Witch Wolf (8 page)

I found a metallic CD case and unzipped it, flipping through pages of discs. It was a small case, and most of the music was either classical, heavy metal, or a combination of both. I plucked a Nightwish CD from the protective plastic and pushed it into the CD player. Rupert gave me a look before asking, "Nightwish?"

"I'm not really in the mood for Mozart," I said.

He nodded. I skipped through the first few songs on the album and stopped on track six. The song "The Siren" blared through the speakers as we steadily followed the car Rosalin was in. It began weaving in and out of traffic.

"It looks like they're in a hurry to get somewhere." I had to raise my voice over the music.

"I'm not going to play leap frog," Rupert said.

"Then don't." I watched as the Cavalier cut another car off, in a hurry to change lanes.

"I don't think they're on to us," I said lightly.

Rupert's gaze remained intently on the road ahead. "I don't either."

I leaned back in my seat, keeping my eyes on the car ahead and listening to the music to keep my mind from racing.

We followed the car downtown using other cars as cover. It didn't surprise me how busy it was.

Downtown was Oklahoma City's pride and joy. It was party central. The food was hellaciously over priced, and the booze flowed steadily. By the end of the night, half of the population was wasted and broke. It was so not my forte. The car turned into a small parking lot next to an old building. It looked like it had once been a hotel, but it was obvious that wasn't what it was now. I blinked, gazing at the red and white sign that blazed brighter than the streetlights: THE TWO

POINTS.

"That's cryptic," I said, grateful I'd turned the music off before reaching the city. I was no longer in the mood to raise my voice. "What is it?" I asked. "I get this feeling that The Two Points doesn't refer to natural land forms. . . "

Rupert found a parking spot and waited for an SUV to pull in next to us. I had to turn in my seat to see the entrance and the line of people gathering outside. A man stood just outside the doors.

From this distance I wasn't able to see his face, but I could make out the swell of chest under his crossed arms. A woman walked up to him, dressed entirely in black and red Goth chic. The man next to her wore a black suit, complete with tails and a top hat. The bouncer nodded at the couple, pulling aside the rope and allowing them to go through. I looked at Rupert, still waiting for an answer. I was coming up with my own conclusion, and it wasn't a conclusion I liked.

"Don't tell me this is the Vamp Club." I made it a statement.

"Then I won't say anything." He unbuckled his seat belt.

"Morrigan's curse take it," I hissed. "If Rosalin is in league with the city's vampires, we are going to be sorely outnumbered."

"Only if we make a direct attack," Rupert said. "We'll go in and pretend we're having a merry time, but keep your eyes peeled."

There was a reason I liked hunting with Rupert. When I couldn't come up with a good idea, he always had one. It worked both ways, and we both found the faults and leaks in one another's plans. Neither of us took it personally; instead, we took it constructively. In fact, most of my training wasn't thanks to Jake, the paranormal hunter who'd helped me get my certification-it was thanks to Rupert.

Which is why I said, "We look like assassins, not Goths. I don't think that will work."

"Then do something to look more Goth." He drew a blade from his boot. "Hand the duffel bag to me." I reached behind my seat and tossed the bag to him. He opened a side compartment and pulled out a plain black T-shirt. He cut the sleeves off and drew the knife down the length of the neck to leave a long slit in it.

I looked at the line leading to the entrance of the club. It was slowly beginning to shorten, but there were still going to be about ten or so others in front of us. Something soft hit the side of my face and I looked down.

I held the material up. "You're kidding," I said and looked at Rupert. He was now wearing the torn shirt. It was skintight and torn in all the places that would catch a straight woman's eye, but more importantly, a vampire's. The cut-off sleeves showed the muscles in his arms, and there were three cuts running across his chest and stomach. I'd never again doubt that Rupert worked out. He'd cut the neck of the shirt to show the line of his collarbone, and the pulse beating steadily in his throat.

"Classy," I said. "You'll definitely distract someone tonight, but whether it's heterosexual Goth chicks, gay Goth boys, or vampires, I'm not so sure."

Rupert laughed. "Always be prepared. Put the shirt on, Kass." I looked down at the shirt. He turned away. The gesture was polite and respectful. The black fishnet shirt I held was not.

"How did you have a shirt that would fit me?" I asked.

He gave me one of his stubborn looks and said, "Let it go, Kassandra. It doesn't matter."

