Trixie was right back where she’d started with Malcolm, same old song and dance. It was the following evening and Malcolm had barely said two words to her, choosing instead to avoid her throughout the day and well into the start of evening. The moment the sun had crept into the salmon-colored sky that morning, he’d ridden out to the pastures alongside the other hands, leaving Trixie to fend for herself while they gathered the steers for sale.
Whatever the hell that meant.
Trixie settled into the front seat of the truck, the cracked, torn leather of the bench threatening to swallow her whole. A low, crooning country song played on the radio, the raspy tune drowning amid the rumbling of the truck’s ancient engine. At least she wasn’t the only one with a vehicle on its last leg.
The silence between them seemed to stretch for miles, as long as the open highway ahead. He’d refused to take his bike, grumbling something or other about her being too cold on the ride back and not having the right clothes or shoes. She hadn’t been pleased. She’d been looking forward to the closeness of wrapping her arms around him, snuggling close, however fleeting.
The sun had started to set now, the lights of downtown Billings still not seeable in the distance ahead. Trixie cleared her throat.
“So I’ve been thinking about your last name…”
Malcolm didn’t respond. He simply kept his eyes on the road, reached to his left, and switched on the truck’s headlights. The two yellow rays beamed through the twilight.
Trixie sighed. “How about White?”
Malcolm ignored the question. Only the slight curl of his upper lip indicated she was getting somewhere, though he was trying hard not to show it. She let out an annoyed huff of her own. Cat meet mouse. She shook her head. Except this particular cat was a mean, snarly thing who at the moment was trying to convince her he couldn’t be less interested when all she wanted was for him to show a bit of claw. Growl. React. Snarl. Anything.
At least one snarly beast in her life was on her side. Dumplin’ had been pleased at the prospect of staying with the pack’s cute veterinarian, Dakota, who’d immediately showered him with love and homemade dog treats. Trixie could see why Dakota made Blaze happy, though she still thought Malcolm had the better appeal. Like she’d said, Blaze’s loss. Or her gain.
If she ever managed to get him to speak again.
She let another few minutes pass.
“How about Washington?” she said, breaking the silence. “Or Williams? Something with a W. Any of those would pair well with Malcolm.”
He growled. “I have a name.”
Four words, but it was something. Progress.
She could see the city in the distance now. The dark form of the rimrocks filled the backdrop of Billings, still visible in the early evening light. The upper floors of First Interstate Center and a bank, the tallest buildings in downtown, towered over the others. There weren’t any high-rises out here. In that way, it reminded her of back home in the Georgia foothills, before she’d hitchhiked west with nothing but a suitcase and a pretty smile to earn her way.
“I know, I know,” she said, checking her makeup in the passenger-side mirror. “Grey, but it’s not really yours, is it? Just the name you’re using for now. It’s kinda like an old library book… You’ll have to return it to its rightful owner eventually.” She wiggled in the seat, pulling down the hem of her little black dress so it didn’t scooch too high on the curve of her thighs—not that it was anything Malcolm hadn’t already seen…and tasted. Heat warmed her face. She’d been looking for a repeat, but so far, he hadn’t indulged her. “I just think Washington suits you. That’s all, sugar.”
It must have been the wrong thing to say, because the look he shot her was pure ice. Cold and distant. Eyes so black they looked forged from onyx. “Who says you get a say?”
He said it like she meant nothing to him.
And who was she to say she should?
But that hadn’t been the impression he’d given her the night before.
When he’d carried her back to the bunkhouse, he’d been gentle, tender, if a bit overly protective, though she had to admit she sort of liked his grumbly orders about how she should take better care of her feet and watch out for herself more. It meant he cared.
Sure, he probably would hate her, given time. But that didn’t have to be the case yet, and she was fighting hard not to think about that right now. Not with everything the evening held at stake.
If she played her cards right, maybe she’d help the Grey Wolves more than hurt them while still getting enough dirt to keep Stan and the Triple S appeased. That was the plan anyway.
“Did I do something to offend you?” Trixie asked defensively, her lips pulling into a scowl that matched his own. She’d opted for a darker red than usual tonight—a deep cranberry instead of her usual ruby. Between the black dress and the darker-than-usual lip, the dark colors set off the sun-kissed undertones of her skin and the gold in her hair. She looked downright sultry. Like a ray of sunshine cloaked in night. The kind of woman who belonged on the arm of a vampire instead of a wolf.
That’d been intentional.
There’d be none of her usual boys on hand at the Blood Rose.
