Archangel's Shadows (Guild Hunter 7)

“Yes.” She had the Taj pride, too, and knew it. “Anyway, I was falling desperately behind in school before a teacher realized what was wrong and got me help.” Digging up a smile, she said, “I still love books, though. Listen to a ton on audio.”

“How about if I act as your personal narrator?” Janvier closed his hand around her own. “My voice is not so bad.”

His voice was raw sex and molten honey. Ashwini wasn’t sure she’d comprehend a word of the actual story if he read to her. “Looks like we’ve ended up at the exclusive end after all.” Breaking the handhold out of habit, she nodded at the club coming up ahead.

The detour had funneled them to the opposite end of the Quarter from the blood café. “Might as well start here.”

Club Masque was the definition of exclusive—and of dangerous. It was the center of the Flesh Market, a group of clubs that catered to the darker appetites of the sophisticated vampire upper class. Club Masque’s sign for the mortal queue made the club’s direction clear. It said Fresh Meat.

Ashwini could see at least fifty pieces of hopeful “meat” in the line.

Most would be turned away. The bouncers allowed in only the spectacularly beautiful or those handpicked by one of the VIPs inside. The hopeful were uniformly young and shiny and pretty, their flesh on display despite the cold, males included. Forget the teensy skirts and bra tops; one modelesque male with pouty lips and serious cheekbones was rocking short shorts and body glitter with biker boots.

The sight made her want to shiver. “I feel like I’m dressed for a blizzard compared to Hypothermia Central over there.”

Janvier turned up his lip at the display. “Cold blood is so unappetizing.” Ignoring the queue—and the eyes made in his direction by more than one clubber, he walked straight up to the bouncer.

Ashwini knew Janvier’s charm could be lethal, but she didn’t expect the bouncer to open the door at first sight. “Wow,” she said as they walked into the black-painted hallway lit with bluish lights that created deep pools of shadow, the sound of thumping music vibrating through the floorboards. “Are you a VIV?”

“VIV?”

“Very Important Vampire.”

“Mais oui, ma belle.” Winking, he turned right and said, “Strip, sugar.”

Realizing they were at the coat check, and yeah, a place this exclusive would have a coat check, she gave the girl behind the counter her outerwear, while Janvier took off his jacket, having left his sweater and scarf in the car. She hadn’t worn any visible weapons out of politeness to being in Ellie’s home, though she was certain Ellie wouldn’t have cared, but that meant there were no awkward questions.

Not that the coat check girl—all breathy words and wet lips—even noticed Ashwini except as an annoyance in her attempt to seduce an amused Janvier. “So used to women throwing themselves at you that you take it in stride?” she murmured after they moved back into the corridor, using the chance to undo a couple of extra buttons on her shirt to better fit the vibe.

Janvier, somehow managing to make a simple white T-shirt look incredibly sexy, his hair just-got-out-of-bed disheveled, shrugged. “It is a burden, cher, but one I bear.” His eyes lingered on the skin revealed at her neck, his voice rough when he next spoke. “You are dressed like an invitation.”

“Janvier, I’m wearing more clothes than all the ‘fresh meat’ put together.”

Leaning in close to her ear, his breath warm, he slipped an arm around her waist, his hand possessive on her hip. “It makes men want to unwrap you, be the only one to see what’s inside.” He tugged out the chain that held the pendant, knuckles rubbing across her breastbone. “It sits right between your breasts,” he said on a hoarse groan before tucking it back inside the shirt. “I don’t want any other male thinking about that but me.”

Her nipples were suddenly painfully tight, her panties damp. Primal instinct told her to slip out of his hold if she had any hope of salvaging her shields. She didn’t. It was too late for that. It was also the right decision to ensure justice for their victim. Because this was a vampire club and Janvier was a known commodity.

So was she, but not always in the best way. She’d already seen one vamp she’d hauled home to his angel. It had been three years ago, but vampires tended to have long memories about things like that.

Bracing her arm on Janvier’s shoulder, elbow bent, she took in the dance floor. It was bathed in pulsing light several shades too dark to be truly comfortable for mortal eyes, but that was perfect for the older vampires. The view was otherwise relatively ordinary. Taut and toned women and pretty men danced limber and sexy in an effort to attract the attention of the bored-looking but physically stunning vampires who occasionally culled one from the herd.

She tapped her foot absently to the beat. Dancing had been in her blood as long as she could remember, but she hadn’t indulged in it anywhere but inside her apartment for a long time. That wouldn’t be changing in this club. Because while the dance floor was normal enough, what was above it wasn’t.

The mezzanine level was basically a large wraparound balcony that looked out over the dance floor. Tables and seating arrangements were laid out in intimate groupings on that level, the stairs up to the mezzanine guarded by bouncers who, again, let up only the chosen.

In club terms, it was nothing to write home about.

However, suspended just below the mezzanine by what looked like steel cables on each of the four corners, was a sheet of transparent glass. Glass walls about two feet in height grew up from the large flat sheet on all four sides, creating a shallow box with no top. In the glass box was a live show.

Right now, from what she could tell, two male vampires dressed in full-on lace and leather, their shirts froths of white and their black leather pants so tight they appeared painted on, were feeding from a ripped mortal who was either naked or wearing a G-string. Then the two vamps threw the mortal to the glass on his front and she didn’t have to guess anymore.

She could see every inch of him, including the turgid red of his erection.

One of the vampires, his hair sleek and blond, lay down on his side beside the donor, pulling up the donor’s head by the hair to kiss him long and deep. When he released the breathless male from the kiss, it was to a raven-haired female vamp who’d stepped into the box. She took over the kiss, while the second male vamp watched.

Words were spoken that made the woman smile, her poison red nails on the donor’s throat. Then the blond vampire stroked long white fingers down the man’s back . . . and shoved him down on his distended cock right as the second male vampire sank his fangs into the donor’s thigh. The woman went for his throat at the same instant.