Simone took a deep breath, her hands shaking as she wrung them. “Luckily it was a Shifter, and he’s mostly healed. But I almost got torn apart carrying him to a private room.”
Three puncture marks branded her shoulder, but she didn’t seem to know they were there.
“The juicers knocked out two of my people already. They’re looking for a female Mage they can bind with and are blasting everyone in the process. The one at nine o’clock holding the beer bottle—blood excites him. The woman on the sofa is willing, so the man fucking her is the least of my concerns. We don’t have the authority to kill these men. They’ll shut us down.”
I could see why they were hesitating. For one, they didn’t have anyone qualified to handle this level of violence. Most of the workers were busy trying to lead customers away, and we anxiously waited for them to disperse. The fewer people around, the fewer potential victims.
Simone snapped her fingers at Flynn. “Lock the stairwells. Don’t let anyone down until we get this contained.”
Flynn relayed the command to three of his crew. I spotted Claude scooping up women like ice cream and heading to the back door.
What kind of fuckery was about to unfold? Five men juiced up on toxic levels of sensory magic, which amplified their desires, whether that was sex, juicing, or violence. And not a single Mage employee in sight to help me out.
“Clyde!” I shouted, relieved I hadn’t blurted out his real name in the heat of the moment.
Still in his gold shorts, Claude sliced through the thinning crowd until he reached us.
I looked between him and Simone. “How many Chitahs are on the floor?”
She shook her head. “Workers? Clyde’s the only one. We have a few upstairs, but we’ve had trouble in the past with them flipping their switch.”
“Think you can take down a Mage?” I asked him. “No killing.”
He let only his top two canines elongate. “I think I can handle it.”
I gave him a pointed look. “Don’t flip your switch, and don’t put more venom in him than two fangs. If you do, it’ll shut down this club, and we’re all screwed.” I glanced at the room. “Take out Sonny Crockett.”
He glanced at a man rising from an unconscious body on the floor. “Don Johnson over there in the jacket?”
“See?” Simone said, judging me with her coffee-colored eyes.
“Can you handle the Lone Musketeer with the broken beer bottle?” I asked her.
She looked down to where Rena lay on the floor, still knocked out from the blast of energy. “Why not the humping fool on the couch? Seems like we should take out the easy ones first.”
“Because I have a feeling that the furry guy over there wants him more than we do. If you take care of the Lone Musketeer, the furry guy will take care of Romeo. Clyde, after you take down Miami Vice, go for Vin Diesel. I’ll take care of Bon Jovi.”
Simone blinked. “Who?”
I grinned at her. “You’re kidding me, right? ‘Living on a Prayer’?You’rethe one who started the celebrity look-alike contest.”
Claude’s eyes narrowed. “He gutted a man.”
I tapped my wrist. “Time’s a-ticking.” I flashed to the opposite side of the room and stopped behind the deranged rock star look-alike.
Like the angel of death, he indiscriminately selected his next victim, which happened to be a short-haired woman. He swung his fist in a sweeping motion, and a narrow line of blood appeared on her neck. She reached for the bleeding wound and then looked at her bloodstained hands. My heart sank, but then she suddenly grabbed the hands of the man next to her, and blue light flashed between their palms. The bleeding on her neck stopped, and while she could have blasted her attacker, she fled. Not every Mage knew how to fight.
I grinned mercilessly at the realization that Mr. Rockstar wasn’t a Mage. Had he been, he would have blasted everyone with energy or flashed after the woman. My fangs ached, but I locked up my Vampire. It was time to handle this situation like a Mage.
He slowly turned until his eyes locked on mine. The short blade of a bloody push dagger protruded between his index and middle fingers.
I sharpened my light. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?”
A stream of words flew past his lips, but they sounded Latin. It was as if his mind and body had disconnected, and there was nothing coherent in the depths of his soulless eyes.
When he lunged at me, I hopped onto a coffee table and then jumped behind him. Though I could have blasted him with energy, why not make this fun? I grabbed a beer bottle and smashed it over his thick skull. He staggered for a moment before spinning around and headbutting me in the stomach like a bull. The air punched out of my lungs as I toppled over a chair and hit the ground. Staring up at the dark ceiling, I gasped as the worst kind of agony suddenly tore through my body—as if lions were feasting upon me. He forced sensory magic through my hands, and I experienced all the terror and pain of a victim being mauled and eaten by lions. Each time I closed my eyes, gory images that seemed real filled my head.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to run and blast the imaginary lions with energy.
