Selene

The shoes turned out to be black spike-heeled sandals and the ‘coat’ was a velvet wrap Nikolai slid over her shoulders. Her purse was handed to her by another one of his thralls—Rigel, whose lean dark face showed no expression at all.

Rigel was an enigma, quiet even for a thrall, tall and thin and usually dressed in a black T-shirt and jeans, moving far too silently to be strictly human though Selene could never smell Power on him. Tonight Rigel wore black leather pants and a long black coat, boots that matched Nikolai’s. His dark hair was short in the back and sweeping longer in the front, very punk and almost cute. A diamond earring winked from his left ear.

Selene’s purse was still closed. She unzipped it and checked, ignoring the fact that Nikolai, Rigel, and two other thralls were waiting for her to get into the long, gleaming limo waiting quietly in the huge garage. Ranks of cars stood on either side, most of them hybrid, a few antique petroleo models crouched on gleaming black tires.

I hadn’t pegged Nikolai for a conspicuous consumer. She tapped one heel against the concrete. I wish he’d brought me some boots instead of these things.

The manila folder was still there. Her wallet was still there. The tarot cards, wrapped in their hank of red silk, were still there. Her purse didn’t smell like a thrall had gone through it.

“What are you looking for?” Nikolai asked. It was as if he had closed a warm hand over her nape, his thumb stroking the most sensitive part. Her stomach flipped, settled.

“I’m checking to make sure you’re not a thief as well as a total bastard,” she snapped, and zipped her purse closed. The medallion hung between her breasts, warm and reassuring. Nikolai tilted his head back and regarded her.

She ducked into the limo, clutching the purse to her chest. At least it was black leather, and not too scruffy. Why do I care? She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. Scruffy or not. Nikolai’s scruffy little pet. His property.

Selene scooted all the way over to the window on the other side, her ankle twinging a little bit. The Power unleashed by Nikolai’s feeding—and my own, let’s be honest, I fed too, like a good little sexwitch—had repaired muscles and torn tendons and taken the swelling down, but she would still be a little sore. The slice on her hairline was closed and healed over, and her lip was no longer sore and puffy. She was in better shape, but nowhere near full health.

And the baffled, helpless rage was a steady blowtorch high in her chest, like indigestion. I wish I had a gun. A big one.

There was a murmur outside, and Rigel ducked into the limo. He sat opposite, stretching out his long legs. Nikolai took his place next to Selene and settled in, almost close enough to touch her. The medallion was hot against her skin, pulsing underneath the dress.

The door closed. The two other thralls would be up front—one driving, the other on watch. And Rigel. Selene looked, saw the telltale bulge under Rigel’s arm. They were armed. Probably all them were armed, except for her.

Great. Of course, if I had a gun, I’d shoot Nikolai. He probably wouldn’t find that amusing.

Or he might, and that prospect sent another shiver down her spine.

Nikolai touched her shoulder as the limo crept smoothly across the garage floor. She jerked away from the contact, but there was nowhere else to go except through the window, and she couldn’t do that. Not yet, at least.

It must be full night, she thought, but she was wrong. When the car slid out of one of the garage doors, she looked through the polarized windows and saw it was only dusk, the sun drowning in the bay. Nikolai’s nest was set on a hill overlooking the river and the city, a metaphorical and physical height at once.

I could open a window and let the sun in.

Except they would anticipate that, wouldn’t they. Her brain shook like a rabbit in a cage. Gone mad. Gone to lunch. Gone buzzo.

He smoothed the velvet down over her shoulder, a gentle touch. The mark on Selene’s throat and the medallion both burned. “You’re angry,” he said, a soft dark tone caressing even the upholstery.

Selene stared out the window. God, I wish I had a gun. “Shouldn’t I be? You bit me, Nikolai.”

“I gave you my sigil, which marks you as mine. You agreed to it.” He sounded calm and reasonable, and his fingers never ceased their stroking.

“I don’t belong to you.” The words choked her. Who are you at war with, Nikolai? Who wants to kill you so bad they’ll settle for killing Danny? Or me?

“If it does you good to think so, Selene, by all means, continue.” Now he sounded amused. “I am being patient. Any other Master would have you trammeled in the nest, chained if necessary.” His eyes met Rigel’s.

Selene turned away from the window. “I could break the glass and let the sun in.” Her voice broke, she cursed herself for being weak. “I wish I had a gun. One day I’m going to pound a stake right through your black little heart.”

“Nothing worth having comes easily,” he replied obliquely, still watching Rigel. “Eternity has taught me that, at least.”

Now what the hell does that mean? “How old are you?” She hugged the purse to her belly. The dress shifted against her skin, rich pretty silk that she might have liked if he hadn’t given it to her. “Who were you when you were human? What are those scars on your back? And why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” The limo slid down the paved drive, winding down the hill, shimmers of Power riding the air now that the sun was going down. There were layers of invisible defenses on the nest, standard for any Prime Power. And besides, Nichtvren took their nests seriously.

“Why did you give Danny work you knew would kill him? And why are you so obsessed with screwing around with me?” She glanced at Rigel, who looked away quickly, not daring to meet her eyes.

