‘Will do.’ Mal opened the door and slid out. He waited in the rain for Chrysabelle, then shut the door and rapped lightly on the hood. Doc pulled the sedan farther down the alley into the shadows.
Immediately, the scent of the two men by the door hit her. She blinked water out of her eyes. ‘Varcolai,’ she whispered, knowing full well Mal had probably made them already.
‘Wolf,’ he whispered back, confirming they both knew what they were dealing with. ‘Stay behind me.’
Bristling slightly, she hung back at his right shoulder. Did he still think she couldn’t take care of herself? Granted she didn’t have much human-world experience, but judging by the two varcolai guarding the club door, this wasn’t exactly the human world.
The shorter guard jerked his chin at her, glinting light off the platinum hoop in his ear. ‘No weapons. No exceptions.’
Mal put his arm out and held Chrysabelle in place, his hand coming across her body to rest on her hip. ‘We have no weapons.’ His voice had a mesmerizing quality that danced over her skin. ‘There is nothing unusual about us. When you let us in, you’ll forget you’ve seen us.’
The guards stared blankly, nodding as though the movement took thought.
She shivered as the rain penetrated her shirt. Holy mother. Mal had just glamoured the guards. Impossible. Vampire powers didn’t work on varcolai.
One guard opened the door, then stepped aside. Mal snaked his arm behind her and pushed her forward. The moment they were through the wards and the door shut, she spun to face him.
‘How did you do that?’
‘Do what?’
She resisted the urge to slap him. ‘You know what I mean.’
He shrugged. ‘It’s just something I can do.’
‘How?’
‘Don’t worry about it.’
Fine, he wanted to act like it was nothing, she’d let him. But not yet. ‘Doc know you can do that?’
‘He knows.’ He pushed past her and toward a red-lit corridor. She grabbed his arm. ‘You ever do that to him?’
He pulled her close, a move she recognized as an attempt to scare her into acquiescing. He could try all he wanted, but she’d begun to figure him out. ‘You have more questions? Because if you do, we’ll leave. Dawn’s coming. Your aunt can handle that, wherever she is. I can’t.’
Not breathing him in was impossible this close. She turned her face away. ‘No more questions.’ For now. She let go of his arm and he caught her wrist, keeping her in place.
‘This is not a safe place. Stay close. Understood?’
‘Yes, patronus.’
His mouth bent slightly at her condescending tone, but then he was off through the corridor and she was hurrying to catch up. Several yards down the hall they came to a set of double doors, steel like the exterior one and in no better shape.
‘This place is a dump.’
He snorted and knocked three times. A peephole in the door opened. The faint rumble of music drifted out. If someone inspected them, she couldn’t see. The peephole closed.
The door was unbolted and swung wide. A heavily armed fringe vamp greeted them with a curious gaze and a respectful bow. ‘Enjoy yourselves.’
Mal’s arm settled around her waist. She opened her mouth to protest, but he shook his head slightly, his eyes full of warning. With her pressed to his side, they made their way through a set of heavy velvet drapes.
Everything changed.
The room unfurled into a sultan’s harem. Luscious fabrics covered the walls, tufted floor pillows surrounded low tables of burnished wood, all glistening beneath elaborate crystal chandeliers. A heavy, seductive rhythm thumped loud enough to prevent eavesdropping. Several varieties of othernaturals danced on top of platforms throughout the space and the sweet copper scent of blood drowsed the air like opium. Vampires – all fringe – mingled with various types of fae, some varcolai, and an assortment of beautiful human men and women dressed in white with blond hair and ruby lips and …
Glints of swirling gold.
‘This is new,’ Mal muttered.
Her heart thudded with realization. Her hand shot for her sacre, but Mal caught it before she reached the weapon’s handle, interlaced his fingers with hers, and drew her in as though they were embracing. ‘Relax,’ he whispered in her ear.
She struggled against his cold grip, working her fingers loose. ‘Those are comarré. Serving fringe. They’ve got to be here against their will.’
‘Shh … ’ He shook his head. ‘Look closer.’
‘I need to help—’
‘Look,’ he whispered again, this time cupping her cheek and gently turning her head.
She stared, heart beating with the need to rescue her brothers and sisters. Being tied to nobility was bad enough, but fringe? After a long minute, her heart slowed. The signum weren’t quite right. Some of the red lips were smudged. Dark roots shadowed pale locks. She relaxed her hand, splaying it against his chest to steady herself. ‘They’re counterfeit.’
She’d never seen such a thing. Never imagined it. Still pressed to him, she stared harder, picking out the subtle ways they were different. ‘Do they glow?’
‘No. Not like you.’ His mouth was above her ear now, causing his voice to reverberate through her hair. His mouth moved against her scalp as though he wanted to say something else, but he kept silent.
‘Fake comarré.’ She spat the word. Seeing the impostors doused her with a cold splash of indignation. Being comarré was not something to play at. It wasn’t a game. Wasn’t a costume that could be taken on and off at will. Had Mal felt this way that first night at the club, surrounded by humans pretending to be his bloodsucking brothers?