Season of the Witch (Claws Clause 2)

Black and red.

He’d told her it was a Para club. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what kind.

Bodies filled the space. Some were swaying—others doing more than that—and she wasn’t sure what was worse: the sex acts being performed out in the open, or the Nightwalkers drinking from their donors only a few feet away from where she was huddled next to Hudson.

She raised her voice. “I said that I think this is a bad idea. How much longer do we have to stay here? I want to go home.”

When he didn’t answer her, she followed the direction of his stare.

Hudson’s eyes were glued to a blonde Nightwalker beauty on the hunt. As they watched, the vamp snared a dark-haired human, pulling him close before burying her fangs in his throat.

The human moaned.

Shea didn’t need to drop her shields to tell that the human’s agonized expression had nothing to do with pain, and everything to do with the intense pleasure from the bite. He might have the vampire female’s pointy fangs tapping into his jugular, but that guy wasn’t hurting.

Her brother, on the other other hand…

Hudson looked like he would’ve given just about anything to trade places with the human. Instead, he was standing at Shea’s side, covering her at her request while they waited for… well, for whatever it was that Hudson had needed her for.

“The waiting around is kinda ridiculous, Hudson. It’s already been more than an hour! I’m beginning to think nobody here needs a healing.” At least, not one that they’d ask for. “And I feel like I’m half-naked, too. I really don’t like it.”

“You look fine, Shea. Just what the club called for.”

He wasn’t wrong about that. Compared to some of the other patrons, she was pretty decent. Still…

“I want to go home.”

“Soon. Promise.”

Shea scowled and grabbed the hem of her skirt, tugging it so that it covered her ass. Her favorite dress was beautiful, but revealing, too—and not just because the fabric clung to her body. A rich purple satin with a short skirt and a plunging neckline, it matched her witch’s eyes perfectly. It was also the polar opposite from the jeans and tanks or tees that she normally wore while she tended to her shop. Was it a surprise that, surrounded by the blood-drinkers, she was feeling exposed?

When was the last time she wore this dress? Shortly after she graduated from the witch academy? That sounded about right.

Because of her backwards magic, Shea had failed nearly every practical exam she took her last year at school. Thank the Goddess that she could explain that she knew what she was supposed to do; it was her magic that always fouled things up. She might’ve been near the bottom of her class, but she did graduate. And if she suspected that her grandmother had a hand in that, it didn’t matter. She was now the proud owner of a diploma from the Hex Academy.

Kallista Moonshadow had been so proud to see Shea graduate that she bought the expensive dress as a graduation present, then took her granddaughter out for an extravagant night in New York City. Together they took in a Broadway show, ate at a ritzy restaurant, and even shopped along Fifth Avenue—and, apart from traveling to the big city, there wasn’t a single drop of magic involved.

That had been seven years ago. Shea liked to think that she looked the same today as she did back then. Unfortunately, as she discovered when she pulled the dress out of her closet earlier, it fit a little differently on her twenty-five-year-old body than it did when sh

e was eighteen.

Once her backside was covered, she reached up to rub her bare arms, sneakily shielding her cleavage. She wished Hudson had let her bring her jacket with her. He’d argued that the inside of the club was warm—which, okay, he was right about that—and that she’d regret wearing the jacket when she overheated.

She would’ve taken a little sweat over feeling like she was a juicy meal put out on display for hungry vampires. With the low cut of her dress and how the skirt seemed to ride up a little further with every step, Shea was totally on display. Which would’ve been fine… if it wasn’t for the fact that she was one of the few non-vamps in the club.

It was easy to tell the Nightwalkers apart from the rest of the crowd. Aside from their pale skin—no matter what their skin tone was originally, all vamps lost most of their color after they turned—the mirrored sunglasses they wore was a big clue that they were one of the turned.

It wasn’t just the sun that burned their skin or hurt their sensitive eyes. The flashing light pulsing inside of the crowded club was certainly bright enough to bother them. So, instead of, you know, just turning off the lights, the partying Nightwalkers were all sporting the sunglasses that, over the last fifty years, had become sort of their calling card.

Watching the crowd with a curious mixture of interest and concern, she figured the ones in shades were the vamps, while everyone else had to be like Hudson and her.

Well, maybe not her. She didn’t think there were any witches out there in the mass of bodies. Shea couldn’t make out any purple peepers from where she was standing. There was a crackle of something in the air, but it wasn’t magic.

No shifters here either, she was betting. They’d be easier to pick out. The bright lights would show off the glow of a shifter’s gaze, triggering the animal to come to the forefront. And that wasn’t the only way to tell. With this many Nightwalkers together in one place, it wouldn’t take much for a shifter to go rabid.

At least that was one thing in her favor. No shifters meant no way this would get back to Colton. It didn’t matter that he was still insisting on breaking their bond. She was damn sure he’d have something to say about this if he knew.

So, yeah. This was definitely a vamp club—as if she hadn’t known from the name.