“I did not know the work would kill him. I did everything possible to keep him safe.” Nikolai’s eyes half-lidded as his fingers continued their even, soothing motions.

Selene took a deep ragged breath. Her heartbeat, rabbiting under her ribs, seemed to pace itself a little. Her lungs stopped burning. It seemed almost possible that she might be able to just sit for a minute and collect herself.

Give my regards to Nikolai. An evil voice, as evil and self-centered as the creature sitting right next to her. Goddamn Nichtvren. They played their games with other people’s lives, and never paid the price themselves.

Rigel moved, leaning forward as if he would say something.

Nikolai glanced at him and Rigel immediately sat back, his mouth thinning. “I am sorry, Selene. You have trusted me this far.” His fingers continued touching her shoulder, making little patterns on the silk. “You may as well continue.” Then he did something strange. He leaned over and pressed his lips against her cheek, crowding her against the side of the limo again.

Heat spilled through Selene’s entire body. She drew in a short, sharp breath, closing her eyes. It’s just a kiss, she told herself, but her entire body flamed, a trickle slipping down between her legs. Stop it, it’s just a kiss.

Her body didn’t know that, though. The tantraiiken part of her knew only that he was powerful, and that he had fed her. Her body responded, changing into liquid. He might as well have branded her and put her on a leash.

Selene’s head tipped back, and she melted. “Nikolai. . .” It was wrung out of her, a despairing moan. Not in front of Rigel. Panic swimming through her. Please, not in front of Rigel—this is private. Don’t do this to me in front of someone else.

As if it mattered.

“Who else would not use this against you?” His lips moved against her cheek. “I know you, Selene. I know more about your need than you do. Be a little kinder to me, if you please.”

She shut her eyes, a delicate shudder running down her arms and legs. Her pulse pounded in her ears and wrists and throat, hammering against the mark he’d left on her. She pushed the curse away, her muscles locking one by one as she fought with her rebellious body. “Get off me,” she whispered. “Goddamn you, get off me.”

He did, moving slightly away, but his hand came up and stroked her shoulder again. Now a steady, comforting heat came through the velvet and silk, sinking into her skin. “We will have to discuss this, Selene, when I have finished and ensured your safety. I am no longer willing to be quite so patient with you.”

“You can’t break me.” I may be a tantraiiken, but I have my pride. Or at least my dignity.

Yeah. Sure.

Rigel moved again, restless. He was looking out the window, but a faint flush had risen in his sallow cheeks. The diamond earring glittered at Selene, who blinked and filled her lungs again. There wasn’t enough air, she was suffocating. Suffocating and trying not to sob out loud.

Nikolai didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

Everyone in the car probably knew she was wrong.

***

The alley came off Heller Street, and there was a crowd. Since the Awakening, the press and a certain slice of jaded pleasure-seekers had started clustering around every place the Nichtvren were known to gather, hoping for all sorts of things. Most of the world had worshiped celebrities before the rise of the Republic of Gilead, and after the War things had gone back to business as usual—only with different famous faces to make the little people feel better about their drab, rationed lives. Now that the rations were being lifted and the world was starting to recover, the hunger for celebrities was growing exponentially.

The limo sliced through, shadows pressing away, and Nikolai’s hand slid down Selene’s arm, his fingers loose around her wrist. “Listen to me, dear one,” he said, his voice soft instead of chill and hurtful. “This is a Nichtvren haunt. Do you know what that is?”

Of course I know. Selene’s throat was dry and smooth as glass. “A communal feeding-ground,” she said, slowly. “Serves a dual function, social and—” Her voice broke again. This wasn’t a lecture-hall. This was real.

He nodded. His skin was warm. He could almost pass for human, except for the perfection of his skin and the sheen of his eyes, and the Power that cloaked him. The vamparazzi probably loved him. “You will see many things here. Know that I will not allow you to be harmed. But you must stay close to me, and you must obey. Otherwise we will never find Danny’s killer.”

Carrot and the stick, right? Okay, I’ll play. Selene set her jaw. She nodded.

Nikolai let go of her wrist to slide his fingers through her hair, pulling some of it forward. Then he stroked her cheek. Selene submitted, her skin crawling. The Power prickling in the air around him scraped against her, moved over her skin under the silk, slid between her legs. “This will be disturbing for you, Selene.”

How could I get any more disturbed? “I’ve got a degree,” Selene said numbly. “It took a hell of a lot of work to get. I might as well get some field experience.”

The limo came to a smooth stop. The front passenger door opened, and Selene found herself looking up at Nikolai’s face. He was smiling, the amused and ironic half-tender smile she had just recently begun to see on him. His fingertips touched her face again, tracing the arc of her cheekbone. Then he took his hand away and glanced at Rigel, who nodded.

The limo’s door opened. People milled around—vampire groupies, Selene thought. If I start to laugh now I’ll never stop, I’ll keep laughing until I suffocate myself.

She looked up at Nikolai. Do I really have to do this?

Yes, I do. For Danny.

“Courage, dear one,” he said softly. Rigel had already unfolded himself gracefully out of the limo. Nikolai followed him, with one last lingering look at her, his eyes free of the catshine and suspiciously dark.

