back in the bottle. I’m heading up for a bit.” Her black mini dress and combat boots were hardly high fashion, but she wasn’t going out to be noticed.
“Wait…” More scholar than warrior, Cerveau caught her arm in a surprisingly hard grip, and Kiki’s eyes burned. She whirled, a grimace pulling her lips back. To the academic Amazon’s credit, she didn’t retract her hand. “We’re not supposed to go out alone.”
“And I never do.” She struggled to smile—a real struggle because the heat in her belly bled into the rest of her system, and the fingers on her free hand curled into a fist. The urge to strike rode through her, a wild storm blasting through common sense and courtesy. “See you later, darling!”
She pulled herself free and trotted down the hall toward the theatre steps. The closed lounge opened onto the main lobby, and from there she could access the rest of the casino. The dressing area lights were off, a relief for her eyes. Her headache receded with every step away from the music. Where she would normally clomp noisily up the stairs, she virtually prowled.
Why the hell am I running away from the party? The thought crystallized in the sweet silence at the top of the stairs. But she had to go. Out—out of the theatre, away from the girls, away from the music and the distractions.
Hunger gnawed at her belly.
The hunger and an indefinable need twined through her, urging her onward. She was halfway across the stage and descending the steps to the lounge when the drive became a pull. Movement to her left sent her crouching into the shadows. She touched three fingers to the floor and stilled. Nostrils flaring, she caught the scent of nothingness. Not just empty theatre where the scents of human, shifter and vampire lingered amidst the ghosts of alcohol, food and perfume.
Stan appeared at the top of the stage, his normally bland expression grim and serious. His gaze swept over the empty lounge as he studied it. Kiki didn’t dare breathe, but her muscles were tensed, coiled and ready to spring. The sentinel was the guardian to all the women serving as showgirls in the Midnight Mystery Lounge. He escorted them when they stepped out of the safe haven of their cells and he protected them—but he was also a jailor.
Tonight, Kiki refused to be caged.
The lure calling to her increased, but she ignored it. Better to wait the guardian out than allow impulse to get her caught.
She’d made that mistake before.
A ripple of awareness shivered through her. The elusive thought trickled through her mind and vanished before she could capture it. Seconds became minutes, and Stan turned—finally—and vanished toward the back of the stage. Kiki remained frozen until the whisper of the door closing and the definitive echo of the sentinel’s shoes on the steps reached her ears.
The pull tugged her again, but still she waited. When a full five minutes passed and the sentinel didn’t return, she rose and drifted through the shadows until she reached the main doors. A quietly as they allowed, she slipped out into the blast of light and a cacophony of noise. Her eyes narrowed, and she squinted against the fluorescent overheads and beaming crystals reflecting onto the marble parquet lobby floor. Clusters moved through—coming and going—in groups of two, three and twenty.
Cheerful alarms rang up winnings. Cards shuffled. Men swore. Women laughed. Alcohol flowed. A woman sauntered past wearing the musk of sex and a satisfied smile. A man followed behind her, adjusting his tie. A couple in the corner all but rode each other through their clothes, while a grandmother smacked her husband in the back of the head and shooed him out the main doors.
It took her minutes to filter through the overwhelming barrage drowning out that nascent push-pull sensation driving her from the safety of the theatre. Striding across the lobby, she turned away from the all-seeing sphinx and the waterfall-fed wishing pond. She
“Wait…” More scholar than warrior, Cerveau caught her arm in a surprisingly hard grip, and Kiki’s eyes burned. She whirled, a grimace pulling her lips back. To the academic Amazon’s credit, she didn’t retract her hand. “We’re not supposed to go out alone.”
“And I never do.” She struggled to smile—a real struggle because the heat in her belly bled into the rest of her system, and the fingers on her free hand curled into a fist. The urge to strike rode through her, a wild storm blasting through common sense and courtesy. “See you later, darling!”
She pulled herself free and trotted down the hall toward the theatre steps. The closed lounge opened onto the main lobby, and from there she could access the rest of the casino. The dressing area lights were off, a relief for her eyes. Her headache receded with every step away from the music. Where she would normally clomp noisily up the stairs, she virtually prowled.
Why the hell am I running away from the party? The thought crystallized in the sweet silence at the top of the stairs. But she had to go. Out—out of the theatre, away from the girls, away from the music and the distractions.
Hunger gnawed at her belly.
The hunger and an indefinable need twined through her, urging her onward. She was halfway across the stage and descending the steps to the lounge when the drive became a pull. Movement to her left sent her crouching into the shadows. She touched three fingers to the floor and stilled. Nostrils flaring, she caught the scent of nothingness. Not just empty theatre where the scents of human, shifter and vampire lingered amidst the ghosts of alcohol, food and perfume.
Stan appeared at the top of the stage, his normally bland expression grim and serious. His gaze swept over the empty lounge as he studied it. Kiki didn’t dare breathe, but her muscles were tensed, coiled and ready to spring. The sentinel was the guardian to all the women serving as showgirls in the Midnight Mystery Lounge. He escorted them when they stepped out of the safe haven of their cells and he protected them—but he was also a jailor.
Tonight, Kiki refused to be caged.
The lure calling to her increased, but she ignored it. Better to wait the guardian out than allow impulse to get her caught.
She’d made that mistake before.
A ripple of awareness shivered through her. The elusive thought trickled through her mind and vanished before she could capture it. Seconds became minutes, and Stan turned—finally—and vanished toward the back of the stage. Kiki remained frozen until the whisper of the door closing and the definitive echo of the sentinel’s shoes on the steps reached her ears.
The pull tugged her again, but still she waited. When a full five minutes passed and the sentinel didn’t return, she rose and drifted through the shadows until she reached the main doors. A quietly as they allowed, she slipped out into the blast of light and a cacophony of noise. Her eyes narrowed, and she squinted against the fluorescent overheads and beaming crystals reflecting onto the marble parquet lobby floor. Clusters moved through—coming and going—in groups of two, three and twenty.
Cheerful alarms rang up winnings. Cards shuffled. Men swore. Women laughed. Alcohol flowed. A woman sauntered past wearing the musk of sex and a satisfied smile. A man followed behind her, adjusting his tie. A couple in the corner all but rode each other through their clothes, while a grandmother smacked her husband in the back of the head and shooed him out the main doors.
It took her minutes to filter through the overwhelming barrage drowning out that nascent push-pull sensation driving her from the safety of the theatre. Striding across the lobby, she turned away from the all-seeing sphinx and the waterfall-fed wishing pond. She
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