Kitty and the Dead Man's Hand (Kitty Norville 5)

“Kitty!” he answered my call with enthusiasm. “Please tell me you’re having a good time.”

“Yeah, about that. I really need to talk to you, are you busy right now?”

“As a matter of fact, I’m having a party here in the roof bar. We’re just getting started, you should come over.” It was probably an all-vampire, blood-in-wine-glasses kind of party. I could put up with that. That was how desperate I was.

“I’ll be right there,” I said.

“And bring that nice gentleman of yours.”

“Um, that’s actually what I need to talk to you about. He’s missing.”

“He’s left you alone in Las Vegas on a Saturday night? What is he, brave or stupid?”

“It’s a lot more complicated than that,” I muttered. “I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”

“I look forward to it.”

As I left the elevator outside the club, my heart sank a little, because it was a vampire party. I could smell it, an odor that wafted into the hall via the air-conditioning like a hint of perfume. Blood and corpses. A normal person wouldn’t notice it. To me, it was unmistakable. A group of vampires—essentially clean, preserved corpses imbued with life—were imbibing their beverage of choice.

At the scent of blood, a presence within me stirred. Wolf waking up, turning nose to the air, wondering if we were going on a hunt. Blood meant prey. I paused a moment, took a deep breath, and said no. No hunting here. I was in charge. The fur and claws settled.

Besides, just because I smelled blood didn’t mean anything was being hunted.

It didn’t occur to me that the line of people along the hallway was the line waiting to get into Dom’s rooftop nightclub. I stalked right past them, oblivious to the offended stares people were giving me, and headed straight for the door, following the scent of vampires.

A bouncer stepped in front of me. His bulk filled the doorway. He was white, bald, with a tattoo peeking up from the neckline of his crisp button-up shirt. He glared at me. I almost snarled back.

“You’ll have to wait in line.”

A calm breath focused me. “Dom invited me. He’s expecting me.”

“You’re not on the list,” he said. He wasn’t supernatural. I’d have expected a werewolf or vampire or something to be working for Dom. But he was stereotypical muscle. May not even have known what was going on in there, or that I smelled blood on the air.

I tried to be reasonable and failed. “You don’t even know my name! How do you know I’m not on the list? Do you even have a list? And aren’t famous people supposed to be able to just, you know, walk in?”

“You’re famous?” Bald Guy said flatly.

That was exactly the smackdown I needed. I sighed and rubbed my forehead. “My name’s Kitty Norville. I spoke with Dom a few minutes ago, and he invited me here. And I have absolutely no way to prove it to you.”

A second bouncer had edged over to listen. I didn’t think he thought I was a threat. Rather, I was probably the most entertaining thing to happen all evening. Oh, the humanity.

This guy quirked a smile and said to his colleague, “I’ll go check.” He must have felt sorry for me.

“Thank you!” I called after him.

Bald Guy just kept glaring at me.

“We have a dress code here,” he said after a few long moments, looking me up and down. Like I wasn’t freaking good enough. As if I needed any more reminders as to why I hated vampire-run nightclubs.

“This is my wedding dress! Are you telling me it’s not up to dress code?” I said. I glanced at the line of people winding away from the door, trying to figure out why I didn’t measure up in this guy’s opinion. The men wore silk shirts, pressed slacks, and polished Italian leather shoes. The women wore lots of black, lots of makeup, lots of jewelry, and very high heels.

That was it, I guessed. My two-inch heels weren’t high enough. Bastards.

But then the nice bouncer reappeared and said, “She’s in. Dom okays it.”

I gave him my best smile. But I glared at Bald Guy, who glared back with equal enmity. “Thank you.”

I left the line full of acrobats in five-inch heels behind.