Chapter 7 Nova #2
Pushing the door open, I took the outstretched hand of the valet and got out. Zeth left the keys in the ignition and joined me. Another tux-wearing man approached, gloved hands folded, bowing with theatrical precision.
“This way.”
The air inside was rich with perfume and aged liquor, every surface gleaming. I leaned toward Zeth, whispering with a curl of my lips, “Humans like their underground draped in diamonds.”
He smirked. “Supes are too messy for all this. Hard to scrub blood out of silk.”
True enough. Where humans had rules, we had appetites.
The butler guided us to the living room, where a marble fireplace dominated the space.
Pale stone with a faint blush, two mermaids were carved into the sides, their figures twisting free from the block.
Their torsos arched, lips parted, tails curled like dancers caught mid-pose.
It was decadent, obscene, and perfectly on brand.
For the first time, the butler’s mask cracked with a smile. “Imported from an Irish castle. Mr. Mecariee insists his guests feel transported into an old world.”
I tilted my head, lips curving. “Then, congratulations. He’s succeeded.”
“Downstairs, to the left,” he said, pressing something behind the left statue’s head. The marble shivered and split, revealing a stairwell of dark stone.
The stairwell was cool and narrow, lit by thin torches that made the shadows cling. Zeth muttered, “Humans and the fortunes they burn.”
I shrugged. “We spend just as much on compounds and training halls.”
“Yeah, but we’re professionals.”
I stopped, letting my boots echo on the stone. One hand on my hip, I pinned him with a look sharp enough to cut glass.
“Zeth, we’re criminals. We don’t need to dress it up. We write the rules, then we break them. Money’s just the smoke we throw over the bloodstains.”
He scoffed, eyes gleaming. “And you think any of these rich humans don't cheat, steal, and kill to keep this circus? To keep what it is they have in their tight little grasp?”
“Of course, they do.” My smile became feral as I hooked my arm through his. “But they’re little fish in the massive ocean, while we’re the great white sharks. They mean nothing in the grand scheme of things.”
His chuckle rumbled low, his grip tightening around me as if he liked the sound of that. “Come on. Let’s see the show.”
The staircase spiraled forever until the thunder of voices rose to meet us. A few more steps, and the dark gave way to a golden hue.
The cage spread wide at the heart of the room, the fighting ring gleaming under spotlights, circled by around sixty golden chairs.
Every one was filled. Men in designer suits barking bets, women in dresses like the fabric was poured over them, gemstones draped over their arms, diamonds dripping from their throats.
The air smelled of money, lust, and champagne fizz.
And me? In ripped jeans, boots, and a crop top under a moto jacket, I was the wolf that had walked into their glittering smoky parlor. Understated. Dangerous. Exactly how I liked it.
Two more butlers in tuxedos stepped forward, offering seats and cocktails. My eyes slid to the bar at the side, all gleam and glass. I slipped free of Zeth’s arm.
“Go on,” I told him, my voice velvet. “I’ll get my own drink. You know I’m particular.”
He didn’t argue. He knew I wasn’t after the liquor. I was after the pulse of the room, the secrets humming under the bright lights and bubbly.
I made my way toward the bar in the back, watching as Zeth was led to a pair of golden seats right up front, close enough to catch sweat and blood.
Two chairs, empty and waiting. That told me all I needed to know.
Mecariee not only knew who I was, but he’d placed me among the important ones, and at the last minute, no less.
This was going to be interesting.
Sliding onto a stool, I ordered a lemon drop. If I wasn’t going to get drunk, I might as well sip something that went down like lemonade. The bartender nodded and went to work. I leaned back against the bar, eyes drifting to the fighters in the ring.
They weren’t bad. One had decent footwork. If he’d only follow through on his left jab, he might even have a career. Show fighters only had two ways to make money: winning consistently or working the crowd hard enough to fill every seat. Otherwise, you were nothing but a punching bag with limbs.
“Miss,” the bartender called, sliding over a martini glass that belonged in a mixology lounge, complete with a flair of lemon garnish. It was almost too pretty to drink. I plucked it by the delicate stem and lifted it, the sugared rim on my lips, right as a smooth, cocky voice slipped in beside me.
“Now, isn’t that a sight? A gorgeous woman in boots and leather, drinking from a fragile martini glass.”
My eyes flicked toward him. I gave him the once-over without bothering to turn my body.
“And you,” I muttered over the rim of my glass, “looking like a hobo who stumbled into a billionaire’s mansion.”
His laugh was a velvet baritone that sank into my skin with the inevitability of smoke. It made my wolf bristle. That was the laugh of a man who had money and knew exactly how to use it. This kind of man always had a beauty draped on his arm, which made it strange that he was alone.
