“Sweet,” she said, and handed them both to me. “I wish I could go,” she said, pouting. She pulled my hair into a funky half-up, half-down sort of do, with my bangs long and free. “But Papa said I should just let the boys go with you for now.” She looked at me, her brows pulled together. She glanced at my chest, then back to me. “I wish I’d been a little older when Papa changed me.” She looked down at herself. “I’ll never have boobs like you. I’m flat chested forever. It sucks.”
I smiled. “I know it seems like it sucks,” I said, and then flushed when I remembered Eli’s words. I inclined my head. “But boobs are more trouble than they’re worth sometimes anyway. I have a hard time fitting into clothes sometimes. Pain in the ass.” I grinned. “Tell ya what. Why don’t you pick out a choker? I’ve got a hundred of them.”
“Cool, thanks!” she said, and dove back into the plundering. “Any of them?”
“Sure,” I said, then grabbed my navy All Stars and headed into the living room. “Ready?” I said to Luc and Phin, both standing near the window looking out. They turned, and I gotta say—it’s one thing when you get a reaction from a regular dude that they think you look hot. It’s another experience altogether when it’s a pair of century-plus-old vampires ogling. I shamelessly confess to liking the ego being boosted a little.
“Damn, Riley,” Luc said, looking more like a wolf than a vamp.
“Double damn,” said Phin, and he grinned at me. He was remembering my dreams, although I never did go into detail. I didn’t have to. I’m sure he slipped into my thoughts. I could so tell.
I shook my head. “Pervs. It’s just jeans and a tank. Let’s go. And I’m driving.” I glanced at them both appreciatively. Luc had on a pair of frayed jeans and a black formfitting tee with black boots. Phin wore a pair of black slim-fit jeans with a chain hanging from the pocket, a pair of black All Stars, and a gray long-sleeved mesh shirt. “Pretty hot yourselves, by the way,” I said, and headed to the door. I scrubbed Chaz on the head—Josie had taken him out earlier—and the Duprés followed me out.
We dropped Josie off in front of the Dupré House and made our way over to Martin Luther King. The plan was to hit the Panic Room, followed by a trip to the Morgue—another dark alternative club. If there was time, we’d hit one more: the Asylum. God, I hadn’t gone to any of those in quite a while. But Seth and the others would be hanging around the darker clubs for—I hated to say it—victims. So I had to put my fears aside despite my reservations. It hadn’t been easy giving them up, but once I had, I was done. I’d figured that if I was going to get clean and straighten my life out, and give Seth a good life, then I needed to cut clean of all things that would be a temptation to me. Now, some people, like Mullet? They went for the sheer fun of loud, head-bangin’ music, dance, and drink. I’d started out that way, but I became something else—a big-time clubber, long before reaching legal age, who couldn’t assert self-control. I didn’t even have the desire to go anymore. Weird.
The night air whisked through my opened Jeep as we cruised up Martin Luther King and turned down Williamson. I parked a street over, closer to the River Street side, and we got out. Much to the surprise of both Duprés, I tucked some bills into my bra, and my Jeep key in my pocket. I then gave Luc and Phin a heads-up on Zetty.
Just before we got to the entrance, Phin stopped me. His look was grave. “Preacher told us about, you know—when you were young. If it gets too much in here for you, just say the word.”
I gave Phin a smile. He really was one considerate vampire. “No prob. That habit left my body once the Gullah washed it out of me. But thanks for some good lookin’ out.”
Zetty greeted me the same as the other night, and greeted Luc and Phin with his hand resting on his trusty traditional Tibetan blade. His eyes followed us all the way inside.
Luc and Phin simply looked at each other and shrugged.
The moment we pushed through the doors, “Bad Company” by Five Finger Death Punch was pounding through the surround sound, and the familiar, sickening scent of smoke and liquor tinged with body sweat and pot hit us in the face. I knew Kelter would find me. It was like he could smell me, which really freaked me out. Luc went to the bar to order me a drink, while Phin and I melded into the throng of people dancing—or doing whatever it was they were doing.
I moved to the music, and Phin stayed close. I leaned in. “Pretty good moves for an old guy,” I said in his ear, and he laughed. While he seemed to be a free-willed young dude dancing with a crazy chick, I knew how serious he was taking this issue with the Arcoses. While he laughed, his gaze raked the crowds, searching for any of the boys with Riggs and Seth. Every once in a while I caught a glimpse of something dark in his eyes that was . . . beyond frightening. I’d seen it in Eli’s eyes, too. They were not to be underestimated. That much I knew.
