She turned to apologize. “Sorry, I—”
An enormous shifter stood behind her. Sandy blond hair brushed his wide shoulders. “Who let the vampire’s toy in here?”
She pulled up to her full height, but she still didn’t reach his chest. “I’m no one’s toy.”
“Did your master send you or did you come seeking revenge on your own?”
“What? No. The only thing I’m seeking is Doc.”
Two massive, clawed hands grabbed her by the straps of her sacres and lifted her into the air. Gold eyes stared back at her, the pupils reflecting green. He tipped his shaggy head back and roared. Pain erupted in her ears.
She fought her instinct to stick one of her wrist blades into him and shut him up. Instead she put her foot against his thigh and pushed. He didn’t budge. There had to be a way to resolve this without creating an incident. “Please, put me down. I don’t want to hurt you.”
He shook her, rattling her brain. “You don’t want to hurt me?” His short burst of laughter faded into something much more menacing. He pulled her closer, his hot breath wafting over her. “Your kind got our pride leader killed, vampire whore. Now you come here, to the heart of us, bearing weapons? Taunting us?”
A crowd circled around them. Heads nodded at his words. “Make her pay, Brutus,” someone shouted.
Brutus untangled his right hand from her sacre straps and clamped it around her throat.
Being choked had a way of making a person no longer care about creating an incident.
She reached for a blade.
Chapter Nine
Chrysabelle’s scent draped the freighter’s corridors like holiday bunting, causing the voices to whine. Mal called her name, expecting to run into her at any moment. “Chrysabelle? You here?” But he couldn’t sense her, and her lack of answer confirmed she wasn’t on the ship. She had been here recently, though. There was no other way her perfume would be so strong.
“Fi, come out here.” Maybe she knew. He called a second time but still no answer or appearance. Where were they? He walked the corridors, listening, but the ship was a tomb. He couldn’t even pick up the comar’s heartbeat down in the hold. An eerie sense of something gone wrong gnawed his bones. You should know.
Following the traces of Chrysabelle’s scent to where it was the strongest brought him to his quarters. Jammed into the door frame, a piece of paper shone dully in the fading solars. He pulled it free and read the note, the words filling him with dread.
Pride headquarters was not a good place for Chrysabelle. Mal doubted that Sinjin had been alone in his plan to kill comarré and place the blame on the vampire population. There had to have been other pride members who’d thought it was a good idea. Maybe even helped Sinjin plan the attacks.
For her to go strolling in there, even if it was to warn Doc… What if Doc wasn’t there? What if she ran into someone Sinjin had been in collusion with?
Son of a priest.
He dropped the paper and took off running. Pride headquarters wasn’t that far away. With fresh human blood in his system, he could get there faster on foot than by car. The abandoned port disappeared behind him and the miles sped by. Under the cover of night, the few pedestrians he passed barely noticed him as anything more than a sudden breeze.
He slowed a block away from Bar Nine, recognizing Chrysabelle’s car. He tapped the window.
Jerem powered it down and tipped his head in greeting. “Malkolm.”
Fi leaned through the partition from the backseat. “Hey, Mal. I guess you got Chrysabelle’s note.”
“She inside?”
Fi nodded. “About a minute ago. You just missed her.”
He looked at Jerem. “Why didn’t you go in with her?”
Lips pressed firmly together, he frowned. “She wouldn’t let me.”
“Typical,” Mal muttered. “I better check on her.”
“You want me to come?” Jerem asked. “You might have a better shot of getting in if I’m along.”
“No, I can manage.” His powers of persuasion would open the doors. “I know one of the guys who works the front.” Liar liar liar. “Stay here and protect Fi.”
“I don’t need protecting,” she called out, but he was already moving away from the car.
The bouncers walked toward him as he approached but stayed inside the velvet ropes. He held his hands up as a show of peace. “Not looking for trouble, just a friend.”
The short one snorted. “No friends here, vampire. Turn around and go back the way you came. This is varcolai territory.”
Now close enough to make good eye contact, Mal let power come into his voice, doing his best to direct it toward both shifters. The blood in his system helped. “I’m a feline varcolai, just like you.”
“No, you’re…” The bouncers stared, round-eyed and wavering.
He pushed harder, causing a small ripple of dizziness in the back of his brain. “I smell like earth and musk, the scents of a shifter. My eyes reflect the same gold that yours do. Welcome me to the club, then forget me.” We wish we could.
Fogged with persuasion, the pair nodded slowly. The big one unhooked the rope from the stanchion and moved aside. “Welcome,” he mumbled.
“Welcome,” the shorter one added.
Mal darted inside, hoping the persuasion held. He paused to lean against a wall in a small alcove until the residual vertigo passed. Chrysabelle’s blood would have prevented him from taking such a hit from so small a power drain. Human blood just didn’t pack the same punch as what flowed through her veins. He inhaled. She was definitely here. A few seconds later, loud voices emanated from the club’s interior. Someone was unhappy. He straightened and listened closer.