Archangel's Shadows

21

“There he is. Flynn!” Lacey called out to a square-jawed black man who immediately headed over to them. Dressed in jeans and an untucked white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to show off strong forearms, a heavy watch his only decoration, he didn’t fit the hedonistic atmosphere of Masque except for the fact that he had the looks of a movie star or a model.

He and Lacey squeezed one another like best friends.

“This is my friend Ash,” Lacey said when they broke apart, her face open. “She’s with that super cute vampire who’s sitting with Adele.”

Neck prickling at the feel of Janvier’s eyes on her though she had her back to him, Ashwini couldn’t avoid Flynn’s hug. The man’s cheek touched hers as he held on tight and the contact made her ability come to life, as it did without warning at times even with people so young. But the resulting slap of knowledge wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle. Vivid and strong and with a hint of darkness, Flynn was more dangerous than Lacey, but that was a matter of degrees. A puppy would be more dangerous than Lacey.

“Ash is looking for a donor who hooked up with a friend of hers,” Lacey said with a pursing of her lips. “Do you know a girl with a tat like this? Ash, show him the photo.”

Flynn looked at the picture for almost a half minute, a small frown line between his eyebrows. “I’m sure I’ve seen her, but not here. She’s more low-key.” He handed back Ashwini’s phone. “I think she used to go to Hinge, but that was a while ago. I haven’t been there for a year.”

“Of course not.” Lacey hooked her arm through his, her dimples peeking out. “As if Ko would let you go there.” Her eyes grew huge the next second, her gaze focused past Ashwini’s shoulder.

She didn’t need to turn to know Janvier was behind her. “Cher”—he slid his arm around her waist—“introduce me to your beautiful friends.”

Lacey giggled, blushed prettily, while Flynn’s handshake was friendly.

“Ah, Rupert,” Janvier said when Lacey told him the name of her vampire. “He is a good man. Try not to take advantage of him.”

“Oh, I would never.” Lacey dimpled again, adorably smitten. “Do you know Ko as well?”

“Benita Ko?”

Flynn nodded.

“Yes, I know Benita. Tell her Janvier said hello.” He squeezed Ash’s hip. “I feel restless tonight, sugar. Let us walk outside, find another bar.”

Ashwini said good-bye to Lacey and Flynn, both of whom gave her a thumbs-up when Janvier momentarily glanced away. “You didn’t say Ko was a good woman,” she said once they were outside, winter gear back on.

“Ko is a sadist,” Janvier murmured. “But as Flynn’s breath caught when I applied too much pressure on his hand, enough to cause a tiny bit of pain, it appears he must be a masochist. Therefore, the two are a perfect match.”

Ashwini realized he was talking about sadism in the sexual context, rather than in relation to Ko’s personality. Or maybe it was both, since he clearly wasn’t judgmental about the lifestyle itself. “Is she a sadist out of the bedroom, too?”

“Yes, she can be ugly.” A shrug. “But she only ever has one donor at a time and treats each well. How long did the boy say he’d been with her?”

“A year—implied.”

“So, she’s unlikely to be the one we search for, but I’ll do a little digging, see if her tastes have altered.”

“Why do immortals fixate on sex and pain? It’s sad they don’t seem to see everything else life has to offer.”

“My darling Ashblade, your view is skewed. You see the Made who patronize such places because that is where your work takes you.”

“Vamps in suburbia?”

“Complete with minivans and white picket fences.”

“Flynn,” she said, putting the conversation back on track, “thought our victim may have gone to Hinge at some stage in the past.”

“Adele, who keeps an eye on everything in her establishment, is certain the girl wasn’t a regular, so Hinge it is.”

“You seem friendly with her,” Ashwini said before she could stop herself. Turned out that while naïve Marie May hadn’t set off her jealousy, the gorgeous, experienced Adele had turned the dial to blazing red.

“I am. She is a lush and sensual creature, Adele,” Janvier said, his lips curving as if he spoke from personal, intimate experience.

“If you go for overblown and obvious.” God, she needed to staple her mouth shut.

Open delight in his expression. “I’ve told you, I go for the unique and the dangerous.”