“You didn’t do anything, Trixie. Anything at all.”
She nearly gagged. Malcolm was more honest than most—guarded, sure, but honest—so the falsehood caught her off guard. Lord, lies tasted acrid. Awful. She’d had more than enough of late, of her own doing.
“Don’t lie to me. It doesn’t suit you.” She unclasped the clutch she’d brought with her and took out a breath mint, popping it into her mouth. “Unless you tell me what I did wrong, I can’t very well apologize for it.”
Malcolm’s next words were cold, meant to wound. “Would you? Even if you did know?”
Trixie scowled at him. She was a lot of things, but callous wasn’t one of them. She knew how to apologize when she’d done wrong.
“Stop here.” She waved toward the side of the road.
They’d reached downtown now. The Blood Rose was only a few more blocks ahead. He pulled over as she’d instructed.
Trixie unlatched her seat belt and slid from the cab, planting her black heels firmly on the sidewalk pavement as if they could anchor her. “If you’re going to be an ass, I’ll walk from here.” She moved to slam the door in his face.
Malcolm’s hand shot out, catching it as he frowned. “You shouldn’t—”
“No,” she said, pointing a finger into his face like she was reprimanding a small child rather than a lethal wolf, a warrior.
Malcolm’s eyes flashed gold in his anger. But he didn’t dare interrupt her. He had too much respect for her for that.
“You forfeited the right to be worried about my ankle the moment you decided to ice me out, Malcolm.” She spat his name at him. “I can stand on my own two feet.” She slammed the door in his face, then turned on her heel and strutted off toward the bar.
She could have sworn she heard him snarl in frustration and pound his fist against the steering wheel as he cursed at himself, but she didn’t dare glance back. She may not have been much, but she was above pleading or begging for the affection of a man who didn’t want her.
Grey Wolf reaper or otherwise.
She continued on two more blocks, cutting right and then a sharp left again before she reached the back entrance of the Blood Rose. Malcolm would park the truck on the south side near the mouth of a narrow alley. She didn’t need to double-check her plans. She knew these walls from when they’d once belonged to her and the Coyote—before the Execution Underground had shut down their operation, forcing them to move farther west. She had the misadventures of the Grey Wolves’ second-in-command to thank for that.
Boss had been salty about that for a time.
Slipping in the back service door, she navigated her way to the front with ease, unnoticed. Even with the redecorating they’d done, she knew this place—the nooks and crannies, its hidden alcoves—almost as well as she knew the back of her manicured hand.
When she reached the front, she eased through the shadows, in favor of blending in over making a grand entrance. She wanted to appear as if she’d been transported there by magic—a diamond suddenly glimmering in the darkness, waiting for someone to reach out and take it, as much a part of the bar’s fixtures as the velvet-cushioned furniture.
Quickly, she ducked into the ladies’ room, dabbing on a generous amount of perfume to mask the scent of wolf on her skin—no vamp would enjoy the earthy scent—before she slipped back out again. According to Malcolm, she had three possible targets: Andreas, Luther, or Alaric. She spotted the first as she made her way toward the bar, the second as she was slipping into her seat. By the time she was sipping her gin and tonic, the third was making his way to her. She left the bartender a very generous tip.
For her, this would be easy. All she had to do was dangle herself like a juicy morsel in front of them and then let the flies swarm. Or oversize mosquitoes as Malcolm had called them. She’d only made the mistake of having a vamp in her bed once before, and she wasn’t looking for a repeat.
Trixie’s eyes combed over the bar, taking in the changes to the space. The western decor had been swapped for a more gothic feel, like she was inside a high-end gentleman’s club—all dark reds and darker woods, smooth velvet, and hushed whispers. Even the glassware was fancy, top-dollar, cleaned until it was sparkling like the generous array of backlit liquor bottles behind the bar. There were no taps. No surprise there. Vamps weren’t much for beer. It was like the fangers thought it was beneath them.
She didn’t feel the warmth of another body slip up beside her as much as she felt a disturbance in the air, like the pressure around her had dropped. A small shiver went down her spine. “I haven’t seen you here before, luv. I would have remembered.”
She turned toward the vampire beside her, a slow twist of her seat. The bloodsucker leaning on the bar at her side smiled, flashing fang. He was handsome and British, because of course he was, with a sharp blade of a nose and even sharper cheeks and a mouth that looked like it knew how to bite as well as it could kiss. It wasn’t the most original of pickup lines. She’d heard better. But for now, it would do.
