Season of the Witch (Claws Clause 2)

No.

Ah, jeez, how could she have forgotten?

The only reason she was there, half-naked with her tits hanging out, was because her brother promised his new dealer five minutes of her time.

“Where is he?”

Hudson jerked his thumb over his shoulder, gesturing at the door. “In there. Come on. They’re gonna let me go in with you.”

Had that even been in question?

What the hell was going on? And why was Hudson nervously rubbing the back of his neck like that?

Goddess, she should’ve been expecting something like this.

“Hudson,” Shea hissed. “What aren’t you telling me?”

He gulped, turning away so that he could avoid her laser stare. “It’s gonna be fine. I’m sure Julian will like you.”

“Julian? Who’s Julian?”

“Let’s go,” Hudson said in response. He was already heading toward the door. “He’s waiting.”

The door led to a hallway with walls painted as black as the floor in the club, only matte instead of glossy. Without any lights guiding their way, she was plunged into darkness as soon as the twin guards closed the door behind her and Hudson. She could barely see in front of her and grabbed the back of Hudson’s shirt so that she didn’t stumble and fall.

He didn’t seem to have a problem navigating the halls. There were a few turns that she would’ve totally walked into face first if it weren’t for him, and though she never would've believed she was claustrophobic before this, the walls were closing in on her right when a spot of light in the distance told her they were finally coming to the end of the creepy tunnel.

It was another door, slivers of light seeping out from the bottom and the sides.

Hudson surged forward and knocked. Three quick raps that showed Shea that he was actually eager for this meet.

Uh-oh.

“Enter.”

The answering voice was rich. Cultured.

Cold.

She shivered, though she tried to convince herself it was because they’d left the heat back in the club instead of admitting that the stranger’s voice had caused such a noticeable reaction in her.

Hudson pushed open the door, leading the way. Shea click-clacked right behind him, close on his heels.

There were three vampires in the room. Even though it was dim inside, compared to the pitch-black darkness in the hall, it was enough illumination for Shea to see what she was walking into.

Standing along the same blood-red wall, there was a bombshell female with dirty blonde hair, an angel’s face, and skin as pale as freshly fallen snow poured into a dress even skimpier than Shea’s. Rather than purple, though, it was a bright red shade, and it matched the lipstick painted on her pouty lips.

The man standing next to her? Before he was turned, he was black; now his skin was a light brown shade that set off his shockingly silver vampire eyes. He wore his dark hair close to his scalp, with a set of cheekbones that were so sharp, they could probably cut through paper. His chic suit looked like it belonged on the cover of a fashion magazine. Then again, so did he.

Shea gulped. She was so out of her league here.

When they both pointedly ignored the newcomers’ entrance, like they hadn’t even noticed the door opening, Shea hurriedly looked away from the pair. A second later, she regretted it.

Her attention was pulled to the large dais that took up the whole length of the wall in front of her. Raised off the black and white tiles, it had a mirrored surface and held a large, intricate, iron-wrought throne.

A freaking throne.

Even worse, there was a man leaning to one side of the throne, hands perched on the arms regally as he, unlike the other two, observed their approach in open interest.