Realizing he’d been provoking her on purpose, she elbowed him.

He touched his fingers to her nape, curled his hand gently around it when she didn’t push him away. “Your body was thrumming with the music the entire time we were in the club. Shall we dance tonight?”

“Let’s see what we discover first.” Dancing with Janvier wouldn’t be like dancing by herself or with any other man. Dancing with Janvier would be a prelude to sex. He’d touch and stroke, whisper things in her ear as he flirted with his body and his mind both. With her resolve already on increasingly shaky ground, Ashwini had no confidence in her ability to withstand him.

He linked his fingers to her own. Stubborn Cajun. This time, however, she didn’t shake him off. When he shot her a smirking grin, she gave him a dark look. “Don’t get too full of yourself.”

Lifting her hand to his mouth, he pressed a kiss to her knuckles, the contact lips to skin since she’d forgotten her gloves tonight. “Did you dance as a child?” At her nod, he said, “What kind of a dancer were you?”

“Ballet.”

He halted on the road. “Dit mon la verite’!”

She gave in to her laugh, he looked so comically stunned. “It is the truth. My mother took me to my first class when I was three. I think it was meant to give me an extracurricular activity to put on college applications later on, but I adored it.”

Janvier shook his head, dislodging several errant flakes of snow that had fallen from the sky. “I cannot imagine you as a tiny sprite in a tutu, but as a long-legged ballerina, yes.”

“I fully intended to become a professional dancer.” Soaring through the air, free and unchained. “But . . .” She shrugged.

His eyes turned solemn. “A professional ballerina cannot always dance alone and must often be in close contact with her partner.”

“Yes.” She tightened her fingers on his, deciding that maybe—possibly—she could get used to holding hands. If it was Janvier. Only him. “But it didn’t break my heart,” she told him with utter honesty. “By the time I accepted that the constant contact would exacerbate my ability, I knew I couldn’t be a professional dancer for other reasons. Do you know how much crap they take from the choreographers and the directors before they get famous enough to throw tantrums and do what they want?”

“You wouldn’t throw a tantrum.” Janvier’s tone was dead serious, his laugh in his eyes. “You’d just shoot the person who was irritating you.”

“I was tempted to do exactly that during my final years aiming for professional,” she admitted. “Then I realized I didn’t want fame. I only wanted to dance, and I could do that on my own.”

“Where do you dance?” Janvier took her down the narrow steps to the man-made cavern that was Hinge.

“That’s for me to know.” She wasn’t ready for him to be her audience—she had no shields when she danced, was naked in a way she wouldn’t be even if she took off every stitch of clothing on her body.

“Janvier! Here to make the misère, my friend?”

Looking up at the statement she couldn’t quite work out, she found herself facing a solid wall of a man with black hair tightly curled to his skull, his mocha skin pockmarked by acne scars and his eyes a gray-green that caught her attention and would’ve held it if Janvier hadn’t been in her life. This was a man who’d never want for female company.

“I never make trouble, Louis.” Janvier grinned and, releasing her hand, exchanged a back-slapping hug with the bouncer.

Ashwini had seen him do the same thing with another man once, back during the Atlanta operation. So she saw the difference. With Callan, it had been for show. This was genuine, affection pulsing off both men.

“This is Ash.” Janvier reached back and took her hand when the two broke apart.

“Your Ash?” Smile huge, Louis would’ve hugged her if Janvier hadn’t slid in between and she hadn’t stepped back. Instead of being insulted, the other man laughed and said something else in the dialect he shared with Janvier.

Ashwini caught the tone, knew he was ribbing Janvier about being jealous. “I think you’re getting ahead of yourself, Louis,” she said. “I haven’t decided whether to keep him or throw him to the gators yet.”

Louis slapped a hand over his heart. “Janvier, mon ami, I am in love. As I see you’re not carrying your blades today, I think I can take you.”

“I’m not the dangerous one,” Janvier drawled, his arm around her waist. “What can you tell us about Hinge?”

“It’s a meat market, but safer than Masque.” His expression made it clear that didn’t mean much. “I can recommend a club with better music.”

