtain.

I faced the two Vissimo when the doors closed. “Glad you could show up.”

Two were here at least, and the squeeze in my heart at the sight of them was borderline painful.

Sweeping back the black curtain, I stared at the vampires filling the club. More than my fifty were here. Way more. Several hundred at least.

I located as many of my estate crew as possible in the crowd. “Thank you for coming,” I said to the gathered group.

My voice only wobbled alittle.

Laurel dipped her head. The tension in my shoulders drained away at the smiles on those filling the dance floor. We were on the bottom floor of the building. The club extended for several levels, becomingmore exclusivethe higher you went. Or darker and more boring, in other words.

“Whatever clan you’ve come from tonight, welcome! Between you and me, my ears still can’t handle loud music. So tonight, for what may be the first clubbing night ever for some of you, I declare a silent disco.”

I gestured to the carts of headphones around the room. “Grab headphones and dance to your heart’s content. Take whatever you want from behind the bar. Drinks are on me tonight! And rest easy, there are no human staff in the building.”

I’d asked my club manager to purchase a pre-recorded set from a local DJ. For legal reasons, my three home chefs—each with a bartending license—were registered as working. The regular staff would begin next Thursday, and the club manager would usually be in residence instead of me. Though I’d pop in once a month or so.

We were a three-days-a-week nightclub. Quality not quantity.

Vissimoblurred to the headphones as I strolled to the bar, watching as they figured out just what silent disco meant. I grinned as they began to dance, blurring and twisting. The reporters outside would have no fucking idea why the club was so quiet.

I slid onto a stool, and Laurel, Josie, and Kelsea approached. They alone wore something other than black leather. They’d come in the dresses I gifted them when trying to catch the spy in the tower.

“Thank you for coming,” I repeated, unsure if we were cool.

“You were shitting yourself before you came in, admit it,” Kelsea said, nudging me.

I glanced behind. “Sure was. A white leotard was a terrible choice.”

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