Shadow hovers in a dark corner only a few feet away. No one but me notices him.
My breath catches. He never comes in. He always waits for me to draw them out.
Obsidian eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see the beast within surge to the forefront. A flicker of raw, unbridled hunger crosses his features, and I freeze. For a heartbeat, I think he's going to lunge, to give in to the monstrous urges that are consuming him. But then there's a flash of recognition, a return to the here and now. He remembers who I am, and the moment of danger passes.
Relief washes over me, mingled with a pang of sorrow. Shadow is fighting a losing battle, not just with the Guard but with himself. I can see the toll it's taking on him.
I need to help him.Now.
My resolve hardens as I turn back to my target.
Each beat of the music sends vibrations through my body, aligning with the racing of my heart.
I make my way toward the target, my heels clicking rhythmically against the polished floor. I don’t approach quietly or discreetly. I’ve locked onto him, and I approach in a straight, direct line.
The man’s eyes scan up my legs lazily, appreciatively, before lingering at my breasts. A spark of interest ignites in his eyes as our gazes lock. His pupils are oversized pools of ink. He’s high.
"Well, hello," he greets, his voice smooth like velvet but with an edge that sends a shiver down my spine. "Haven't seen you around before."
His gaze finds the fractal patterns of my birthmark that travel over my neck and shoulder. I do my best to cover them up with makeup, but he homes in immediately. My skin prickles under his attention.
"No, you haven’t," I say flatly, refusing to pander to him. Then I take a sip of the champagne I got earlier to blend in. I broadcast boredom with my every move and expression.
His nostrils flare as he shifts, entering my gravitational pull. He’s a hunter like me, and he accepts the challenge I just placed before him.
"And why is that?" he presses, rolling the tumbler of whiskey in his hand.
"Not sure there was anything worth my while here," I say, without breaking eye contact.
He tucks his tongue behind his teeth as a smug smile curves his lips. He scans me a second time with deliberate assessment, not bothering to hide it. Plucking my glass from my grip, he sets our drinks aside.
His hand meets the small of my back. "Well, how about we start by getting you a fresh drink. Then I'll see about making your visit... worth your while."
I expect him to lead me toward one of the backrooms. Instead, I’m directed to a set of stairs. We pass a security guard who gives the man I’m with a nod. "Mr. Hurley."
"Welcome to my private quarters," he announces after we’ve ascended two flights. Mr. Hurley swings open the door to a room that smells of rich leather and wood polish with a faint, almost imperceptible, chemical undertone. A plush leather couch and heavy mahogany desk ground the room. With a quick look at the plaques and pictures on the walls, I realize too late I’ve engaged with the club owner.
"Please take a seat, Miss... " he prompts.
"Umbra." I don’t offer a first name because he didn’t ask.
Mr. Hurley isn’t likely to know that umbrais Latin for shadow, or the significance it holds to me.
"Miss Umbra," he repeats, lips twitching. He crosses to a glass bar cart and begins mixing cocktails.
So sure of himself, he doesn’t even ask what I drink.
Sweat breaks out on my palms. I’m in over my head. The room feels tiny compared to the booming music from the cluboutside, but Hurley's presence dominates it. His energy sizzles and crackles against my skin like a live wire.
"Maybe we should go somewhere else," I comment in that same bored tone. "It’s stuffy in here."
"Is it?" he says in an equally disinterested tone. He sets down the cocktail shaker to walk behind the desk and open the window. A fresh breeze sweeps through as he returns to the bar cart.
Shit. That line usually gets everyone out into the alleyway, or I convince them they want to take me home. But this guy is already quite at home in his private office above the club.
"Maybe I need a place more familiar to get relaxed?" I quip, squirming on the couch in a seductive yet petulant manner. It took me a long time to master the pout, so I don’t come off like a goofy duck.
"Maybe I need to teach you a lesson for being such a brat," he says, his back still turned.