“We’re not here to dance,” Janvier told his friend. “We’re looking for a girl with a tat on her ankle. Cher?”

Taking out her phone, she held it out to Louis. “Yeah,” he said after a couple of seconds, “I think I might’ve seen her here. Remember the tat because feet are the first thing I see when people come down the steps. Don’t know her name or remember much else about her, but one of the regulars might.”

“Can you point out the regulars?”

“Sure.” Louis glanced at his watch. “I’m on break in ten minutes. I’ll come join you.”

There was no coat check inside Hinge, so they stripped off their outerwear and placed it on an open bar stool while ordering drinks. Ashwini had no intention of consuming hers, but with Janvier’s accelerated ability to process alcohol, that’d be easy enough to cover.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket just as the bartender put the drinks in front of them with a flirtatious flash of his fangs directed at her. Sliding the phone out of her pocket, she read the message and had to bite back a cry of delight. When she looked up, it was to see Janvier looking at his own phone, a grin on his face. “Ransom?” She knew the two men were friends, often went out riding together.

“Yeah.” Janvier’s grin grew wider as he input a reply. “He finally did it, asked his librarian to marry him.”

“And she said yes!” Ashwini sent back a congratulatory message.

Janvier’s eyes lingered on her after she returned her phone to her pocket. “What about you?” he murmured, leaning in to be heard over the music, his hand on her lower back and his body heat a languorous caress over her skin. “Will you ever say yes?”

Hanging on to her control by her fingernails, she very deliberately brought her vodka mixer to her lips, forcing distance between them. “I see two women who might be donors.” The glass was icy against her palm, but it did nothing to chill the heat licking over her body. “Faint bite bruise on one.”

Janvier wrapped an arm around her front as she went to move past him on her way to the women. He’d pressed a kiss to her cheekbone before she could avoid it. Gritting her teeth against the craving to haul him to her, take that delicious mouth with her own, she instead moved her lips to his ear . . . and bit down hard enough on his earlobe to leave a mark.

He hissed. “You do realize many vampires consider pain foreplay?” Hot breath against her, the muscles in his arm flexing to keep her close.

“You don’t.” Sliding out of his hold, she strolled over to strike up a conversation with her targets.

The conversation proved a bust, though it appeared Janvier was having some success with the bartender. Louis joined the other two males not long afterward, and she decided to head back.

A vampire shoulder-bumped her on the way, his hand sliding over hers. It should’ve been nothing, the contact was so fleeting . . . but it set off a deluge of nightmare that swamped her senses, threatened to take her under. Screams, he had screams inside him. Legs shaky and stomach threatening to revolt, she reached out to brace herself against the bar, but instead of the cold, hard edge of stone, she felt a body warm and tensile.

Sliding his arm around her with a lazy grace that belied the tension in his body, Janvier nuzzled at her. “I’ve got you,” he murmured. “Pretend you can’t get enough of me, cher.”

She wanted to snap off a quick retort, make light of this, but her heart was thumping too hard and her nerves trembling. Wrapping her own arm around Janvier’s waist, she held on to the solid strength of him, tucking her head against his neck. Her breath came in jerky bursts, her hand clenching on his T-shirt as he murmured things she couldn’t hear through the roar in her ears, but that she knew would make it seem they were indulging in a public display of affection. Sickening but normal.

Her vision eventually cleared to the point that she could see Louis watching them, a smile wreathing his face. The other man was several feet away, where Janvier must’ve been before he moved to intercept her. Swallowing, she took a deep breath and Janvier’s scent filled her lungs: primal, earthy male.

Her chest shuddering, she rubbed her nose against his neck in a moment of weakness before raising her head. “Merci.”

He brushed back a strand of hair that had come loose from her braid to curl against the side of her face. “No thanks between us, Ashwini. No balance sheet.”

The things he said. The things he meant.

Releasing her grip on the cotton of his tee, she slid her hand into his hair, tugged down his head, and kissed him soft and sweet and with every ounce of the heartbreaking emotion inside her. It lasted for a fleeting fragment of time and it changed the world.