“First time here,” she said honestly. “Haven’t been in since it used to be the Coyote.”
Better to tell than truth than lies. That had always been her policy. It was easier to stick to a story when that story was real. She still remembered when these walls had crawled with Wild Eight, back when Wes, now the Grey Wolf second-in-command, had been their leader, before the human hunters had followed him there and raided the place.
“Mmm-hmm,” the vampire said, nodding with consideration. “And what do you think of the update?” His voice was velvety, cultured.
The kind a woman could listen to for hours and not tire.
But that was how vampires drew their prey in. No one ever said they weren’t enchanting.
Trixie glanced around, making a show of taking in the decor. “I think it’s too fancy for my tastes. But it suits you.” She glanced back toward him, smiling with a coy curve of her lip before offering a gentle hand. “Trixie Beauregard.”
No point in giving him a false name; he likely already knew who she was anyway. Working at the Coyote didn’t offer much in the way of anonymity. Not in their world.
The vampire reached out, taking her hand. His shake was delicate, smooth, more like a caress than the firm grip of a shifter, but the subtle strength and power that lay beneath was unmistakable. His skin was cold enough to send another chill through her. Though she didn’t dare show it.
“Trixie,” he said in that thick accent, rolling her name around on his tongue. By her guess, it meant he was old. Damn old. Pre-American Revolution. All the strongest vamps were. Way too powerful to be one of her targets. The older they were, the more dangerous, because it meant they knew how to survive.
Survival was half the battle, even in her world.
“And what exactly about my bar is too bourgeois for you?”
He’d meant the indication that he owned the place to throw her off guard, but she already knew. She might have been a bartender, but working for Boss didn’t exactly leave her ignorant. Trixie drew a sip of her drink, holding his gaze as she did. “The fact that you use words like ‘bourgeois’ on a woman sitting at your bar top is a start,” she teased.
The joke landed exactly as she intended.
The bloodsucker threw back his head and laughed, a deep chuckle that showed off the pearly white of his straight teeth and, more importantly, the length of his fangs. She supposed she could see the appeal if she were into that sort of thing. Shifters had always been more her weak spot.
“Well, Trixie,” he said, “I suppose you have a point.” He nodded to her gin and tonic. “The drink’s on me.”
Trixie smiled, glancing down so she could look back up at him through a thick layer of lashes. “I already paid.”
The bloodsucker didn’t miss a beat. “The next one then.” He pushed off the bar where he leaned beside her and moved to walk away.
“Not a good business model, giving out your product for free,” she said, stopping him in his tracks. He wouldn’t be good for her target, too old, too powerful, but she wasn’t quite ready for him to leave yet. There was something mesmerizing, almost hypnotic about that icy-blue gaze, and she had more than a passing feeling everyone in the room was looking at them. At him and, more specifically, her being the object of his desire.
The power in that was intoxicating.
With a conspiratorial smile, the vampire leaned in close, whispering in her ear as if his words were their little secret alone. “I’m more than happy to pay for a warm-blooded woman to sit at my bar, especially when she’s the most beautiful creature in the room. A witch’s blood is like milk and honey to a vampire, did you know that?” He pulled back slightly, those cold eyes turning dark with only the slightest hint of danger. Enough to thrill, not scare. “I know what my clients like,” he said. “Just do me a favor and get your little feeder friend out of here.”
Trixie raised a brow. Feeder friend?
Smirking at her confusion, he slipped a business card across the counter. A phone number and email contact, nothing more. As cryptic as the vampire himself.
Trixie raised her glass toward him, uncertain of his meaning. “Thanks for the refill.” He nodded, moving to step away again, but she couldn’t stop herself from calling after him. “Hey, sugar?”
The vampire paused, glancing over his shoulder toward her.
“I’m sorry, but I didn’t catch your name,” she crooned.
“Corbin.” The bar’s proprietor smiled, flashing those handsome fangs again. “But you already knew that.”
Trixie’s breath caught.
By the time she took another sip of her drink, the owner of the Blood Rose was already gone, blending into the bar’s shadows as if he were part of the dark night.
All eyes in the room were on her now. As far as she was concerned, mission accomplished. All she needed to do was make her move. She stepped away from the bar, walking deeper into the establishment. As she approached the booths, she tried to school her features, to stop her eyes from going wide at what she found the farther inside she ventured. There was a concerning number of humans passed out in the alcoves, on the tables. Everywhere. She pretended not to notice, or at least to temper her alarm as she turned in their direction, eager to investigate, but the warm arms flung around her neck a moment later caught her off guard. She nearly spilled her drink, jumping out of her skin as she spun to face…
“Dani?” She stared at the Coyote’s other bartender, now bouncing excitedly, clapping her hands with delight.
