Chapter 4
Bastian watched from the shadows, keeping his arms crossed.
Few of the patrons on the balcony noticed him, and when they did, they gave him a wide-eyed look and scurried away.
He’d managed to stay out of sight of Eaden’s people—thank fuck for that.
His eyes tracked the head of cotton candy pink hair, the color of spun sugar, as it bobbed through the crowd, her gold top glinting in the mass of darkness.
In the crowd of bodies, her pert little ass was no longer visible, but he’d certainly gotten a distracting eyeful while she was dancing.
He didn’t mix work and play, but fuck, he was starting to rethink that rule, already considering the exceptions that might be made.
She reached the far end of the club, disappearing through a security door.
He held his position a few minutes longer, waiting for her to reemerge.
Her shift was meant to last another two hours.
He hadn’t expected to see her in the cage dancing.
That had been an unforeseen surprise. An inconvenient one, since he’d hoped to intercept her while she was serving drinks on the floor.
He inhaled, letting his chest rise and fall, remaining alert.
Eleanor Rose Kennedy. She’d been a complete wild card on his list of suspects.
He hadn’t expected a bombshell of a female with intelligent eyes and pink hair.
Pink, fucking cotton candy hair. And yet, the longer he’d watched her dance, the more it grew on him.
He’d had a hell of a time tracking her down. It didn’t help that she’d been going by her middle name. A red flag, that. Because she didn’t want to be found?
If that was the case, what was she hiding from? Or rather…who?
All the more reason to dig deeper into her. If there was one thing he was certain of, she had the answers he needed.
He shifted uncomfortably, running a hand over the shaved side of his scalp, angling his body to better see the club. The minutes ticked by. No head of pink hair emerged.
Closing his eyes, he burrowed into his magic, letting his sense of metals take over.
He’d already attuned himself to hers earlier.
It was simply a matter of locating the gold around her neck, which had been a lucky find.
A flare of recognition reached him. She was still in the room behind the security door, moving around almost erratically.
Her direction changed, then she was moving toward the back of the club.
He frowned.
There’d been a moment earlier, just a brief flash before she’d seen him, when she’d spotted someone in the VIP box near his. Whoever it was had made her falter. He’d looked over, but hadn’t picked out anyone specific.
His senses tingled. The glint of gold around her neck had stopped moving.
Tunneling deeper, becoming one with the metal, he focused on its surroundings.
He felt the brush of skin—her skin. He ignored the warmth of it, the distracting softness of her chest where the pendants rested.
Then he felt something else, something kissing the other side of the necklace. Cool, night air.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
He was moving before he realized it, descending the stairs and striding through the club, then through the front door. He was out onto the street in seconds. His street bike was parked just beside the curb. A quick wave of his hand and his helmet appeared.
There were people gathered in small clusters along the curb, chatting, laughing, waiting for ride shares.
They scooted out of his way, gaping as he passed.
Whether it was his towering stature or the fuck off look he usually wore, they stayed out of his way.
Most were supernaturals, but a few were humans.
His glamor was one of the best in the supernatural world—thanks to his unique brand of magic.
So they probably couldn’t tell what, exactly, he was.
Not unless they had enough magic to see through his disguise.
Had Eleanor? It seemed unlikely, given that she was human. And yet…
Her reaction to him in the coffee shop had been interesting. Her initial response had been one of fear, but she’d quickly reverted. There had been a moment when her eyes lingered on his ears, his teeth, that he worried she could see through his glamor.
He wasn’t sure what it was about her. But something made his goblin side roar to the surface and purr with curiosity. He told himself it was purely the hunter in him. Because that was easier than the alternative.
He felt for the gold again, using his goblin senses, his affinity for metals, to pinpoint her location. Grabbing his helmet, he shoved it over his head and climbed onto his bike, revving it to life. With a quick thrust, he set off in search of his quarry.
He ignored the coldness in his fingertips, the sense of rising worry.
This was the middle of Walton. One of the largest cities in the country.
With a higher-than-normal presence of supernaturals.
This particular sector of Midtown held far too many dangers for someone like her to be outside in the middle of the night.
Especially in a fucking gold top that shone like a beacon.
She was nothing to him. Nothing but a potential lead. And yet, his fingers grew colder, urging him to hurry.
In all his years, he’d never failed on a job.
It had earned him a reputation among supernaturals.
Something real fucking hard to do for a goblin, since they were treated like dirt.
Not that he cared about his reputation all that much.
He didn’t give a flying fuck what other people thought about him.
But he did like getting paid. Gold, preferably.
Rounding the corner, he put on a burst of speed, searching for Eleanor. She was drawing closer; he felt the gold at her neck. It was time to make his move. He had a job to do, and he’d be damned if he let this little human slip through his fingers.