Carmen slipped through the crowd of dancers, and they were forced to follow. Jono led the way, his presence clearing a path between vampires and their partners almost as well as Carmen. Patrick stayed on his heels, ignoring the assessing gazes turned their way, while Wade shifted position and took up the rear. They took the stairs up to the VIP mezzanine level, the crowd there smaller but far more dangerous.
Lucien sat on a low-backed couch, the seat beside him empty but soon taken by Carmen. Scattered in the area, taking up every available seat outside the main circle or leaning against the railing that overlooked the dance floor, were numerous master vampires that Patrick didn’t recognize and some he did, specifically, the ones claiming Night Courts within the five boroughs. The rest varied in appearance, but all of them had the bone-scraping feel of the undead, recognition slithering through his magic like poison.
Seated alone on a long, cushioned bench was Ashanti, her black eyes like holes in her dark face. The weight of her gaze settled heavily on Patrick as they joined the group. Ashanti gestured casually at the only empty spot, a smaller chaise situated between her spot and Lucien’s.
“Sit,” Ashanti ordered.
Jono and Patrick sat, while Wade took up position behind the chaise. Patrick glanced back at him, glad to have Wade watching their six. It meant he and Jono could focus on the conversation at hand. Patrick faced forward again, hyperaware of how the vampires around them shifted.
“New friends?” Patrick asked, staring at Lucien.
“I need no friends,” Lucien said, disdain curving his lips into a sneer that revealed sharp, jagged fangs.
“Enemies, then. It’s not like you’re running low on those.”
“You’re one to talk.”
“My children are enemies of no one in this club,” Ashanti said, cutting through their sniping.
Patrick’s fingers twitched, brushing against the gods-given dagger strapped to his right thigh. None of the master vampires save for Lucien had her eyes, but they’d hopefully listen better than he did.
“Good to know,” Jono said as he rested his elbows on his knees, glaring at everyone assembled. “But Lucien’s never been the type of bloke who likes sharing, least of all territory, so who did you invite?”
A couple of vampires bared their fangs at Jono’s less than respectful tone, but he didn’t appear put off by it. If he wanted to give attitude, Patrick would join him.
“You need an army to fight an army. I’m adding mine.” Ashanti inclined her head, her bloodred hair styled in Senegalese twists falling over her bare shoulders. “I’ve called home to me those who claim various cities across this country. More will arrive within the next week.”
Patrick’s gaze drifted over the vampires who stared back at him with faces as still and cold as marble. While he didn’t know any of them, he had a feeling they’d heard of him. Ashanti wasn’t one to gossip, only command, but Lucien never could keep his opinion to himself where Patrick was concerned.
Ashanti’s plan was similar to what he and Jono were doing within the werecreature community. While they had plenty of packs within New York City, they’d been leaning on their alliances to call in anyone who was willing to fight. They had more control over those werecreatures arriving due to Fenrir’s influence. They had no influence with these Night Courts beyond Ashanti’s personal desires.
A tall, broad-shouldered master vampire stepped away from the railing to approach the center circle they sat at. Ashanti’s gaze shifted to him instantly. He bowed his head in a respectful motion to her alone.
“Mother. You called, and we answered, but I would know what is in it for us to join with these two who have entirely too much government attention on them,” the vampire said.
The master vampire’s long black hair was pulled back in a single braid tied off with a strip of leather knotted with beads. The dark blue button-down he wore was embroidered around the pockets and collar with motifs that reminded Patrick of the Native American tribes that called the Pacific Northwest home. If that was truly the place the vampire hailed from, he’d traveled thousands of miles for a war.
“Survival,” Patrick said flatly. “You’ll starve if the demons take over the world with Ethan at their helm. That’s not a hell you’ll live long to see.”
The vampire turned to face him, lips peeling back over his fangs. “You think so little of us? We who have survived for hundreds, if not thousands, of years?”
Other vampires hissed their wordless support of his statement. Patrick rolled his eyes. “And those long-lived lives of yours are at risk of being cut short.”
“Takoma,” Ashanti said, her tone not changing, but it was enough to settle the masses.
The master vampire narrowed dark brown eyes at Patrick, as if contemplating the odds of successfully tearing out his throat with Jono sitting right there and Wade behind them. A flicker of fire burned in the air between Jono and Patrick, the heat warming his skin.
“Don’t even think about it,” Wade warned, sulfur drifting on the air.
Takoma’s eyes widened fractionally, but he held his ground. After a moment, he tipped his head in Ashanti’s direction again, deference in the motion. “Mother.”
Ashanti clacked her iron teeth at him, and Takoma stepped back to his original spot, face once again impassive. More than one pair of eyes were riveted on Wade, and Patrick would’ve been worried if he didn’t know that Wade was more than capable of taking care of himself these days.
“Patrick is right. Living in that hell will grant a true death I want none of you to have. Siding with the heavens was the lesser of two evils,” Ashanti said.
Patrick snorted. “Of course it was.”
Ashanti stood, the heavy colorful skirt she wore falling all the way to the floor to hide the curved, ironshod bone hooks that were what she walked on. None of the vampires moved, but their eyes tracked her as she approached where Patrick sat.