I left it alone. When Rupert did not give an outright answer, it meant you weren't going to get one. Of course, I wondered who the shirt had originally belonged to, but questioning Rupert about his personal life wouldn't get me anywhere. I could smell the laundry detergent on the shirt. It was clean, so who was I to bitch? I took in a deep breath and shrugged out of my jacket.

It took a few minutes to remove the wrist sheaths, the shoulder holster, and the small-of-the-back holster, but I managed. Lifting the thermal over my head, I let it fall to the floorboard. The fishnet slid over my small curves like a second skin. I could feel it clinging to my most intimate places and thanked the Goddess I was wearing a black bra.

I left my jacket on the seat. The night air was cool, but not too cool. It would have been cold to me three years ago. I was always cold in what other people thought was comfortable weather.

Now, the cold felt less harsh, as if my body had finally figured out that thing called body heat.

It irked me that I couldn't carry my guns or wrist sheaths. The only weapon I had was the boot knife. As if on cue, Rupert stepped out of the van at the same time I did. The van beeped as he locked the doors. I reached up to the high ponytail in my hair. I was about to take my hair down when I decided it was best to leave it up. We were going into a vampire club and leaving my neck exposed would probably help us blend in more. It was a dangerous game and we were left best undetected.

We stood in line for about twenty minutes. The security guard at the door was tall and well-built, wearing a black tee-shirt that had the word "Security" written in red bleeding letters. His brown hair was cut short. I met his hazel eyes, handing him my ID. He handed it back with a nod and repeated the gesture with Rupert's ID. He pulled back the rope and let us through.

I was right. The club had once been a hotel. We stood in the lobby, bathed in a warm glow of light. Beautifully carved black wooden lamps gave the room a cozy feeling. We passed a door with an Employees Only sign on it and continued until we stopped at a long counter that looked like black glass, sleek and reflective. A woman stood behind it. Her brown locks were pulled away from her face in a slick and professional style, pinned at the back of her head. Her face was thin and pale and she didn't wear any makeup. A crimson satin vest cinched over a black blouse with a high collar made her look far more proper than she probably was out of those clothes.

"How much?" Rupert asked.

She smiled, and it was one of those good but fake professional smiles. A smile that said, "I'm only being courteous because they're paying me to." She told Rupert the price and tilted her head. The tilt of her head drew the high collar away from her neck, exposing a white bandage over her carotid artery.

Rupert took the wallet out of his back pocket, counted a few bills, and handed them to her.

Unlike most clubs that seemed fond of stamps and plastic bracelets, the woman held up two adjustable woven cloth bracelets with "The Two Points" on them. One bracelet was black. One bracelet was red.

"Black or red?" she asked.

Rupert offered an unusually charming smile. "What's the difference?" he asked, curious.

I too, wondered.

"Red means you're a donor. Black means you're off-limits."

She held up her arm and pulled the sleeve down, revealing the red bracelet at her wrist.

"Black," I said. Rupert echoed me.

The woman behind the counter laughed and handed us our don't-you-try-to-fucking-bite-me bracelets.

He adjusted the bracelet to fit his wrist, slipping the end of it through the little plastic buckle.

"How do you know I won't wear it again and try to sneak in?" The tone in his voice made me stop fiddling with my bracelet to look at him. He gave the woman a playful and almost flirtatious look.

I rolled my eyes and buckled the bracelet.

"Because you have to go through security first." She pointed out the obvious. If Security recognized a person and suspected they were trying to sneak in, chances were they'd either turn them away or ask to search. Rupert smiled again, but this time, it was a quick and embarrassed spread of lips. Kind of like, "Aw, shucks."

When he was done pretending to be just an idiot tourist, we headed in the direction of the large double doors at the far end of the lobby.

A wave of pounding industrial music battered my ears as we hit the ballroom beyond. Energy slammed into me and I stumbled, turning and catching myself against the inside wall.

Rupert reached out, as if he would try to help steady me. I shook my head.

"I'm fine."

"What is it?"

At the smell of sweat and arousal, the wolf stirred within me, pushing against the surface, stealing the breath from my lungs. I placed my hand flat against the concrete wall, trying to focus on my breathing. I drew in a slow breath. That was another mistake. There were so many smells-too many perfumes mingling with the salty scent of sweat and desire. I exhaled the breath through my mouth, eyelashes fluttering. I closed my eyes and saw the wolf inside my mind. She paced, back and forth, threatening to push against the surface. Her elongated ears swiveled and a growl trickled from her lips, from my human lips.