I could just stay in here. She stripped her hair back from her face with stiff, aching fingers. Then she slid across the seat, made sure her purse was secure and her long skirt was in place. Only it isn’t my skirt. It’s Nikolai’s.

The mental image of Nikolai wearing the dress made a thin laugh well up inside her. She slid her foot out of the car, made sure she had good footing on the damp pavement, took Nikolai’s hand. He steadied her as she slipped out of the leather-covered interior.

Maybe I should have a drink or two. Only she wasn’t sure what they would serve in this place. She’d heard whispers about the House, it had been open before the War, even. The Nichtvren had always come here, even when they had to pay bribes to the Gilead enforcers.

They always had the money, and the Republic hadn’t been as pure as it wanted everyone to think.

Flashbulbs popped. Nikolai’s hand was warm. Rigel closed the door behind them. The other thrall—a slim blond man who looked tense and ready in his long black coat—stood on Selene’s left, not-quite-posing.

Nikolai bent down and printed a kiss on her forehead. More flashes, a tide of them, pictures taken. Exclamations. “There,” he said softly. “Let them feast their eyes on that.”

He turned neatly, and somehow had her hand tucked into his arm. Then he paced forward, elegant as a panther, his step soundless. Selene’s heels clicked on the pavement. He did not walk quickly, so she could keep up even in the heels.

There was a door made of black iron, with a blinking red neon sign whispering Pain over it. The door was slightly open, glitters of light pulsed out. She could hear a faint heartbeat, music booming. Two bouncers only slightly less massive than gorillas hulked near the door, glowering at all and sundry. They each had guns strapped to their chests, and one of them had an axe that he held in a meaty, hairy hand. The ax-blade was bright silver.

Selene smelled Power, and paranormal, and a loud zoolike stink. Are they. . . they can’t be. Not right out here in front of everyone. She blinked. Nikolai shepherded her down a long aisle of people taking pictures and pointing excitedly. There were brass stands and red velvet ropes holding the crowd back. She heard her own name, called several times. Ignored it, holding her head high. Rigel and the other thrall flanked them. Nikolai managed to make it look as if he was accompanying Selene instead of the other way around.

He must’ve had practice. Hot bile-coated pressure rose in her throat again. She blinked, swallowed it.

There was a row of gleaming motorcycles along the wall, and a sinuous low gray hybrid car—that’s a Reformed Lotus, Danny would like that.

The spike of pain in her chest almost made her stumble. Nikolai’s opposite hand came up, clamped over hers. It looked like he was enjoying himself, instead of steadying her as her feet faltered. He was smiling, the tips of his teeth hidden, nodding graciously as if he knew several of the reporters. Maybe he even did.

She’d seen pictures in the papers and magazines of Nichtvren haunts and the media circuses they caused, but she had never envisioned being in the middle of one. People screamed Nikolai’s name, and one enterprising reporter vaulted the red velvet rope and ran for them, snapping pictures all the while. He was balding, overweight, in a long tan trench coat.

Selene inhaled sharply, bracing herself.

Rigel met the man halfway, made one swift movement, summarily dragged him back to the rope and dumped him over it, saying something in a low tone. The crowd hushed. Nikolai’s steps never faltered.

They reached the door, and the huge paranormal with the axe looked down at them. I’m seeing a werecain up close, Selene thought with a kind of dizzy wonder. She’d never seen one except in teaching films—they didn’t like the smell of tantraiiken, and didn’t feed on sex with humans. Humans were too fragile to play with werecain. Even a tantraiiken‘s ability to heal after rough play wouldn’t help.

The loud stink that followed ‘cain around, shutting off only when the nasal receptors were overloaded, was also a distinct damper on any cross-species playing.

The werecain with the axe coughed slightly. “Prince,” he rumbled, and nodded. “Apologies. No normals. Orders.”

Nikolai paused and merely looked at him.

Selene glanced up at Nikolai’s profile. His eyes had gone dark. Almost completely black, lid to lid. The crowd drew in a collective breath. Selene shivered as the cold wave of Power that was Nikolai’s strength spread out in a single pulse.

The werecain lowered his axe. “Apologies. My mistake.” But his yellow eyes slid down Selene’s body, and he smirked. “Ya, Charlie,” he said to the other werecain, who was watching with a great deal of interest, “we gotsa beggar here. Look at that.”

“Charles and Algernon,” Nikolai said calmly. “They are no doubt overwhelmed by the honor of meeting you.” His eyebrow lifted a bare centimeter, and Selene’s breath caught. The Power spilling out from Nikolai was enough to make her dizzy, her shields flaring in response.

Rigel rejoined them, and Selene almost flinched as the second werecain—the one without the axe—pushed the door open. A tide of light and music poured out. The vamparazzi strained forward, shouting, flashbulbs popping.

No fear. I’m going straight into a Nichtvren haunt with Nikolai and his thralls. Great. Danny, if you weren’t dead I’d kill you myself. The black humor helped her hold her head up, helped her step into the House of Pain as if her legs weren’t shaking and her entire body feverishly hot with fear—and excitement. I’m about to see a Nichtvren haunt. I’m really going to see this. There are people that would give their eyes and hands to see this.

There are people that probably have.