We danced for a few more minutes, then made our way to the bar. “We’re going to leave you alone, but we’ll be close,” Phin said. “All you have to do is think me to you, and I’ll come.” I nodded, and he and Luc moved away. The black walls and strobe lights made the inside of the Panic Room surreal and dreamlike, and to me it was no surprise how so many people lost themselves. It wasn’t the club’s fault—the music rocked, and people drank in clubs every day and didn’t get screwed up. It was the fault of scumbags like Kelter, who added that little extra something that made innocent lives go to straight to hell, becoming completely submerged in the darkest dregs.
After almost forty minutes, there were no signs of Riggs, Seth, or any of the other boys, and Kelter hadn’t shown up. I decided to take a walk to the back of the club to see whether I noticed anything unusual. I eased away from the bar and moved into the crowd.
If I’d had a buck for every stray hand that felt my ass in the four minutes it took me to get to the horseshoe, I’d be filthy rich. But to find the body those hands belonged to would have taken a CSI team. Everyone looked as guilty as hell. Freaky-guilty, male and female alike. So I squelched my desire to knock the hell out of every potential ass grabber and hurried through the crowd. Once in the horseshoe, I made a beeline for the office doors, weaving through a line at the women’s restroom and the usual couples pawing each other against the wall. I tried the doors, found them locked, and turned to leave but stopped abruptly. A girl stood directly behind me. Almost as tall as me, with platinum blond hair streaked with black and purple that hung to her waist, and dressed head to toe in black leather, she glared at me with kohl-rimmed eyes. She was maybe all of eighteen.
“If you’re looking for Kelter, he’s not here,” she said sharply, and inspected me critically from the tips of my boots to the top of my head. Disgust crossed her face. “I saw you here the other night with him,” she said, and lifted a cigarette to her lips and pulled. She blew smoke in my face and leaned close. “Back off, whore,” she whispered, and her breath smelled like stale beer and cigarettes. “Kelter’s mine.”
I nearly choked. Not on the smoke but because I couldn’t believe that anyone would purposely want Kelter Phillips. It was freaking hilarious. I gave her a slight grin, although I really felt sorry for her. “Don’t worry—I don’t want him anyway.” I pushed past her and left, and I found I couldn’t get out of the Panic Room fast enough. Her eyes shot daggers at me the whole way out—I could feel them ricocheting off my back.
Phin and Luc met me in the middle and guided me to the exit. Zetty stared at me as we left and gave me a single nod. He held the door as we passed through, and closed it firmly behind us.
“Cheerful dude,” Luc said. “No gains there tonight. On to our next destination.”
Outside, the air had grown heavy, muggier than earlier, and very, very still. We climbed into the Jeep and pulled out onto MLK. “The Morgue,” I supplied, and within fifteen minutes we were pulling into the parking garage on Drayton and walking down the narrow alleyway to the entrance. Again—this wasn’t the sort of place listed under “Nightlife” in the travel brochures for Savannah. Inside, the Morgue was home to a rougher class of partiers; gangs that liked to call themselves Vamp-Goths dominated the club, male and female alike, and only the nonsqueamish, extremely confident—or crazy—dared make an entrance. I knew some of them, and they were pretty freaking cool—I had probably inked most of them. Others were just wannabes, dressing the part and making a lot of noise to get attention. I couldn’t help but wonder whether any of them
really
believed vampires truly existed. Or was it just the idea? The portrayal? If they did, I’d bet my ink shop none of them thought they were anything like the Duprés.
Unlike the Panic Room, the Morgue was under new ownership; it prevented me from having an in—and part of me felt thankful. One Kelter was all I could handle. I suppose I didn’t need an in anyway. The club was dark and thumping. I stepped through a veil of smoke and moved through the crowd to a vacant spot near the wall. Phin rounded on me and lowered his head to my ear.
“We’ll spread out and see if we spot any of the hoodies,” he said. “Let’s give it forty minutes, tops. Then we’re out.” The look he gave me was grave. “If you need me, just think it.”
