Chapter 12
Chapter
Twelve
Liquid moon-madness symptom suppressant drips into my gut with an odd cloying cold, like I’ve somehow managed to ingest mercury without it killing me.
It congeals in my intestines and I shiver, not at the taste, but the viscous texture.
Shaking my head, I tamp down the sensation.
Hours later, when full dark makes its appearance with the moon swollen overhead, I follow the others, hunching my shoulders against the stiff breeze outside.
Ironwood. Holly. Moon madness. Shaman.
My thoughts bombard me.
Grayson refuses to look at me anymore. I don’t blame him. I kept a secret from him.
Is it better to know why you feel a certain way? Or stay ignorant?
Now he knows he’s cursed and he’s worried about my bite. What was actually accomplished by telling him?
I’m not sure, but I’m desperate for one of his rare smiles.
RJ and Aimee say their goodbyes and send us on our way to Club Mera with a wave and shared expressions of dread. Or maybe it’s my imagination painting emotions on their faces. Aimee looks like she’s ready to burst into tears while RJ is determined to keep them at bay.
But hope is one of those things where sometimes it’s too hard to hold onto without hurting yourself.
I stop Grayson when we’re a block away from the club, pulling at him like I’m trying to get a boulder to move.
He shrugs out of my hold.
I try not to let it bother me. “Have you been to Club Mera before?” I whisper.
Being nestles against the shadows of the building doesn’t keep us from the curious eyes of the others on the street. This time of night, this time of year, it’s still decent enough for people to want to extend their nightly walks.
No one glances our way. I’m not sure what it means.
He shakes his head and his arms hang loose at his sides. “No but I’ve heard of the place. Cool spot to hang out.”
“It’s run by vampires.”
He blinks, his eyes going golden around the outer rim like the fire of the sun during an eclipse. “The same vampires who took you?”
The control in his voice sends a shiver of awareness along my spine. “Good vampires?” I try.
“No such thing as a good vampire.”
“You remember Lacey and Colt? It’s his club. She’s his enforcer.” Or whatever it is Lacey considers herself.
I haven’t seen them since our last meeting at the Hollow.
Grayson blows out a breath and fits his body to the building, sweat slicking across his brow but no longer scratching or hearing voices.
“Shit. Okay.”
He closes his eyes like he needs a minute to refocus and order his thoughts. I give him the space. Nibbling on my lip, I nod when he pushes up, scratching his arm.
“Let’s go.”
Like that, he’s ready.
What I wouldn’t give for his control.
He angles himself in front of me on our approach to the door. It’s open, though the club won’t heat up until much later when the real monsters come out to play, the kind who drink blood and laugh about it.
We’re the unwilling monsters. It doesn’t matter. We will still fit in here.
Security at the door lets us in and dips his head like it’s permission. On the floor, the supernaturals have already begun to mingle near the bar. Most of them cluster in small groups, their bodies curving toward their partners or over their drinks.
A throb of base pulses through the room almost too low to hear. You have to feel it.
Come midnight, this place will fill wall-to-wall with bodies and desire.
The thought of it sparks an ache in my abdomen.
It’s not just vampires here. There are other shifters—sylphs and wendigo. Trolls and even a phantasm in the corner, flitting near the stage before solidifying to order a drink.
Was this where RJ and Aimee came to track down their gossip?
And it worked.
“We’re standing out for the wrong reasons.” I grip my elbows and shrink in on myself.
“What? Would you feel better with something in your hand?” Grayson leans close, and the awareness of him scalds down to my bones.
I shiver at his nearness, at his scent, which this place only amplifies. Shadows in the corners are welcoming, the ceiling high enough to give the illusion of space. A dais takes up one wall, instruments prepped and waiting for tonight’s headliners.
And Grayson is speaking to me again. Not forgiveness, but maybe something better than resignation.
I nod, my throat dry and working compulsively. “I’m parched.”
Grayson nudges me toward the bar. We wait behind a dryad until the bartender acknowledges our turn with a nod.
It’s a risk to drink here or do anything to let down our guard a little bit. We’re at Club Mera to see if we can borrow a car from someone who won’t rat us out or have worried parents wondering where the vehicle went.