They stepped into the pulsing lights, Selene looked around. There were four more werecain here, one sitting on a tall three-legged stool at the end of a small enclosure hung with red velvet. The music was loud, a monstrous heartbeat thudding through the air, some kind of techno beat. Selene smelled heat, and the heady smell of Power hit the back of her throat in a rush. She’d done coke once, just out of the camps and in her first college program for refugee kids, and the brain-tingling chemical skyrocket had felt a little bit like this.

I could feed off this, she realized, and licked her lips. The outer edges of her shielding shivered and thinned, taking in the flood of energy. Electricity raced along the back of her neck, dipped down her spine—and Nikolai’s hand was still clamped over hers.

Three of the werecain were sidling up on them. Rigel stepped forward. He cocked his head slightly to one side, said nothing, his dark hair falling down on either side of his face, framing him like a Byzantine ikon.

“No humans except preyfalls,” one of the werecain said—a huge no-necked thug in a wool sweater dark with sweat under the armpits. “Not even prettybits.”

Selene stared, fascinated. The werecain had hair on his cheeks and even growing on his knuckles, a short brown bristly ruff covering his head and vanishing under his collar. His eyes glowed yellow in the dim light. He wasn’t even trying to pass for human. Instead, he was half-changed, somewhere between camouflage and huntform. His nostrils flared—scenting her, probably, under the layer of Nikolai’s distinctive smell.

“Nikolai has brought his Acolyte.” Rigel pitched his voice loud enough to be heard over the music. “She’s marked, you can smell that. Cut the crap.”

Selene glanced up at Nikolai, who now stepped forward, bringing her with him. Sweat, wine, hash, coffee, sex, copper—it was the smell of paranormals, of Nichtvren in particular, with different fascinating tangs. The zoo odor of the werecain vanished after a few deep breaths—something about their scent filtered itself out quickly, like violets did for ordinary humans, something that had to do with certain sensory receptors. Selene had read about the effect, but never dreamed of experiencing it herself.

There was a whole lot happening lately she hadn’t thought she’d ever personally experience. Lucky me.

Nikolai reached up, took her chin, and tilted it to the side, exposing her throat and the vivid bruised mark. Selene bit down hard, the urge to tear her arm out of his and back away trembling under her skin. He let go, and she shook her hair back, glaring at the werecain.

The massive fur-covered ‘cain threw its head back and laughed, a snorting howling sound that managed to cut through the noise. Still laughing, he backed away and waved a hand. Nikolai pulled her forward, the red velvet billowing as he guided her down two steps and into a chaos of noise and light. Rigel and the other thrall flanked them, and Selene’s jaw threatened to drop.

Four paces into the House of Pain, Nikolai stopped and half-turned. Selene, confused, didn’t realize what he was doing until he had cupped her face in his hands and bent down, his lips brushing hers. There was only a bare moment’s worth of warning before his fingers tensed and his tongue slid into her mouth.

Her traitorous body leaned into his, her mouth accepting his invitation, soft human flesh sliding against the rough catlike surface of a Nichtvren tongue. Her eyes closed, and she swayed into him, wishing she’d had a pair of panties to wear, because the insides of her thighs were wet already, and the Power hazing in the air around them made her entire body shake.

Nikolai broke free, and Selene blinked at him, remembering where she was. What the hell was that for? Can’t you keep your hands to yourself for—oh.

Then she saw them, the assembled Nichtvren. Bright eyes and pale flesh, groups of them at small tables, reclining on frayed purple velvet couches, laughing in the shadows. A group of werecain at the bar, calling for beers. The dance floor, a cavernous space hung with drifts of what looked like white chiffon that waved gently in the churning air, was crowded with writhing bodies. Four kobolding, their leathery grey-green skin covered with rough stonelike warts, hammered their tankards on the table and yelled for another round. There was even a contingent of swanhilds, their feathered ruffs standing erect; if Selene looked closely she would probably see other species too.

A tall, stick-thin Nichtvren female stalked past them, her sharp angles poured into a leather catsuit, her slim hand holding a leash that glittered in the revolving lights. Attached to the leash was her pet.

Bile rose in Selene’s throat. The man was covered in sores and small cuts; he loped after the Nichtvren, an expression of dreamy happiness plastered on his chubby face. He wore only a pair of socks and a tasteful red silk tie, and his genitals swung as he followed the Nichtvren who twitched the chain absently, just as a human would play with a dog’s leash.

Two Nichtvren males stood, deep in conversation, one of them in a Chinese-collared silk shirt and loose silk pants, his nose pierced with a gold ring. The other wore bottle-green velvet Louis XIV might have approved of. Between them lay a naked woman, her eyes glazing as she convulsed, a thin trickle of blood slipping down from the mark on her throat—a mark very much like the one Selene could still feel pulsing uneasily on her own flesh. The woman’s lips were blue, and she was deadly white, even her nipples oddly chalky-looking. Her long black hair tangled over the Chinese-collared Nichtvren’s shoes.

Nikolai’s hand folded over Selene’s, and he pulled on her, gently. “Come,” he said, not seeming to shout, but his voice cut through the din. “Walk with me, Selene. Trust me.”

