Ago, on his vicious quest to claim what I’d offered before I nearly syphoned him into oblivion. I’d left him pinned to a wall—but that was my mistake, trusting vampires. Believing he’d still be on that wall.
I stumbled, fighting the nausea. To my left, a club door opened, and raucous laughter poured out while three boisterous, leering jerks shouldered me inside. I was part of their group. Claimed by alphas, but nothing like Grayson or Mace. Anson. The lesser alphas preened and postured, no different from the frat boys I’d known in college. Pretty boys who swore their dicks were a fast track to nirvana.
“Buy you a drink?” One male grinned, their leader, judging by the arrogance. He tipped his head, winked with a slow smile that no doubt won him many, many females.
I forced space between us. “Not interested.”
“We can go somewhere private if that’s what you need.” He dragged a finger down my coat-covered arm with enough pressure that I flinched. “I’ll make it good for you, baby. Don’t worry. Deep and slow. Or hard and…”
The male leaned in, pressed his gods-damned nose beneath my ear and inhaled, only to stumble back, shock widening his eyes. “Sorry. Sorry! I thought…”
He hissed as he backtracked, his palms raised. I imagined the warning racing through their pack bond because his friends paled, then spilled their beer in a hasty retreat.
Grayson’s scent… And these wolves were smart enough to realize the peril. They didn’t have to guess how an alpha would react to stupid males encroaching on his territory. How he killed.
How a dread lord killed.
I rubbed at the ruined wolf rune, allowed a shaky, vindictive smile as I kept moving. Wished Grayson’s scent had the same effect on vampires.
Where was he? I missed him, missed hearing his voice, soft in my head. The way he said Bedisa like a caress. He’d hate this club. Hate the noise and the press of bodies. But he’d hate it more because he’d be unable to relax, step out of his Alpha role. Grayson would always meet any threat head-on, no matter what it cost him.
Music blared with a monotonous beat. High-pitched laughter held the hollowness of desperation. A girl twirled by in a black dress with silver sequins, her heels so high she wobbled. Or else it was whatever she kept drinking, tipping her head, waving her empty glass, which was immediately refilled.
I’d been like that years ago, denying the pain in disappointment. I pushed the edge in Seattle clubs. Pretending I was normal, lost in the mindless beat of the music. The foggy, dizzy world of not giving a damn.
The pull was hard to resist, even now. It took effort to move, hide, then weave a path across the crowded dance floor. Male hands grabbed. Females scowled. Sparks stung at my fingertips as I syphoned without even trying, pulling in the heat like a desolate creature preparing to fight. My gaze skittered and jumped, searching for threatening faces. Emotions. For a way out.
I kept pushing, pushing past tables, chairs, bodies crowding. No corners, Noa. Surely this club had a back door for the trash.
The cluster of men against the bar ignored those dancing on the checkered floor. Neon lights were timed to the music, flicking through the colors—rose, violet, teal blue. Then blinding red—this club was the Red Moon, exclusive. The club I’d first noticed weeks ago because of the crowd lined up outside, waiting to get in. A place Fallon would never go.
I spied a darkened hall, scanned with a faille’s urgency. Only bathrooms, a storeroom, a door to the kitchen. And an exit; I slammed my hands against the metal panic bar on the door, hearing an alarm as I stumbled outside. The alley stank of spoiling food. Ankle-deep snow hadn’t been cleared. Within seconds, my shoes were soaked, and each numbed step I took left long, scraping gouges through the slush. Anyone with half a brain and two good eyes could follow the trail if they’d tracked me through the club.
Distant howling jolted me, proof that Ago hadn’t come alone. The incident with the car and the boys—no doubt, the boys hit one of Barend’s hybrids, and the rest had joined the hunt. More of those surging, keening shadows that chased us through the tunnel beneath High Citadel, killing Njal. Even the rocks collapsing had not stopped them… not completely.
With the silence, in the dark, imagination flared. Each flash of movement or shifting shadow had my heart pounding. I ran, but not fast enough. Left the Dock District behind, but not far enough.
Pools of light from the distant lampposts caught the snowflakes softly falling, fireflies against the night. Each gasp of air rasped through my throat with a buzz-saw intensity. The peaty tang of the Claw alerted me first to the black water, shimmering with ghostly ice crusting along the riverbank.
Ahead, the empty boat sheds loomed darkly. The river’s current knocked a loose board against the pier, the thumping dull and random. An inch of snow covered the park benches. But the landmarks settled me. I’d run along this walkway before, the night I imagined seeing Julien’s face in the crowd…
Anson’s compound was minutes away, if I kept the speed up. Didn’t slow. Or stop. My feet skidded on the freezing pavement. I kept going, past the derelict piers. The stubby logs covered with slime and scabby layers of ice and snow.
A sickening laugh echoed, taunting from behind as Ago materialized on the walkway, a shape emerging from the mist. Avid delight twisted his smile.
“Run faster,” he crooned before disappearing.
My inhale shuddered when he reappeared yards ahead. Vampires teleported to where they wanted to be. Julien had taken me places often enough; I remembered the sensations of wind and falling, being in one place… and then another.
“You owe me,” Ago said, his fangs descending. The gold chains around his neck glittered with cold arrogance. He enjoyed torturing me. Let me think I could get away, run fast enough, then leapfrogged faster than I changed directions.
The roaring in my head made me want to puke. “I pinned you to a freaking wall.”
Hatred twisted Ago’s face. “Stupid little cunt. You think I had to stay there?” He angled his head as his hybrids growled, curdling the night. “Run. They’re hungry.”
The imagery freaked me out. What would it feel like to be killed by hybrids? About as weird as imagining it happening. Wasting the precious seconds I had before I died. Because I was going to die. Ago would kill me, rather than turn me. Out of rage or uncontrolled revenge. And if he didn’t, I’d syphon until he had no choice—either him or me.
Because if the vampire turned me…