“Right,” I said, and watched the Dupré brothers split up and disappear into the crowd. For a Monday night, it was a heavy mix. People were jammed into the Morgue like sardines, and as I edged the perimeter I scanned the clubbers and began to weave into the center. The dark interior and flashing lights made it pretty difficult to see any sort of distance, so I moved in and out of the dancers and fought off several groping hands, my sights set on the opposite side of the club. A hand to my crotch—yes, my
crotch
—stopped me abruptly, and I reacted. I grabbed the wrist taking privileges and yanked upward, and I separated the offender from the tightly knit group of people around me. A young guy, maybe nineteen or twenty, with burred black-dyed hair and a silver mesh sleeveless shirt stared at me with cold, almost black eyes. The side of his neck was inked with a massive wad of barbed wire; in the center was a naked woman, clinging to the wire, a look of terror—or ecstasy, I couldn’t tell which—on her face. It was a shoddy art job, in my opinion.
The guy pushed toward me, his face close. “I know what you want,” he said in what he probably thought was a seductive, turn-me-on, throaty voice.
I dropped his arm. “I doubt it,” I said, and turned away. “Freaking perv.”
From behind, he pressed into me and grabbed my hips to hold me in place.
“I mean, I know
who
you’re looking for,” he said against my ear, and then a hot wetness crept over my lobe as he licked it.
I stopped and looked at him over my shoulder. “Is that right?” I said, repulsed but hiding it. “And what exactly do you know?” Maybe he’d seen Seth or one of the boys. It was worth checking out.
“This way, babe,” he said, and nudged me forward through the crowd; the whole time, his hands stayed gripping my hips. “Hands off,” I growled, and he laughed but removed his hands. As we moved, I continued to search faces, but no one seemed familiar—not even Phin or Luc appeared. Finally, we broke free, and when we did the guy totally took me off guard and shoved me against the exit door. In the next second he was pressed against me and we were falling through the door, into the alley. With a heavily booted foot he kicked the door closed behind us and was on me, my front slammed into the bumpy painted concrete of the building, and
this guy
was grinding his hard crotch against me, mouth buried against my neck, one hand feeling my breasts, the other one groping my crotch. “It’s me you’re lookin’ for, right?” he said, grunting in my ear.
Oh, Poe. You dumbass.
“Wrong,” I ground out, and he merely laughed. He had me pinned pretty good, but I was a tall girl, strong and athletic; I pulled my legs up while he sucked on my neck, wedged the balls of my feet against the wall, and pushed hard. We both fell back, and I leapt up. Before he could get off his ass, I’d kicked him in the jaw, and his head jerked back; he spit blood from his mouth. “Bitch,” he growled, and spit again. “Stupid bitch.”
Adrenaline must have kicked in, because he jumped up like a cat and lunged for me. He never made it. A figure moved so fast from the shadows and grabbed him by the throat that my brain hardly had time to process it. I watched the perv’s body fly against the Dumpster and hit with a heavy thud. In the next second, Eli emerged from the darkness, his face a mask of fury, his eyes lightened but not yet opaque. He moved closer but did not touch me.
“What the hell are you doing, Riley?” he said, his voice dark, angered, shaking with rage. “What?” Those light eyes regarded me, held me captive. I couldn’t have looked away if I’d tried. Thankfully, he did. He grasped his neck with both hands and looked skyward.
“Tu me fais mourir,”
he muttered in French, and of course I had no idea what it meant. “You’re killing me,” he clarified, and then drew a deep breath and looked at me. “You. Are. Freaking. Killing. Me.”
I glanced toward the Dumpster. The perv hadn’t budged. “You didn’t kill
him
, did you?” I asked.
Eli’s face became even more infuriated. “No. But I should.”
I would be lying if I said my heart wasn’t soaring at seeing Eli. It’d only been two days, but it’d felt like forever. Pretty mushy coming from me, and I can promise you—it took some getting used to. I didn’t want to care about him. It made zero sense and made everything much more complicated—especially since Gilles had pretty much given me fair warning to back off.
“He did
what
?” Eli asked, moving closer.
I turned my back and headed for the door. “Oh my God, Eli—stay out of my head.” No sooner did my hand grasp the metal than Eli was behind me, stopping me, and the memory of our night together, with him crowding my body like he was now, made my head swim, my senses heightened. My heart raced at the thought of him touching me, and my breath quickened at how he
had
touched me. I didn’t dare move.