“Nikolai.” Her voice was merely a whisper, a shadow. The Nichtvren male wearing Louis XIV glanced over at her. He had black eyes like Nikolai’s, but without the electric charge Nikolai’s gaze held. He’s a Master, but not like Nikolai. Nobody here is even remotely like him.

A hot spike of anger went through her. But he was moving, and she had to keep up with him or fall over. He pulled her away from the door and they plunged into the crowd.

Something wet touched Selene’s cheek. She glanced up, then just as quickly looked down, bile scorching the back of her throat. The smell of Power remained, making her stomach rise again. There are cages hanging from the ceiling, she thought, and felt the blood drain from her cheeks. The mark on her throat pulsed insistently. My God, there are cages hanging from the ceiling. Cages.

The crowd parted, bright Nichtvren eyes eating Selene alive. A murmur ran under the music, and she saw a Nichtvren woman with a crimson-lipsticked mouth holding her hand up as she whispered to her neighbor. Between them was a graceful wrought-iron table that held a basket, with white silk falling over the side. There was a long dark stain on the white silk. It could be blood, not lipstick. Oh, Jesu, what have I gotten myself into? Danny, oh, Danny, why did you have to take that job?

Nikolai passed through the murmuring crowd, Selene matching him step for step. Her heels slipped against the floor—it had changed somehow, from concrete to slabs of marble. That must have cost a fortune, she thought, and saw the booths, hung with red velvet The music receded a little, Selene’s ears adjusting to the din, and she leaned into Nikolai as the Nichtvren pressed close, their faces lifting. She could smell her own fear, a sharp tang over the deeper smell of her body, the tantraiiken part of her responding to the presence of other paranormals, drenching the air with scent. Her shields were thin as paper, Power flooding in from every direction.

There was some commotion—the slim blond thrall made a quick movement, and a young Nichtvren male went flying. He landed, rolling into a fetal position. The crowd stilled. Even some of the dancers were beginning to stop and look.

Nikolai stopped at a large booth. “Would you care to sit?” His eyes lost their gold-green sheen for just a moment, he sounded as calm as if they were at a restaurant.

He held her elbow while she lowered herself, silk whispering as she slid along the bench seat. There was a low ebony table carved to within an inch of its life, the bench seats were rosewood with watered-silk cushions. They would have been beautiful in any other setting. Here they were just creepy. The heat in the air was clammy, drenching her skin in prickling waves.

Nikolai dropped down next to her. As casually as if he was at home, he propped his boots up on the table and settled back, his arm sliding over her shoulders. He pulled her into his side, and Selene, yanked off balance, half-fell against him. It was like falling against a marble statue, he was tense, muscle standing out like tile. The cold prickling cloak of power folded around both of them. It seemed to distort the music, which was no huge loss as far as Selene was concerned. But still, she didn’t like the feeling.

She ended up with her cheek against Nikolai’s shoulder, his arm around her, just as if they were cuddling. Awww, how cute, the Nichtvren and his pet, she thought, and buried her face in his shoulder. She was shaking, and he was warm and at least familiar. Dangerous—but still familiar. White linen over hard muscle, and the musk-male smell of him. She took a deep breath. Her heartbeat slowed a little.

A fresh wave of shudders tightened the skin on her scalp and rolled all the way down her body. Oh, my God. I never thought I would ever see this. Cages, Nichtvren, werecain. . .God.

“Courage,” he whispered into her hair. Funny how she could hear him, as if his was the only voice capable of cutting through the noise. “It shouldn’t be long.”

No humans except preyfalls, she heard the werecain say again. Preyfalls. Like the woman lying across the Nichtvren’s feet as he calmly chatted to another. Like the man trotting after the tall black-leather Nichtvren, sores cracking on his body.

Like the things hanging over their heads.

The music seemed to fall away. It was still there, pounding away on the other side of a wall of quiet. It was a relief. Was it Nikolai blocking out the noise? She hoped so.

“Well. So the rumors are true.” Someone settled on the bench on Selene’s other side. Male, strangely accented, and a new wave of Power roiled under the words. “There is a pretty little piece taking your time now.”

“Watch your mouth, Sevigny.” Nikolai’s fingers tightened on Selene’s shoulder, comfortingly. “My Acolyte is none of your concern.”

“I know that smell, Prince,” the other Nichtvren said. His words blurred with some kind of accent—European, at least. Maybe French. “A tantric witch. Very nice. It is said you have gone soft for a human, my lord. Pity, if ’tis true.”

Nikolai said nothing, but the tension in his body shifted infinitesimally. Selene swallowed dryly.

I’m being ridiculous. I’ve got to find out who killed Danny. If Nikolai says we can find out here, then I might as well pay attention. She managed to look up out of the comforting dark of Nikolai’s shoulder.

It was Louis XIV, reclining next to her in his dark green velvet and icy white lace cuffs, short breeches and hose, shoes with fantastic gilt buckles propped on the table in an imitation of Nikolai’s pose. All the same, this Nichtvren observed a careful distance from her.

He examined her face, then showed his teeth, delicately. He had a nice face under a mop of brown hair, even and regular, with none of the exceptional beauty Nichtvren usually looked for. He must have been vicious and imaginative to be Turned. “Sacr’dieu, Nikolai,” he breathed, his eyes glowing blue in the dim pulsing light. “Exquisite. No wonder.”

