Page 10 of Seduction in Blood
I ignored the two men as they begun chatting about some problems with the groceries. The lasagna was out of this world, and I polished off most of the food in short order, deciding to take my time with the salad and bread while drinking as much wine as possible. The pinot was starting to work its magic as my shoulders relaxed, and the tension I'd been holding since waking up in the catch box began to diminish.
With nothing else to look at, I turned toward the dark window. Based on my calculations, the window should face the ocean, but it was difficult to tell with the light fog that had rolled in.
I was savoring the last of my wine when I noticed a light moving slowly through the mist. The bright glow cast a single figure dancing in and out of the darkness. Before kneeling, the figure stopped and set a lantern on what looked like a tall grave marker. All I could discern was the hooded shape.
Blinds snapped shut, and I fell back, surprised to find Lucas frowning down at me.
His demeanor changed back to his original bland expression, though tiny frown lines that hadn't been there earlier creased his forehead. "I'll take you to your room now."
"Who was out there?"
He bent closer as if he didn't want Cook to hear. But I think it was more his way of ensuring I paid attention. "That is none of your business."
ChapterSix
Devon Trelane surveyedthe neighborhood as Sergi, his driver for this evening, eased the limo down the street. He would have driven himself, but it had been a long time since he'd walked these streets, and in this neighborhood, the owner of the block changed frequently. And though shifters and vampires shared the streets equally, it didn't mean they got along. There were rules, but here, where few watched, they were more suggested behaviors. Like one should floss every day, but truly, how many people actually did that? Well, maybe the shifters after each meal. He chuckled at the thought.
Shifters and vampires weren't supposed to kill each other. But accidents happened. As long as it didn't turn into civil war among the magical, no one questioned what went down in the Hollows. As a Council Elder, Devon should be protected, but he was under censure. And no one, other than his vampire family, would be concerned if a censured Council member met a grisly fate in this part of town. This time his laugh turned menacing. That would please some of the Council while making other's lives so much easier. So, for this meeting, he'd asked Sergi to drive him.
Sergi would have followed him anyway. He sighed. On the one hand, he appreciated his stalwart friend's concern for his welfare. On the other, there wasn't any place Devon could go on his own without one of his trusted friends following, even at a discreet distance.
"Go around once more." Devon thought he recognized the building, but he wanted to be sure. It seemed seedier than the last time he'd been here, but that was a long time ago. And he'd been a very different person in those days.
Sergi repeated their drive down the main street of the Hollows, then turned down a side street. After another block, Devon tapped his side window and pointed to a building on the left. Sergi nodded and drove another block before pulling over. The limo would be noticeable, but it wouldn't be the only one. Devon had counted three while they circled. There would be more parked in the back allies. While most of the action in this area involved drug deals and off-book, small-stakes gambling, more dangerous games occurred in club basements and abandoned warehouses on the edges of the district. That was where the big money was, along with the instinctual nature of being a magical creature.
In all-human neighborhoods, where drug kings ruled, expensive cars would be jacked and stripped if they weren't well guarded. In this district, anyone who fucked with a shifter or vampire would be hunted down. Maybe not right away, but the perpetrator would be forever looking over their shoulder until one day they would no longer have their head.
So, Devon let his guard down when he sensed Sergi following him. His bodyguard would be barely visible to anyone other than an older vampire. When Devon reached the house, he gave it a close scan as he walked by, then turned down the next alley, deciding to approach from the rear.
To most, little could be heard from the building, but Devon's oversensitive hearing detected voices from the basement, even though music blared from the nearby clubs. Vampires had exceptional hearing, sometimes too good, and newly created vampires required many months of training to separate superfluous noise. It took decades to distinguish a single voice in a room of hundreds.
Two men leaned against the building, monitoring the back door. Devon barely glanced at them as he approached. Sergi would station himself someplace in the shadows, only following Devon inside if he sensed trouble.
The Den had been his home for a long time. Not an overly original name for a shifter club, but its clientele weren't the discriminating type. When he'd first stumbled through the doors, half-mad on Magic Poppy, the outlawed juice of the Blood Poppy, this club was the only place willing to take him in. A decade passed before one of his still-trusting friends found him. It took two more decades before he walked away and never returned. That was thirty years ago.
The stairs creaked with a long squeal that sounded of age and broken dreams. When he reached the top step, one of the men shifted to the right to block the door. Devon decided not to give the security team a hard time. The doors had been his first assignment working at the club, not because of beefy arms or a thick neck—he didn't have either—but for his fangs. Everyone had their specialty. Devon simply stared at the man until he bowed his head and returned to his leaning spot. The men were older shifters, rough around the edges but ready to intimidate the uninitiated or the foolhardy. They recognized vampires and never questioned the elders. At least, that was one house rule he remembered, and it seemed that hadn't changed.
He pushed through the door and strode through the first-floor rooms. Small-time poker games, hook-up rooms for dalliances with magical creatures, and two bars that served cheap liquor. The upper-floor rooms, used for personal playtime, were the same, and he had to smile at the owner's deference toward predictability. Stepping down from the staircase, he surveyed the main room one last time before heading toward the kitchen, where stairs led down to the basement—the real action took place there.
Decker, the shifter who'd owned the club when Devon had lived there, had dug the basement deeper to support the high-walled cages made of thick, silver-lined wire required for magical fights. Additional rooms extended beyond the fight area, where darker fantasies played out. Turning away from that part of the basement, Devon pushed his way through the crowd to the bar. He hadn't come for the fights. He'd turned his back on that part of his life when he'd left the Den and had no desire to return to it.
The crowd thinned in the lounge as they moved toward the cage fights that would soon start. He found a spot at the end of the bar and sank onto the stool, surveying the room but not seeing anyone he recognized. Although that was best, it left him melancholy to know everyone he'd known had moved on—one way or another.
"Well, if it isn't Devon Trelane. I thought you'd be dead by now."
Devon smiled before glancing up to find the tall, shapely blonde saunter toward him. As usual, her thick mane of hair was piled high on her head, and her dark, penetrating eyes returned his perusal.
"I didn't see you come in." Sabrina's brows scrunched together as she studied him, and he tried not to squirm. She had a knack for looking straight through someone and instantly gauging their weakness. "You've changed."
"Maybe." He smiled, honestly pleased to see her. They'd had good times long ago, and along with Decker, she'd saved him from himself.
"I still see the shadows, though." She frowned, and Devon sensed her distress, as he had the last time she'd confronted him. The last time they'd spoken.
Devon had no reply, and she shrugged. "But you're still with us. That's something."
He gave her a slight nod to put her at ease. "Does Decker still come by?"
She laughed a deep, throaty chuckle that caught the attention of a randy group of shifters at a nearby table. Devon gave them the stare, and they straightened, heads down, before returning to their conversation.