My eyes flew open as Rupert took a step back. "Kass?"

I had to shield. In order to shield, I had to get my breathing under control. I couldn't breathe through my nose, but I could steady my breathing through my mouth. I closed my eyes, breathing in through my mouth, out through my mouth, focusing on visualizing a tall tower that would metaphysically contain the wolf.

The wolf hit the wall of that tower and I clutched my side, sliding down the wall. I felt her eyes glaring at me. She thought one thing:
Food
. We were surrounded by so much food.

Then I felt something, a cooler energy that sent a shiver up and down my spine. Distantly, I heard Rupert talking, but for the life of me I couldn't make out what he was saying. The room reeled as the wolf took what felt like another frustrated yet invisible swipe against the insides of my body.

Cool fingers touched my cheek, spilling cold energy into my skin. The wolf went still, ears flattening against her skull. I could suddenly smell the scent of cool air, like a cold winter's night when the ground is covered with snow. Gently, the tips of those fingers lifted my face and her silvery eyes met mine.

She smiled down at me with lips the color of bloody pomegranates. My stomach sank. My heart skipped a beat.

I knew who she was. I didn't know her, know her, but I'd seen her on the covers of local newspapers.

Lenorre, one of the countess vampires of Oklahoma, stared down at me with the most glorious and surreal eyes I'd ever seen. Vampires, like werewolves, have their own hierarchy and social structure. As countess, Lenorre was their queen. She was the community's, or clan's, political link and leader. Fortunately, since ye olden times, vampire killings have diminished greatly.

Murdering your dinner is generally viewed as déclassé, not to mention it's terribly bad for publicity, which most vampires care a lot about. That doesn't mean it doesn't happen. From what I know, the punishment system with vampires generally stays with the vampires, unless something has become such a problem that the government has to step in. In fact, there are even some vampires in our government. Thankfully, most of them aren't Republicans. Over the years, the vampires have managed to charm and seduce the media, granting their existence a moderate amount of political and social acceptance.

"Is that any better?" she asked in a purring voice that was only slightly accented.

I closed my eyes and finished visualizing the tower, leaving the wolf no bars or windows to peek through. I took a deep breath, and this time could breathe without the sensory overload. It seemed Lenorre was helping me to shield.

When I opened them she was still staring at me. I resisted the urge to push her away. She was nowhere near repulsive, but she was a stranger. Her long hair shone like polished onyx. When she turned her head, the clip that held the tresses in place winked in the flashing lights. The bands of the clip arched and entwined like Celtic knots, but the arches were too jagged, too harsh, and more tribal. Diamonds and amethysts absorbed the light, sparkling bright enough that I knew they were real.

"Kassandra Lyall," she said softly, and my heart gave another fierce beat. I was getting really sick of people knowing who I was.

"Lenorre," I said.

She leaned back on her heels and kept smiling. "What brings a preternatural investigator into my club?"

I didn't see a reason not to tell her the truth. So I said, "We're trailing someone."

"Oh?" she asked. "Whom?"

"Rosalin Walker," I whispered, feeling a wave of heat descend and the wolf look up. As if she could see it, Lenorre touched my arm, and her cool energy rolled through me like a caress to calm the wolf. The tips of her fingers trailed over the net material down my arm, brushing the black wristband.

"We should speak somewhere more private." Her silvery eyes met mine.

I didn't really like the idea, but anything was better than shape-shifting in public. My control of the beast was usually better than this. There were several things that I'd learned to recognize as triggers for the wolf, and there were certain things that helped me gain more control of it. One of the things that helped me gain control was constant practice; the second was consuming a lot of steak. It'd taken months, but I'd learned to partially shift as well. During a partial shift my nails were claws, my eyes turned gold, and my canines lengthened slightly. How did I know? That's what mirrors are for. It's quite disturbing to watch a partial shift. At least with a full shift the entire thing is fluid, the beast just rolls out of the body and voilà -it's a bipedal wolf. A partial shift is somewhere between human and animal. The partial shift takes stronger bars to stop her from spilling out completely, almost like holding a rabid pit bull at the end of a leash. You need a firm enough grip and enough discipline to keep her from breaking free and raising hell.