He strolled down the street, ignoring her shouts, and rounded the corner. A sliver of darkness lingered in the air. A hint of decadence that got his attention. A crowd had gathered near the far corner, their silhouettes black against the soft glow from the lights above them.
The WITCHES BREW sign flashed neon red. He headed toward the crowd and shoved his way through, aware that Rowan was fast on his heels and yelling madly.
He couldn’t explain his anger. Or actions. And at the moment didn’t care to. He pushed his way inside, ignored the doorman, and ente
red a world unlike the Salem he’d encountered so far.
The Witches Brew was located in the shell of an old building that looked to have been a warehouse at one time.
Rowan yanked on his arm. “We shouldn’t be here.”
He ignored her and moved forward. Neon lights in pink, green, and blue were strung along the exposed brick walls, with Gothic paintings as decor. Exposed ductwork crept across the high ceiling, and along the far wall was a bar that ran the length of the building.
The club was dark, hot, filled with all kinds of scents and all kinds of bodies. Sex and lust lingered in the air like day-old cigarettes.
He sensed several otherworld creatures right away though he focused on the closest. A tall vampire leaned against the bar, surrounded by a trio of adoring human women. One sat on his lap, her breasts nearly falling from the low-cut blouse unbuttoned to her waist. Two small puncture marks stood out along her neck, while the other women clung to his sides as if he were a rock star, waiting their turn.
The vamp nodded at him, and as far as Azaiel could tell he’d not broken any covenants. He sensed no thrall, and the women seemed willing.
“This place is a safe house,” Rowan whispered. “It’s been years since I’ve been in here, but the humans that come know exactly what they’re in for. I tried to tell you . . .”
“Tell me what?”
“That we shouldn’t have come here.”
“I see,” he said tightly, his gaze fixed upon the dance floor and the writhing bodies that moved to the hypnotic beat provided by—what else? An otherworld band comprised of shifters and vampires.
The singer, a witch, had a voice Etta James would envy, and her coffee-colored skin glistened against the soft glow from the candles that lit the stage around her. Her hair hung down to her waist, in long strands of caramel braids, and her eyes locked onto Azaiel, their dark brown depths glittering, her plump red lips wet and inviting.
She sang a note, one that was full of rapture, and he felt the pull of her sexuality as surely as if she’d rubbed her voluptuous curves against his skin.
“She’s throwing her magick at us, Azaiel,” Rowan said hoarsely. “She wants you. She wants me.”
He was hot and pulled his gaze from the witch, only to settle upon two shifters—werewolves by the looks of it—engaged in a very public display of sex. They were in the corner and though shadows fell over them, he knew by the way they moved—slowly, back and forth—exactly what they were doing.
Suddenly he was surrounded by bodies—hot writhing bodies—and Rowan was crushed to his frame. The music slowed, the melody became darker, more provocative, and before he could stop himself, he pulled her in close. He held her, moved with her as her arms slipped around his waist.
The beat was inside him, a living, breathing thing, and it set every single cell in his body on fire with need and want.
Rowan moved against him, sensually, her soft belly pressed tight to his erection, and he groaned as her hands slid up to his chest. He stared down at her. Into her large, expressive eyes, the small nose and lips that were enough to make anyone insane.
“This isn’t a good idea,” he whispered, lowering his head.
“I know.” Her tongue peeked out from between her teeth, and he sighed harshly, his hands sliding down to her rounded butt. “It’s her . . . Alexis . . . the witch. She’s a sex witch . . . a succubus.”
“I don’t care.” Azaiel’s lips grazed her mouth, and her scent was everywhere. Erotic images played out in his mind. Rowan, beneath him. On top of him. Naked. Writhing amongst this crowd as he entered her. As his cock swelled and filled her. As she moaned and cried out his name.
The couple beside them began to doff their clothes, and others followed suit. The woman’s top disappeared, her pert breasts claimed by her partner’s mouth as he grabbed at her skirt and hiked it over her hips.
Azaiel couldn’t look away. He wasn’t strong enough.
The woman wrapped her legs around her lover, and he entered her with one, quick thrust that brought an immediate whimper from the woman. They moved back and forth, their bodies joined. Right there beside Azaiel and Rowan.
Rowan’s hand was at his crotch. Her fingers seeking, rubbing, and he swelled beneath her touch.
What the hell was happening?
“Oh God, Azaiel. I tried to warn you. I can’t stop.”