He pulled the heavy door open, and we stepped from the lights of the street into the dim club foyer. The smell hit me first. Not death. A sweet orange tang that clogged my throat.
I glanced at Saber. Mouth clamped tight, he jerked his chin. Move, I heard him say in my head. I stutter-stepped, then stopped, eyes on Saber’s face. I hadn’t really heard him, had I? I’d read him. Had to. I didn’t have time for another shock now.
I eased into the club proper, Saber at my back, dread fisting tighter in my chest with each shallow breath. I scanned the humans frozen in place, figures in a wax museum. Grateful the thrall left them senseless, I edged deeper into the bodies suspended in time. Sudden movement on the stage drew my attention, and a man stepped into the glare of two spotlights. No, not a man.
The monster from my past. The vampire I’d convinced myself was dead.
Marco Sánchez.
Everything stilled in me. Blood. Breath. Life.
However he had disguised himself in Atlanta, tonight he’d stripped his mask. Midnight black hair the color of his soul. Dark, cruel eyes with the same glint of evil glee I remembered.
He stood on the stage dressed entirely in black, brandishing a short sword that flashed silver in the spotlights. As I watched, he paused, shielded his eyes, and made a pretense of seeing me.
“Ah, Francesca, Princess of the House of Normand,” he said with a mocking bow. “Welcome to my little reunion soiree.”
His voice made every drop of blood in my body go icy, but I controlled a shudder and looked at the others on the stage. Just out of the glare of the spotlights. Jo-Jo slumped in a chair, his hands bound behind him, Donita kneeling at his feet. She didn’t seem to be harmed, but neither did she seem completely in thrall. Shock waves of terror quivered from her. Another female hunched across the stage floor from Donita. Laurel. Half-clothed, a grotesque tattoo of burn marks on her bare arms, and an oozing slash on her upper chest. She still wore Saber’s silver handcuffs and cowered beside Marco, yet her eyes flashed with rage.
“Now, now, Francesca,” Marco chided. “Is this any way to greet an old friend? Come closer.”
I turned to Saber, but he was frozen, too. My heart seized.
“Do not look to your tame mortal for help, Francesca,” Marco said silkily. “He will do as I tell him. Shall I demonstrate? You, throw down your weapon.”
Saber complied, but I saw the spark in his eyes and remembered. He was immune to enthrallment. Playing along.
“Wing it. I’ll move in when you distract him.”
A rush of relief made tears prickle my eyes. Then Marco ruined the moment.
“Francesca, my love. I will let them all live if you will come to me.”
Manipulative hell spawn. He gave me no choice.
Raw nerves scraped against each other as I moved toward the stage, picking my way through standing waiters and seated patrons, all in suspended animation. Thankfully, the thrall over everyone in the club save Donita and Saber seemed total.
“Don’t pull anything funny,” Laurel warned.
Marco laughed. “What can she do, you stupid bitch? My Francesca was ever a pathetic excuse for a vampire. She missed being human, but was too much the good girl to end her life.”
I winced at the truth.
“See how she cringes at my barb? She is still the same, oblivious to her powers, or she would have known I had a spy watching her.”
I cut my gaze to Jo-Jo, and Marco laughed again.
“Laurel was the spy, not Jo-Jo.”
“Focus, honey,” Saber said in my head. “Play him.”
I fought to wet my dry mouth and scrambled for something to say as I neared the base of the stage.
“If Laurel is your little fanged friend, why have you tortured her? And what is with that orange smell?”
He gave me a venomous grin. “You insulted me in the old days when you said my scent offended you.”
Everything about Marco offended me, but I flashed to the last time I’d seen him. He’d been a vampire for more than three years, yet his body held the odor of cumin and datil peppers, the spices his mother had used to cook, the smell that permeated his home. Marco sweated the smell before he was turned, and it lingered after.
“Ah, I see you recall. Sadly, I am still afflicted with my own signature scent. I had to disguise that from you, Francesca, or ruin my surprise. You are surprised to see me, are you not?”
“Brutally so,” I snapped. “Did you wear contacts as part of your disguise, Marco? To change the color of your eyes?”
“Ah, then Jo-Jo did describe me to you. Indeed, I went to much trouble to hide my identity until the time was right.”
“What’s the deal with Laurel?” I pressed as I neared the foot of the stage and a yawning hole beneath it. Marco waved a dismissive hand. “Possessive ingrate, she tried to shoot you. Against my direct orders.”
Anger burned into my fear. “Laurel was the sniper?”