We need to be inconspicuous.
We need to disappear.
Yet the first sip of whatever drink is on special tonight warms me to the pit of my icy stomach. The alcohol thaws whatever it touches and for an instant, I squeeze my eyes shut, forgetting the weight on my shoulders.
“You look like you’re enjoying that,” a smooth male voice cuts in. “Pleasure looks good on you.”
I glance up, startled, then furious. I let my walls down for even an instant. I never marked his approach.
This is strike two. Or more.
I’m letting things slip.
The loc-haired surfer-looking dude has pointed ears and smells like some kind of shifter all the way to his sandaled feet. A puka shell necklace is draped across sharp collarbones.
“You want to dance, pretty girl?” He offers his hand.
Grayson cuts between us with eyes narrowed and wild. “No, she doesn’t.”
Surfer Shifter sneers. “I didn’t realize she needed a mouthpiece to answer for her. This song has a wicked beat. Let’s grind to it.”
He throws the second part out to me, looking over Grayson’s impressive shoulders.
No one has asked me to dance before. I barely hear the song above the thudding of my heart.
I’ve also never seen so many different types of supernaturals in one place, and if Grayson hadn’t been with me, I’d have let this one talk me into a dance. Just to experience, once, how it feels to have someone hitting on me.
But Grayson isn’t having any of it.
“She’s not going with you. Sorry.” He uses his size to his advantage.
And if the Surfer Shifter doesn’t recognize the wildness, doesn’t scent the danger, then he’s stupid. Grayson might have taken the suppressant but there’s still something primal about him.
The grooves from his compulsive scratching haven’t healed, and long thin lines stretch across his forearms.
“What are you, the boyfriend?” the shifter asks.
Grayson stiffens. I nearly choke on my next sip of the drink. “No, I’m not.”
“Come on, man, if you’re not her boyfriend then get the hell out of my way.”
Grayson moves with the man smoothly, a dance of its own. “Go find someone else.”
I shouldn’t read too much into this. It’s silly to mistake his protection for anything other than us needing to focus.
We have a job to do for both our lives, and drinking and dancing are a distraction, a waste of time.
But damn, I want it. I want it badly enough to taste it. It’s work to keep from leaning into him and pressing my cheek to his back, pretending for a second he’s mine to choose.
I wrap my free hand around his bicep. “Grayson, let’s go.”
He growls, a rumbling warning under his breath. Several other patrons within hearing distance go still at the sound but Surfer Shifter only laughs.
“You think a little territorial bullshit is going to stop me? I can take you down before you even realize you’re falling, pretty boy.” He steps closer. “What are you going to do?”
My heart jackrabbits into my throat. I tighten my grip on Grayson, surprised he doesn’t shove me off.
The last thing we need is for a fight to break out in the middle of the dancefloor, where there are witnesses. Where the word will spread about a crazed pair of werewolves starting trouble.
“Is there a problem here?”
Colt’s coldness announces his arrival before I recognize his voice.
Tension strings across my shoulders. The crowd parts for him and he stops with several feet to spare, his frigid gaze thawing slightly when he sees it’s us. A V furrows between his brows and his lips thin.
Colt’s different now. Something about him is calmer, deeper. Quieter. I draw in another breath and the shock is a punch.
He’s not a dhampir, a halfling caught between two worlds. He’s a full vampire now.
When the hell had that happened?
He doesn’t roll his eyes with any recognition. He gives nothing away, his face a blank mask, before he purposely drags his attention to the shifter.
No words are necessary. What Grayson hadn’t managed to accomplish, Colt does, and Surfer Shifter holds his hands in front of him in mock penance.
“Fine, I’m going.”
It’s too soon for me to be relieved.
Not when Grayson glares around the room in a personal challenge to anyone else who gets in our way. My chest tenses, then fills with a strange kind of heat. He protected me. Not because he wanted to get something out of me, but because he thought it was the right thing to do.
I stow it away for examination later and Colt turns to us.
“If you two are causing trouble in my club—” he starts.
“We need your help,” I interrupt. “Can we go someplace private to talk to you? And Lacey?”
