I was the anti-Christ, and I was walking in their midst.
Andre ignored it all, maneuvering us through the throng of people towards the club’s entrance. If he was worried that one of them would attack me, he didn’t show it. Just as I’d gone from scared teenager to otherworldly abomination, Andre had gone from affectionate soulmate to a seven-hundred-year-old king.
One of the bouncers glanced from Andre to me. I could smell his growing fear and his righteous anger. Beneath that was a thread of desire that the siren always seemed to coax out.
The bouncer ripped his gaze from me. He hesitated, then, seeming to gather courage, spoke. “I’m sorry, Andre,” he said in English, his Dutch accent pronounced, “but we cannot let her inside.”
I was sure being told no by an employee was a first.
Andre’s eyes flashed and he squared his jaw, about ready to bark out an order or, worse, maim the dude like he had Tybalt. Before he got the chance, I placed my hand on the bouncer’s forearm.
My skin began to glow. “Evening.” I smiled.
The bouncer’s eyes widened as my glamour ensnared him. A moment ago he might’ve yanked his hand away, but now his glassy eyes watched mine, enthralled.
“You’ll let us in, and then you’ll forget about this.” As I spoke, I felt someone behind me reach out and touch me, drawn in by the effects of second-hand glamour.
The bouncer blinked a few times, then jolted, like he’d been caught with his pants down. “Fuck, sorry for the hold up, Andre,” the bouncer said. He reached for the rope and unhooked it for us.
Andre raised an eyebrow at me as he pressed a hand to the small of my back, ready to lead me inside.
“Wait.” I turned to the waiting crowd. Flashes of light came from camera phones. “You will delete all evidence of our presence, and you will remember only that a celebrity passed through.”
Cameras were lowered and murmurs traveled through the line of eager partygoers.
I swiveled back to Andre. He pulled me close so that his nose and mouth were buried in my raven-dark hair. “You definitely came back a little more wicked.” It was the same thing he’d said when we were on his jet, right before shit had hit the fan. He’d been referring to my time at Bran Castle.
I absently rubbed my throat, remembering how it had been slit. I’d been dead for a short period of time, and then I had some real one-on-one time with the devil. I suppressed the thought that, if caught, I might soon face more one-on-one time with him.
I forced a smile, determined to not let my fears drag me down. “Don’t be jealous that you don’t have mad skills like I do,” I said.
Andre glanced down at me, raising an eyebrow as he propelled us into the club. “Soulmate, you have not even begun to see my mad skills.” The pitch of his voice made it clear exactly what skills he was referring to.
My skin flickered a little brighter. Well played, Andre. Well played.
We pushed through the crowd, and people stopped and stared. “Uh, Andre, how are we supposed to get out of here unseen again?” I asked, eyeing them.
His mouth pressed into a tight line. “We’re not.”
Startled by his words, I stopped walking, only to have him nudge me forward.
“Relax, soulmate, this is my club, my domain. I would not bring you here only to see you hurt.” As we passed the bar, he leaned down so that his lips brushed against my ears. “I promise.”
I cleared my throat. Even in a crowded room, Andre’s nearness had me flustered. “So, why, exactly are we here again?”
“Supply gathering.”
He was still being cryptic, but at least he’d given me more information than he had so far.
Andre led us to the club’s backrooms and knocked on one of the doors. I could hear a feminine voice murmuring on the other side. When it became clear the woman wasn’t going to answer the door, Andre yanked on the handle. Metal snapped and the door swung open.
Inside a woman with glittering skin leaned back in a chair, a cellphone pressed to her ear and her feet propped up on the desk.
“Hey—” The woman’s voice cut off when she caught sight of us. She dropped the phone and shot to her feet. “Andre, holy shit, I had no idea you were …” Her voice died away when she saw me. “Gabrielle Fiori?” Her brows pulled together. “What’s going on?” She glanced back at Andre.
“I need a favor, Ophelia.”
She whistled, her gaze finding mine again. “You know how we work. Highest bidder ultimately wins.”
It was about then that I realized she was a fairy. Like Oliver, only way less cool because … Oliver. ’Nuff said.
She eyed me. “And I seriously doubt you could provide me something big enough to hide her from those that wish to know.”
“All my current club holdings in the Netherlands, Belgium, Germany, and Denmark are yours from this day forward,” Andre said. “That’s my final offer.”
Her eyes widened, then a smile lit her face. “I think I can work something out.”
“No, Ophelia. I need a hard answer on this. Either you take it, or you don’t.”
She must’ve realized that an offer like this didn’t come around too often because she nodded. “I’ll take it. What do you want from me?”
“I need that seer’s shroud of yours.”
I gave Andre a strange look. Seer’s shroud?
Ophelia was already shaking her head. “I bartered mine away a long time ago.”
I saw the hope die from Andre’s eyes. I had the horrible suspicion that we were now screwed.
“Wait, Andre—” Ophelia reached out and grabbed his forearm. “I know of a sorceress in Austria who can produce what you seek.”
“We do not have the means to travel to Austria.”
Now Ophelia smiled. “You may not, but I do.”
Chapter 10