Nikolai’s shoulder lifted in a shrug. “I’m sure your opinion will matter somewhere. Talk, Sevigny. I am impatient tonight.”

The Nichtvren yawned. It was a good performance—he was obviously alert. “Well, there is so little to report.” He waved one limp white hand. Lace fluttered. “The Sitirrismi are in town, and they are so very angry. It seems someone stole their little toy. And the oddest thing, really, is that they blame you. Something about a retrieval gone wrong?”

“Very odd indeed,” Nikolai agreed. He sounded amused.

Sitirrismi? The Seal. It has to be. Did they—Selene opened her mouth, but Nikolai’s fingers tightened, this time warningly, on her shoulder. She shut up. Let him deal with it. Let him do some work for once.

Sevigny stared at Selene’s face. “Oh, let her talk, Nikolai,” he said, leaning sideways a little. “I’m sure she has something marvelously interesting to say.”

Nikolai said nothing. Selene bit her lip, wished she hadn’t, because now the other Nichtvren was staring at her mouth, his eyes alight with predatory glee.

“Oh, what a waste,” he finally said. “I hate to have to tell you this, Prince, but the particular incident you are inquiring about. . .well, the target was not hit.”

“Someone died,” Nikolai said, carelessly. Selene had to crane her neck to see his face—it was set into its usual straight lines. She could see Rigel and the other thrall standing guard at the entrance to the booth.

“Oh, someone died. But ’twas not the target. The target was that lovely little toy you have under your arm, Prince. She was expected to be there, nice and neat for disposal.”

What? I was supposed to be at Danny’s? Of course, I’m on the lease so I can have a key, Danny insisted. Bile rose in her throat. It’s even worse than I thought; they were coming for me, whoever it was, and got Danny instead.

“Who ordered it?” Nikolai’s eyes flared gold-green. He’s really angry. I’ve never seen him like this before. She stared, fascinated, as a muscle jumped in his jaw and his fangs appeared, sliding out from under his sculpted top lip. She froze, fighting the urge to bring her knees up and curl into a ball, make herself as small as possible.

“Oh, one cannot be sure. But you hear things, you know. I’ve been told—well, ’tis still only rumor.” Sevigny shifted a little, darting a glance at the dance floor. The Nichtvren had gone back to their business, but there were still bright glances pouring over the booth. They were on display, Selene realized. Nikolai was making a point—about her.

About who she belonged to.

And you know, right now I don’t really care as much about that as I should. I suppose it’s a question of “better the devil you know”, right?

“Spit it out.” The edge to Nikolai’s tone made Selene shiver.

“‘Tis being whispered that Kelaios Grigori is responsible,” Sevigny said, all in one breath. “That he is coming to take his place as Master of this city, since you are his Acolyte.”

Grigori? Her ears perked. Who the hell is that? Nikolai’s never talked about his Master before. He has to have had one. I never thought about that.

Nikolai paused for the barest moment before replying. “Grigori is dead.”

“Oh, certainly, because you say so,” the other Nichtvren replied hurriedly. “Rumor volat. Anything else, my liege?”

“It would be useful to know where the Sitirrismi are making their nest,” Nikolai said quietly.

Sevigny nodded. “Tomorrow, maybe. They are. . . cagey. Difficult, n’est-ce pas?”

“Set everyone to it, then. If they move against me, I will answer; not even Time will save them. Make that known.” Nikolai pronounced this in a bored tone, looking out over the dance floor, his gaze moving in smooth arcs.

“You would declare war on the Sitirrismi?” For the first time, the other Nichtvren looked a little less than bored. As a matter of fact, his jaw dropped and he looked stunned; the lace of his cuffs trembled.

Selene fought the urge to smile. It looked like someone else finally felt the way she did about the Prime.

“This is my city. Mine alone. As is everything it contains.” Nikolai’s arm tightened on Selene’s shoulders. “That will be all, Sevigny. My thanks.”

Sevigny nodded. All he needs is a powdered wig and a cane. Selene had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming. I don’t think I’m going to be able to stay quiet much longer. He stood up, backing away slightly, and said something. It sounded like French, and Selene wished frantically that she had studied something other than Latin. Latin was better for deciphering old texts about paranormals, but she would give a hell of a lot to be able to decipher what they were saying right fucking now.

Nikolai replied in the same tongue. Sevigny’s eyes, blue and shining like oil on the surface of a dark puddle, widened. He looked like a frightened child. He asked one shorter question, and Nikolai nodded.

“You’re mad,” Sevigny said. “You have gone mad.”

“Perhaps. Sell that information where you please. I have taken her, and will Turn her. Any attempt made on her life is an attack made on me, and I will respond accordingly.”

***

Selene waited until the velvet-clad Nichtvren had walked away, shaking his head, his brown hair falling to his shoulders. She tried to sit upright, pushing away from Nikolai, but his arm was suddenly iron, pulling her even further into his side. “Wait,” he said into her hair. “Stay close to me, Selene.”

“What the hell were you talking about?” she whispered fiercely. Nikolai looked down at her, his eyes black from lid to lid. Give my regards to Nikolai, a chill evil voice whispered in her memory, and she shuddered again. This made no sense.