He stares a little longer before he leads us up to the office on the second floor.
The chaos on the floor below disappears and leaves only the thud of the bass when he shuts the door. Lacey grins at us from her perch on the desk.
“It’s good to see you alive. Not well, though?” She draws in a breath and I stop, rooting to the floor.
She’s…no.
She’s gone full vamp. Her skin is smooth and pale, her features nearly perfect outside of the mischief in her gaze. It’s too human.
Colt scoffs and shoos her off the desk. “Move.”
Lacey pouts and hops down. “What are you guys in for? RJ said she got you out, Mandi.”
I shake off the confusion and the nerves gnawing away at my gut. Whatever those two chose to do, it’s their business. It’s also not my problem that they made it out of the vampire castle, and I’d been caught.
“The moon madness.” Grayson speaks for both of us.
Colt and Lacey freeze in place. Lacey shivers and wraps her arms around her chest to shatter the stillness but the unnerving quickness of their movements get under my skin. There’s no in-between, no ticks, no unconsciousness twitches.
It’s movement, or silence. Nothing else.
“We don’t have much in the way of new information on that,” Colt says. “All the old books refuse to go into detail about the cause. We know there were moon-mad wolves used in the wars in the past, but they were careful not to say what made them, or how to fix them.”
I glance at Grayson, staring ahead as though the wall has more interesting things to say. “We might have found someone, actually. A Shaman. According to the witches, he knows how to handle the moon madness.”
“Convenient timing.” Colt settles near Lacey, their shoulders brushing. “Why haven’t we come across anything about a shaman before?”
“No clue. Things happen when they’re supposed to.” I gnaw my cheek. “Weak excuse, but I’ve got nothing else.”
It’s one of those strange facts of the universe, timing and synchronicities. No matter how it pisses me off, I guess we weren’t supposed to know any of this until right now.
After it’s almost too late to save me and Grayson.
“What about this shaman makes him so special?” Lacey asks.
“I guess we’re going to find out. He travels with a circus show, the Vanishing Mile. They never announce where they’re going, they pop up in random places, and no one is ever able to track them.”
Grayson scoffs, like the reminder is a personal remark on our powerlessness.
“I’ve heard of them.” Colt stands up straighter. “They’re dangerous.”
Lacey turns to him. “You’ve heard of them and you didn’t think about telling us about the shaman?”
She rubs her arms and I wonder if the scars from her previous attacks linger under the surface, tormenting her with the latest mention of cursed wolves.
“They get new acts all the time. How would I know if the shaman has been there for a while or if he’s a new addition? But the Vanishing Mile…it’s run by a traveling vampire gang. They lure humans in with their acts and drink from them. They’ve been doing it for centuries.”
We came here to borrow a car and get on our way.
Instead, Colt and Lacey deliver a new level of dread.
It compounds the other layers, pressing them into an unbearable tightness. I struggle like my lungs have decided the pressure is too much and they’d rather be crushed. Gladly.
“It doesn’t matter,” Grayson says, his voice a strong tenor against the blur of sound in my head. “We’ve got to go. It’s the only way we can find a cure. The shaman has supposedly helped others before.”
He says nothing about our condition, but judging by the way Lacey and Colt’s nostrils flare, a single burst of movement, they know.
Or at least, they suspect.
“The sooner we get on the road, the better. Apparently, their current stop is near enough we can get there by car and we want to catch them before they pack up and bolt,” I reply. “Ten hours.”
Lacey hops closer with a cold smile. “There’s no way we’re letting you go alone.”
“Come on,” Colt says with a groan. “Seriously?”
“Call in the reinforcements,” she urges. “We’re getting on the road tonight.”
I shake my head. “There’s no way I could ask you to do that. If we could borrow a car—”
“You didn’t ask,” Lacey interrupts. “We’re offering. It’s dangerous and we already know a thing or two about handling moon-mad wolves. And vampires.”
She and Colt share a meaningful look, and another shiver races along my spine.
“You’re joining the mission,” Grayson says dryly.
“You bet your ass we are.”
Lacey brushes past us to start her calls, and I’m not sure if this makes things better, or worse.