“Indeed,” Lauren said. “So tell me, what do you think of dark sorcerers?”
“My personal opinion is that you should all be dumped in the deepest, darkest hole in hell and forgotten about.” My shrug was casual, but tension rode me. I couldn’t be anything less than honest, even though she was obviously ready to walk, given the slightest reason, and being honest might well give her that reason. “I’m afraid I’ve seen too much pain and catastrophe caused by your kind to want anything else.”>And the ghosts of fear, I suspected. They were ghosts I knew all too well, because they were inside me, too. “I’ll ring Ilianna and update her.”
“Oh fuck, I forgot—”
“Don’t worry,” I cut in quickly, as the air temperature suddenly spiked. The elemental might be down, but it wasn’t yet out. He needed to keep calm. “I’ll take care of it. Just go have some fun and relax.”
“I will.” He rose and kissed the top of my head. “Thanks.”
I caught my bottom lip with my teeth as I watched him walk out. Because I knew, despite my promises, that there was no guarantee he would win this battle. He had to find the strength within himself—none of us could do that for him, and certainly there was no magic or potion that would work in this sort of situation. Lord only knew, Ilianna and the Brindle witches had tried hard enough to find one.
Tao was one of the strongest people I knew, but he was obviously struggling. And I knew, deep down, that there was a very real possibility that we might yet lose him to the monster that resided within.
* * *
In the end, I decided against leaving Amaya behind. Lucian might fear the sorcerer’s reaction to her, but I wasn’t about to walk into the unknown without the means to fully protect myself. And if that meant that the sorcerer walked, then so be it.
Maxwell’s, it turned out, was more than just a lovely little bar situated at the upscale end of Collins Street. It also happened to be an extremely discreet wolf club.
Not that you could tell from merely stepping inside the place. It appeared to be nothing more than a very stylish, very elegant bar that catered to humans and non-humans alike. The surrounds—old-world architecture, luxurious leather couches, and a stunning marble bar—gave it the feel of a gentlemen’s club, although overall it was far more friendly and welcoming.
It was only the faintest trace of sex and desire stirring lazily through the air that gave the game away and, even then, it was only an occasional tease.
I briefly contemplated walking out, but if I did that, I might throw away our one and only chance to talk to someone with the skill to either stop or mute the transmitter in my heart. We needed to at least hear our options before we declined them.
Although if I was being completely honest, the real reason I didn’t walk out was that I was intrigued. I’d never heard of Maxwell’s—not even a whisper on the grapevine—which meant whoever ran it maintained extreme control. And that made me wonder why. Franklin’s—the private wolf club I was a member of—was also very discreet, but it was not unknown in the wolf world, and I imagined it catered to the same sort of upmarket clientele.
A waiter approached, a polite smile creasing his pleasant features. “Welcome to Maxwell’s, ma’am. Are you here for a casual drink, or would you prefer a seat in our restaurant?”
I hesitated. “I’m here to meet a friend—Mr. Lucian Dupont—but I’m not sure whether he’s booked a table or not.”
“Ah yes, Mr. Dupont said you might be late. He and his other guest have been here for just over an hour.” Though there was no censure in his voice, it was nevertheless a gentle rebuke. Obviously, one did not keep members waiting. Amusement teased my lips as he motioned a waitress forward. “Amy will show you to the private dining area.”
Was “private dining” a euphemism for the werewolf section? I guessed I’d find out soon enough. I followed the willowy waitress through the main bar and up the stairs. The third floor held the wolf club, if the strengthening smell of sex and lust was anything to go by, but we didn’t stop there. We went on, up to the fourth floor, then along a corridor that had darkly stained wood-panel doors at regular intervals. She stopped at the seventh one and knocked politely. “Your final guest has arrived, Mr. Dupont.”
“Please send her in,” Lucian replied, in a cool and authoritative tone. The high-end investment adviser, not the lover.
I wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or annoyed.
The woman keyed open the door and waved me inside. As the door closed behind me, I paused and looked around. I’d half expected some sort of private boudoir, but it was actually set up as a plush but comfortable dining room. A mahogany table dominated the space but, oddly, there were only two chairs. Maybe dark sorcerers didn’t eat. Or maybe I wasn’t invited to eat. He might be taking the “behave yourself” request to a whole new level.
And that would definitely be annoying. I mean, just because I was angry that he’d forced intercourse one time to read my mind, that didn’t mean I never wanted to partake of his particular brand of loving again.
The scent of sex was heavier in the room than in the hallway outside, but it was oddly entwined with the sharpness of blood. I frowned and glanced toward the end of the room, which seemed to be the source of the scents. The entire width of the wall was covered by heavy red velvet curtains. I was half tempted to walk over to see what they were hiding but resisted, and scanned the rest of the room instead. The remaining walls were paneled in dark wood, once again giving the impression of something you’d see in a gentlemen’s club. A bar dominated the other end of the room, and it was against this that Lucian leaned. He gave me a wide smile when my gaze met his, but it was his companion who caught my attention.
Because it wasn’t a man, like I’d been expecting. And—for one fleeting moment—she seemed very familiar. But before I could figure out who it was she reminded me of, she turned fully around and the moment was gone. All I saw was a stranger.
She was a tall, full-bodied—almost matronly—woman, with angular features and dark hair cut close to her head. Her nose was large and Roman, and gave her an arrogant air. But it was her eyes that sent shivers skating across my skin. They were a blue so pale it was almost impossible to separate the iris from the white. And in those pale depths, eons of knowledge seemed to glow.
Enough knowledge to steal a portal key, perhaps? Maybe, just maybe.
And yet this wasn’t the person who had stolen the key from under our noses. Not because the person who’d taken it had been a man—in truth, gender could temporarily be altered, whether by a glamour or by more basic means such as makeup and wigs. It was more that she didn’t feel the same. The man—the sorcerer—who had taken the key held an energy that was dark, ungodly, and bitter. This woman didn’t, although she didn’t exactly feel clean, either. There was a definite taint to the energy that poured off her, but it was more an uneasy vibration of something not quite right than anything truly dark.
“Risa.” Lucian stepped in front of me, effectively blocking my view of the stranger. “You look divine, as usual.”
“It’s just a black dress, and there’s very little flesh on show.”
And for a very good reason—I still had too many bruises. Old ones, as well as the new one my father had given me. Divine didn’t give me enough coverage; this simple shift, with its high neckline, did.