“Rest,” Madoc said in a low, rough voice that was somehow thickly sexual. “You’ll need it.”
Then Madoc cast a sidelong glance at James, and, in reaction to whatever he saw or didn’t see, tugged Took in close for a kiss. Took had been wrong; this was more intimate—the cool, sticky sweetness of blood on Madoc’s lips, like salted lemonade on a hot day, and the pressure of his hand against the small of Took’s back.
It was a pissing contest and it should have raised Took’s hackles, but instead he leaned into the kiss.
New York was too far, even for Madoc, to get back. Whatever reason West had for the lies that now rattled around Took’s head like old dice, this was okay. He could have this.
After a long moment, Madoc broke the kiss. He gently brushed the back of his fingers over Took’s cheek, and then James cleared his throat uncomfortably. Fair enough, Took thought as he stepped back and tried to compose himself. It wasn’t the place, and no matter what he thought in the heat of the kiss, it probably wasn’t something he could have, not realistically.
Bu it was, he realized with an ache in his chest, the only thing he could think to want.
Point made to… Took? To James? To the vampires behind their steel doors?…. Madoc stepped away. He smoothed his ruffled hair back from his face with one hand.
“I won’t be long,” he promised. “Then we can work out what Waring needed to hide.”
“Who,” Took corrected. He hadn’t realized he was certain of that until he spoke, but he saw the matchstick girls that Waring remembered sharply in his mind as he spoke—colorless children against the black of his mind, almost see-through, as though they’d been emptied out, with pipe cleaner arms and legs. “Them.”
Madoc briefly raised his eyebrows at the confidence in Took’s voice and then nodded. “For his sake,” he said, “I hope you’re right. Living children might be the only thing to buy him… some sort of life.”
James cleared his throat. “Nine nails, then,” he said, his voice harsh and unkind as he bounced off the salt. “If I’m to watch the poor bastard rot.”
THE NEONletters marched the bar’s name crookedly across the front of the building—Gone to the Dogs. Took checked his phone, but there’d been no other messages since the address he’d received just before he left the East Coast.
Took rolled his head from one side to the other and felt the bones in his neck pop. Undead or not, that still felt good. Prepared as he’d get, Took shoved his phone into his pocket and walked up to the front door.
The big old boy slouched in a chair next to the door stuck his leg out into the threshold, cracked motorcycle boot braced against the frame. He thumbed the brim of his cap back and peered at Took from under the shadow of it.
“You got the teeth to drink here, boy?” he drawled.
Took took a twisted satisfaction in peeling his lips back from his fangs in a humorless threat display of a smile. He’d spent too many hours of his life trying to bulk himself up with enough testosterone to earn entry to this bar, every other bar, his mom’s house whenever his dad rocked through and felt like stopping. The flash of fear on the bouncer’s face was payback for every shove, cuff, and shake he’d weathered.
With his tongue he pushed his fangs back up into their sockets. For once, they didn’t pop back down.
“Good enough?” he asked.
The bouncer lurched to his feet, his eyes nervous as he searched the darkness of the parking lot for backup. He hammered the door behind him with a heavy-knuckled hand.
“You picked the wrong bar to slum in, wetmouth,” the bouncer growled. He reached around to the small of his back and pulled out an extendable sap. A snap of his wrist extended it. “You ain’t gonna have any teeth when we finish with ya.”
He swung overhand, and the metal glittered in the moonlight as it descended toward Took’s head. Took swayed to the side and easily grabbed the thick muscled wrist. The guy might be one of Gabriel’s dogs, but he wasn’t a wolf. Took twisted the wrist until the arm cocked awkwardly, and then threw a punch up into the exposed armpit. The shoulder popped audibly out of the socket, and the bouncer foundered at the knees with a shrill whine.
“Stay down,” Took told him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet to flash the VINE ID in front of the man’s nose. “Or where you go next, everyone’s got bigger teeth than you.”
The man tried to snarl through a pain-twisted face. “Gabriel will fuck up your life.”
Took gave the man’s arm another twist. The dislocated joint made a strange noise as it turned.
“He already tried,” Took said as the bouncer writhed on the ground at his feet. “Someone else did it better.”
The door to the bar finally opened and Gabriel looked out. He glanced down at the bouncer on the ground and grimaced in disappointment.
“You’re a shit guard dog, Harry,” he said.
Harry whined and kicked at the ground with his boots, his face red with pain. He didn’t seem to care too much about Gabriel’s judgment.
“Are we going to talk?” Took asked. “Or should I just rip off his arm and hit you with the bloody end?”
Harry tried to scream his objection, but all that came out was a strangled squeal. It made Gabriel crack that crooked grin of his, a flash of stubbled dimple and white, white teeth.