“It is the only thing they understand, Selene. Be calm. Just for a little longer.”

I have taken her, and will Turn her. It was the second time he’d mentioned making her a sucktooth. It wasn’t the sort of thing a Nichtvren said casually.

And who was this Grigori? Nichtvren society was intensely feudal, and few were the Masters who didn’t owe someone obedience. If a Nichtvren’s Master died or released them, they had a chance to become a Master themselves, but still, there was a net of obligation and alliance that kept them mostly-behaving, most of the time.

Nikolai moved slightly and pressed his lips to her forehead. Her heart leapt and her fingernails drove into her palms, sharp bright points of pain. Then he used his free hand to brush her hair back, looking down at her.

What a performance, the clinical part of Selene’s mind purred. You might almost think he cares.

The music changed to a marginally-less-pounding beat. Something brushed across Selene’s shields, a whisper of unease. She froze, closing her eyes, her nostrils flaring in unconscious reaction as her mental senses sharpened.

“What is it?” Nikolai’s voice sliced through the dusty filtered sound of the music. “Selene?”

The unease crested, metal scraping against her skin, prickles spilling up Selene’s back. She reacted, grabbing Nikolai, her fists bunching in his shirt. Rolling off the couch, dragging him, her hip hitting the stone floor and her head narrowly missing the table. Nikolai didn’t resist her, but he didn’t precisely fall—he somehow got his feet underneath him. Crouching, he shoved the table away so she wouldn’t hit her head. Splinters flew. Selene rolled onto her back, the stone floor burning-cold through the silk of her dress, and saw the bullets tear into him. Blood flew black in the pulsating light.

“Nikolai!” she screamed, and he shoved the table onto its side, calmly, as if he wasn’t being shot. More splinters flew.

Heavy pounding music broke into the thin protective shell laid over the booth. Selene flinched, curling onto her side, her purse digging into her ribs. She tried to push herself up on her hands and knees but Nikolai shoved her back down, his bleeding hand on her shoulder. “Stay down,” he hissed. His white shirt was marred with dark holes—his right shoulder, two lower down on his belly, one on his left side along his ribs. A smear of welling blood marked his pale cheek, dripping down his chin.

Rigel appeared behind the table, shoving aside torn red velvet. He looked at Nikolai, glanced down at her. He had two guns—they looked roughly the size of cannons—and he went down on one knee and started firing over the ebony table. His long black coat pooled on the floor behind him.

Gunfire boomed, ricocheted, Selene heard someone screaming. It was a high squealing sound, a Nichtvren death-wail.

He pushed me down to protect me, give me some cover. Her mouth was dry, she stared up at him with her mouth ajar. He just let himself be shot and flipped the table around to make sure I wouldn’t be hit.

Nikolai stood up, blood streaking his shirt, and calmly brushed his hands together. The other thrall—the slim blond man—was on his other side, reloading his own gun. The noise was incredible, music played at high-decibel levels and punctuated by random explosions of gunfire.

Nikolai’s right shoulder jerked again, blood flew, and Selene screamed, a thin high sound. They’re still shooting at him, Christos, and he acts like he doesn’t even feel it!

Rigel clamped his hand around Selene’s arm and dragged her aside. Power crackled and flamed. The table chattered against the stone floor, moving on its own under the pressure of the Power Nikolai was pulling in. Splinters flew. Bullets whizzed through the air. A chip of stone flicked past Selene’s cheek, whistling as it clove the air.

I wish I had a gun.

Rigel yanked her to her feet and pulled her along. Her heels chattered against the stone, and something flicked past her head. Oh my God, I’m being shot at. Again. Why can’t I have a nice boring life?

The noise behind them intensified. It sounded like a mother of a fight. Rigel pushed her through another booth, the red velvet twitching as bullets stitched at it, and she lost patience with her heels, kicking them off. Barefoot was better than wrenching an ankle and staggering around uselessly for the rest of the night, unless she stepped in broken glass.

Always assuming, of course, that she survived.

Something leapt through the velvet after them and Rigel whirled, firing twice.

The werecain thudded to the floor, his long furry claws outstretched. Half his head was gone. The half that remained was a mess of hamburger. “Bloody hell,” Rigel said conversationally, and Selene realized that the music had stopped, was replaced with gunfire and more screaming. “Come on, Selene. Let’s move along.”

Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. I’m going to throw up. I know it, I’m going to throw up. “Nikolai.” Her voice was a thin shocked whisper. Why am I worrying about him?

“He can take care of himself,” Rigel snapped, his fingers sunk into her upper arm. “He’s about to cover our retreat, and we need to get you out of here.”

“But—”

There was a sound like every key on a pipe organ being hit at once. Selene screamed, her legs failing her, her hands clamping over her ears in a futile attempt to keep the sound out. It was a psychic wall of resonance, a tide of Power, and the medallion hanging against her chest burst into red heat. The mark on her throat gave one agonizing burst of pain and she fell, her knees barking the stone floor. Rigel fell too, thrown off-balance by her sudden crumpling, but he rolled onto his back and was firing into a confused jumble of bodies. Someone chasing them.