Like my words were an invitation, he slid in closer, ordered the same drink with a flick of his hand, and leaned against the bar in perfect mimicry of me. It was equal parts irritating and disarming.
I hated it.
“So,” he asked, “are you here for the fights, or are you with someone?” The end had a bite to it, like he hated saying it.
I gave him the truth. “I like fights. I came here with someone, but that’s not why I’m here.”
The bartender set down his drink. He downed half of it in one go then turned to face me fully, his back to the spectacle behind him. “Now, that’s intriguing. Tell me more.”
I almost told him to get lost, that men like him weren’t my type, but then I caught those eyes for the first time. A deep green, framed by burnt red-brown hair that looked messy in the best of ways. Words dried up in my throat.
My mind whispered, “Go, this man is trouble.”
My wolf argued, “Fall deep into those eyes and never let go.”
I wanted to step back, give myself some space to get a grip, but I refused to give him that kind of ground. To look that weak. Instead, I stepped closer, though unease crawled over me like static.
I inhaled openly, not caring if this human thought it was rude. It was simply how us wolves gathered information quickly. His scent hit me like a wall. Nothing. Blank. Humans always smelled like sweat, blood, fear—something. This man reeked of absence. Somehow, his very essence was locked away.
A growl rattled low in my throat. My grip tightened on the stem of my glass as I glared at him. No one masked their scent among humans, not unless they weren’t one, and I did not like being deceived.
He lifted his hands in surrender, but his eyes told a different story. They weren’t afraid. They were ravenous with hunger.
Warning bells screamed inside me. His sneakers-and-slacks combo. The long tan coat in the middle of summer. Every inch of him was wrong for a full-of-himself human billionaire with money to burn, and I couldn’t look away.
“I’m not going to harm you,” he said, reaching a hand toward me.
He thinks I’m scared of him? Me? Fuck that! With my pulse beating in my ears, muscles constricting, I told myself I needed to teach him a lesson.
I caught it, twisted his arm behind his back, and slammed his face into the bar before he could blink. Black-suited men surged toward me, but he spoke fast against the marble slab he was pinned to.
“Okay, it’s okay. I can see we started on the wrong foot.”
I flicked my gaze toward Zeth. He was already up, ready to go to war. He was a damn good second.
“Let me up, and I’ll wave them off. We don't want a spectacle in front of all these humans, now, do we?”
From the way the men circled, trying to stay discreet so as not to drag the humans’ attention from the fight, it dawned on me. This man wasn’t a guest. He owned this place.
Heat surged through me as if I’d grabbed fire itself, and I released him.
Moving back to my spot, I picked up my drink and downed the rest in one swallow, wishing for supe-grade alcohol to take the edge off.
At this point, my mind and body were warring between killing him and fucking him.
Neither extreme would help me at the moment.
Taking a deep breath, I pulled up that iron control of mine and squashed both instincts, nodding at him.
He straightened, waving off his men, and I motioned Zeth back with a shake of my head. If Mecariee leashed his dogs, I’d leash mine.
He tapped his watch, and the air around him shifted like a barrier had melted away. The rich metallic sting of blood, the weight of hollow ground, the stillness only vampires carried. All that was missing was the slightly sweet note that born vampires had, which meant he was made. A turned vampire.
His lips curved, flashing fang as if it was the last piece of evidence I needed. It was so darn cute, giving him a boyish charm that made me bite the inside of my lip. I hated it.
The crowd behind him erupted at the end of the fight, the timing uncanny. I rolled my eyes, hands tightening at my sides.
“Mr. Mecariee,” I said, jaw tight, focusing on what I was here for. “I’m going to be straight with you, even if you’re not giving me the same.”
Instead of arrogance, his eyes softened, tilting down like I’d just bruised him. I didn’t buy this wounded-puppy act. Not for a second.
“Look, I just need—”
“This isn’t how I pictured our meeting,” he said smoothly, tapping his glass.
The bartender refilled it instantly. He took a sip, smiling.
“That’s good. A sweet tooth. Just another thing you and I have in common.
” His laugh followed, a soft sound, and I eyed him like I was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“I told you, I’m not here to hurt you. Relax. ” He motioned to the stool beside him.
Crossing my arms, I lifted a brow and puffed out my chest in disbelief. “I’d like to see you try. Even with your goons—which I could handle—you’d still die in a puddle of the blood you guzzled tonight.”
His laugh burst free again, rich and genuine, and I’d be damned if my stomach didn’t clench at the sound. It was beautiful, magical, reminding me of moonlit trysts and seductive whispers. I hated it. Maybe if I repeat that enough, I’ll start to believe it.
“How about this,” he said, green eyes fixed on me. Despite the crowd bustling around us, his stare said I was the only one in the room who mattered. “Tell me what you need, and I’ll help you get it. Deal?”