Season of the Witch (Claws Clause 2)

He had on a stylish black suit, the undershirt a deep red that had the top couple of buttons rakishly undone. With styled blonde hair, smoky grey eyes, and a crooked grin, he wasn’t classically handsome—not like Colton was—but he was definitely intriguing.

She couldn’t find the strength to look away.

He was still staring back at her, too. Meeting her gaze, his grin widened, the points of his fangs peeking out in an unsaid threat.

Definitely vamps. She was also sure that the stunning trio had to be Nightwalkers. Sure, they weren’t wearing the trademark shades like the vamps out in the club, but Hudson would never bother offering up his blood to a Dayborn. Only a Nightwalker created blood junkies and, like it or not, Hudson was a Donor.

Was it possible that the dealer Hudson wanted her to heal as a favor to him was the one not sitting on a throne?

Please don’t let it be him. Please don’t let it be—

Hudson approached the dais, his head bowed, angling it so that the side of his throat was presented to the vampire. “Julian. I’ve come like you requested.”

12

“Hm. This is the sister you promised to me?”

“Yes. Her name is Shea. I hope… I hope you like her.”

His eyes had never left her. Now, they raked over her, lingering on every line, every curve as if he was imagining her out of the skintight dress. He was appraising her, and when he moved so that he was facing her head-on, she had the strongest urge to turn and bolt back down that dark hallway.

“My name is Julian Koenig,” he said, clearly addressing Shea. Did he like what he saw? Seemed so. Great. “Welcome to my establishment.”

“Oh. Um… thank you.”

“I hope you’ve been enjoying yourself.”

“It’s… it’s nice. Everyone seems like they’re having fun out there.”

“Listen to her. So polite.” He chuckled. “Diplomatic, even. How perfect.”

“See. I told you so, Julian. Didn’t I?”

Julian’s upper lip curved, a tiny crack in his amused facade. He didn’t seem to appreciate Hudson’s hurried interruption.

Ignoring him, he kept his gaze locked on Shea.

It sent shivers down her spine.

“Yes,” the Nightwalker drawled. “And Hudson also mentioned that his sister has witch blood. Pure witch blood. Untouched. Is it true?”

This wasn’t the first time she was dealing with his kind; with a brother like hers, of course she’d been in situations sort of similar before. The Nightwalkers had an obsession with being the first to sample a donor. So, when he said untouched, she figured he wanted to know if she’d ever been bitten.

But why had his voice—that warmed up significantly when he spoke to her—made it seem like he was inferring something totally different?

She didn’t like this. Oh, she didn’t like this at all.

Problem was that Shea couldn’t tell him so. Three Nightwalkers against a broken witch and her Donor brother. That wasn’t a fight—it was a massacre.

She took a deep breath, trying to settle her sudden nerves, and nodded.

Julian’s strangely grey eyes gleamed. “Ah. Well that explains quite a lot.”

It did?”

“For someone like you,” he continued, “my club might not be as entertaining as it is for my pet donors. Still, my people deserve a place where they can… mmm… be what they’ve been made. Wouldn’t you agree?”

This time, he obviously expected an answer from Shea.