The werecain at the bar. Why? I haven’t done anything to a werecain, ever.

But something other than werecain stink tainted the air. Something might have maddened them into lashing out.

Yeah, sure, something just happened to make them mad while I’m here. Great.

Selene scrambled to her feet, her hands tingling and her knees giving out sharp bursts of pain. The dress tangled between her legs. Rigel rolled up to his feet with a quick, inhumanly-graceful movement. He gathered himself and leapt, kicking a werecain in the face. The force of the blow threw the gorilla-sized thing back—it was covered in hair, and its wool sweater was starting to tear across the chest. Its face was hairy, caught midway between human and something else.

The door-guard, she thought, dimly, casting around for anything she could use as a weapon. If I’m going to die, I’m going to die fighting.

One of the dead werecain had a holster strapped under his upflung arm. Selene dived for it, but something hard and hot closed around her bare ankle and she fell, her hip thudding into stone with bone-cracking force. Her skull bounced against her arm—she’d curled her arms protectively over her head, a reaction that probably saved her life.

She was being dragged backward.

Ohgod NO—

Selene kicked back with her free foot, screaming. Exquisite glassy terror slammed into her belly, and the desire rose too, a tide of red, her thighs wet, her breath coming in short little gasps that changed the scream into a hilarious series of hiccups.

The kick—mercifully, luckily—connected with something hard and cool and wet. Just like a dog’s nose, she thought in a fresh burst of amazed hilarity; there was a shocked snarling howl of pain. Her ankle was released and she scrambled away, bolted, trying to make it to her feet and almost overbalancing, her eyes fixed on the shoulder-holster attached to the dead werecain and the ridged dark butt of a gun closed inside the dark leather.

Her fingers scrabbled at the release catch, and she freed the gun from the leather—It’s a Glock-Stryker, military model, Jack’s voice said, chill and calm inside her head. Fully loaded, there’s no safety on that mother, be careful, Lena. Rigel appeared, a gun in either hand. He glanced down at her. “Time to go, Selene.” The words, clear and crisp, cut through the noise. There was a streak of blood on Rigel’s chin, and his hair was wildly mussed, clotted with something that looked like guck and dried blood. His long black coat was torn as if razor-edged claws had ripped it.

Selene got to her feet, stone cold underneath her. Rigel followed her, walking sideways, his guns ready. “Are you hit?” he asked, as if they weren’t surrounded by howling werecain and fighting Nichtvren. Chaos spilled through the House of Pain, Nichtvren setting upon Nichtvren, werecain changed into huntforms and blood filling the air. The swanhilds were gone, and the kobolding had barricaded themselves into a corner. She inhaled, the kick and tang of Power hitting the back of her palate like whiskey, going down to explode in her belly. Gooseflesh rippled her skin.

Her curse awakened. The image of Nikolai’s face above hers, eyes closed, as he sighed and her body shuddered, spilled more desire through her veins, made her gasp.

Don’t get distracted. The Power filled her; she wouldn’t need Nikolai for a week or two now. The curse grumbled, subsided as she fought it. “No.” She swallowed dryly. Her throat was a desert. “I think I’m ok—”

A huge painless impact slammed into her back. Selene was thrown forward, falling, the gun almost skittering from her hand. Luckily, her fingers went numb and clutched at it, she ended face-down on the floor, her back on fire, a long hissing breath slipping out of her. What?

“NO!” someone bellowed, and the ground shook. Crashing, rending noises. Screaming. All hell was breaking loose. What hit me? What happened?

Rigel went to his knees beside her. Selene tried to roll onto her back, but nothing below her shoulders seemed to work. Darkness started creeping in from the corners of her peripheral vision.

What the hell just happened?

“Lie still,” Rigel said, and then the pain came, a great rolling breaker of it, and Selene cried out weakly. This pain didn’t mutate into a riptide of lust—no, it was true pain, deep pain she never felt unless something serious had happened. She tried to arch away from its teeth even as some part of her was glad she didn’t drown in it. “Lie still, Selene. God in Heaven.”

“Wha—?” she started to ask, but a bubble of something warm burst on her lips and ran down her chin. Ugh, did I throw up? I don’t want to throw up, please, what hit me, oh it hurts it HURTS—

The lights stopped swirling, and darkness slid over the cavernous interior. Someone’s cut the lights, she thought hazily, before red emergency light came up, lurid, painting the stone underneath her. Hot blood splattered from her lips, pattering on stone, and she tried to roll onto her back again.

Then she smelled it. Blood, and death. Male, ancient, a smell like dried ratfur and musk. She knew that scent. It was her quarry, the thing she was hunting. Danny’s killer. It was here. Selene tried to move—she had a gun, and Danny’s killer was here.

Cold. Cold seeping into her skin. Why can’t I move, it hurts me, my back hurts, owww Danny help me, help me.

Rigel was saying something, but his voice was very far away. All she heard was a mumble, and her name.

What happened? she wanted to ask, but her lips were cold and numb. Where’s Nikolai? He would help her, he had always helped her before.

And one last thought in the swimming darkness made her try to stay awake. Danny? Danny, is that you? She failed, and fell into darkness, the pain retreating as night closed around her.