Chapter 45

As much as I hated leaving Mandy, another team had called, desperate for additional training. Not that she’d been far from my thoughts. As we’d clambered through the sweltering heat of the Arizona mountains—Summer had not relinquished its grip down there—her words had tumbled through my skull. Plus, the way she’d described her feelings. For her husband, although that mystery remained to be unveiled. And for me.

We were master and slut. Also, lovers. And friends.

“How’d that happen?” I murmured as the flight home began its final descent.

But then, my mind wandered to the night before. Halfway between the interstate and Fort Huachuca, we’d been celebrating the completion of their final exercise. Which had turned out to be more realistic than anyone had imagined.

Another nonassociated bloodsucker had been infiltrating north among human migrants. But it was greedy, and a sharp-eyed border agent had noticed her eclectic collection of thralls. So, we’d gotten in a little live-fire training as well. Which meant everyone needed to blow off some steam.

Just off a winding two-lane road that meandered over low hills, an old bar clung to a patch of gravel-strewn asphalt. Wind-blown, gray planks rattled on the outside in the deep shade of gnarled trees. Nor was it much brighter on the inside. Reeking of decades of beer and cigarettes, the dingy, wood-paneled place possessed a certain charm. A cross between a rough country honky-tonk and a biker joint, the bar catered to all types. It had fast become our favorite haunt.

After an evening of swapping lies and drinking, I left the men’s room to find most of the team had moved to the pool tables in the rear. From the rising voices and laughter, the usual flurry of shit-talking and raucous financial redistribution was about to begin.

A grin on my face, I was about to return to my barstool. Wouldn’t be fair to play with them. Far too many billiard games in my past. But just as I turned for the glass-backed bar, a motion caught my eye.

It came from one of a row of small, gloomy booths along the near wall. At first, I shook my head. But then the fingers of a slight, grizzled man in worn leathers shifted again. After finding a narrowed face and dark, beady eyes, my pulse slowed. Time also slowed as my gaze swept the room. But he was alone. One man. One beer. In one booth.

The digits moved once more. Clan sign. Anonymous. But he wanted to talk. With a sigh, I veered towards the shadowed figure. While lifting a glass, he watched me with narrowed eyes as I slid onto the cracked leather bench across from him.

“Do I know you?” I asked.

“No.” He inhaled and glanced around before coughing to clear his throat. It was a frothy sound. “I have a message.”

As he spoke, I inspected him. Not pallid. If anything, he was swarthy, exuding a rugged health. So, not one of them. Only a thrall. When the glass thumped back onto the table, he sighed.

“They said you’d be tall.” His voice was gravelly and low. “And that, um, I’d recognize you.”

“They did, huh?” I sniffed. “Who you work for?”

Rather than answer, he looked down and played with his drink. When he returned to me, he wore a taut grin.

“Not important. They said you should know...” Again, a phlegmy cough left him, sending a shiny bubble of spit to drip from his lower lip. He swiped at it with a sleeve. “Um, The Baron. He boxed her. Kali. That you’d know who I’m talking about.”

Although my heart tumbled, I kept my face set. Of course, we’d both understood that could happen. The gorgeous blonde had been sent as bait. We’d spent the night together in Vegas playing our roles. But then came my meeting with the werewolf Luka. Well, his wife, Lisandra. Word would travel. If I was dealing with The Dusk Pride, I wasn’t in the pockets of the clans. Not to mention my not asking for Kali’s return.

All of which meant, as I’d warned her, The Baron knew she’d failed. The last in a long line of enticing lures he’d sent my way over the centuries. Although I couldn’t read his mind per se, I doubted he’d been surprised. Bless her undead heart, she’d provided some information to me, but it was a shame. Unfair, even to one of their kind.

“Boxed?” I murmured.

“Yeah. They say she’ll be ... Well, you know how they are.” With the grin gone, he sighed. “Worse among themselves. Sometimes.”

“Um-hmm,” is all I managed, while nodding.

Boxed meant she was back in a casket. Or similar enclosure. They’d keep her viable, but just barely. I shouldn’t have felt anything. She was a monster, after all. But then again, weren’t we all? The games I’d played with her master. Endless through the centuries.

“Tell your master”—at a loud cheer I glanced towards the crowded pool tables. When I returned to the man, he was inspecting me—”thanks for the info. But what does he want?”

“Mistress. And nothing, Iakovos. She has what she desires.”

“Oh, really? And what might that be?”

“Your curiosity.”

At that, I fell silent. The thrall wasn’t wrong. A mysterious informant in the clans was curious. When a bitter laugh escaped me, his head tilted, but I kept silent. She’d want something more. That much was inevitable.

“Anything else?” I grumbled.

“No.” He lifted the glass.

After giving him a slow nod, I rose from the booth. With a stretch that had the cords across my back creaking, I let the air hiss from my lungs.

“Well, tell your mistress from me”—I flashed him a taut grin and furrowed my brow—”she may not want my curiosity.”

Before he could reply, I turned and headed to my barstool. After settling onto it, I watched in the mirror behind rows of booze bottles. With a hooded expression, the thrall stood. And, message delivered, it wandered towards the exit.

Just as I was nursing a fresh whiskey, a shadow appeared beside me. Perfume, similar to Mandy’s, plus a more subdued shampoo and soap, all swirled into my nostrils. At the athletic, though buxom figure sliding onto the stool beside me, I sighed. Without looking, I knew who it was.