“Trixie, I can’t believe you’re here!” Dani squealed. The sound was harsh and piercing compared to the smooth tones of the surrounding vampires and the soft melodies of piano music playing in the background. “You need to meet Cilly,” Dani said, grabbing hold of Trixie’s hand.
“Cilly?” Trixie lifted a brow.
Cilly like silly. What kind of name was that for a vampire?
“My boyfriend, of course.” Dani dragged Trixie alongside her.
Dani’s pupils were too wide, a sign she’d no doubt been juiced up with vamp blood. To a human like Dani, it was as addictive as any drug—and she was clearly flying high. Trixie had all of two seconds to keep her cool as Dani yanked her across the bar to a far corner, a nearly hidden alcove, where an ancient vamp, who Trixie had no doubt was not named Cilly, waited for them. Trixie swallowed down the curse in her throat.
Not Cilly.
Cillian.
The most ancient bloodsucker on this side of the Atlantic. Trixie schooled her features so she didn’t let her jaw drop at the sight of the vamp. He didn’t look particularly distinct from any other vampire. Pale complexion. Handsome features. Dark hair. To a human, breathtaking, but in the scheme of supernatural men—a subject in which Trixie had a certain amount of specialization—unremarkable.
But there was an ancient quality about him that seeped into the atmosphere and spoke of power and privilege that could cut deep. It pushed against the warmth of her magic. Trixie could feel it.
And he was dating a little-nobody human like Dani?
Trixie blinked. The thought wasn’t meant to disparage her friend, but the difference in power dynamic there was…troubling.
Dani wiggled into the booth beside the ancient vampire, cozying up to him like she was a purring cat and he was her catnip. From how high she was, Trixie held no doubt that was true. What had this vamp done to Dani? She had told Trixie her boyfriend was young, the same age as her, a newbie vamp who couldn’t be less important.
Not Cillian, the leader of the Billings coven, who was not only an enemy to the Grey Wolves but a dangerous, sick motherfucker. Either Dani had been pulling the wool over her eyes, a fact Trixie knew wasn’t true considering her magic, or the vampire had been glamouring her, using the young human woman against her will.
That didn’t sit well in her craw.
“Trixie, this is Cilly.” Dani rubbed a hand over the vampire’s chest. “My lover.”
Lover, her ass. More like serial abuser, but she wasn’t about to say that out loud. Trixie plastered the sweetest smile she had to offer on her lips. “I know who he is.” Only those who knew her would recognize that greeting as cold, devoid of her usual southern sugar. “Pleasure,” she said, careful not to let the venom she felt drip into her voice.
Cillian’s eyes raked over her, languid and assessing. Whatever he saw there, he must have approved, because his irises filled with crimson bloodfire. “The pleasure’s mine,” he purred.
The way he was leering at Trixie spoke volumes about exactly how little Dani actually meant to him.
Trixie had no doubt this bloodsucker was using her friend. It might not have started that way. Maybe it’d even been consensual, but it didn’t look that way now. Dani couldn’t consent to this fucker biting her or sleeping with her while she was higher than a kite. But from the way Dani had wrapped herself around him, Trixie knew Cillian wouldn’t stop her from having her fun once they retired for the evening and he fed her more of his blood. He’d glamour her to forget his true power come morning.
And to think she’d thought this task would be easy.
There was nothing easy about watching anyone use her friend.
She’d been here less than thirty minutes, and already she was in over her head. There was a reason she preferred shifters. In the back of her mind, she was vaguely aware that she too had messed with Dani’s head, however briefly, but that’d been to protect her, to save her from dark memories that would be more traumatic than many humans could bear. Not the same.
Cillian gestured to the open side of his booth. “Join us for a drink.” From the look in his eye, Trixie had no doubt he really did want a drink—from her.
There was a sprawl of untouched food in front of them. Vampires loved the show of food and drink, but later all that would be regurgitated. The wastefulness brought bile to Trixie’s throat.
“I can’t actually,” she said, faking a little pout of disappointment. “I’m supposed to be meeting someone.” Another lie. Bitter. Nasty. But if she knew anything about courting the attentions of powerful men, it was that it was best to give only a little, just enough to leave a lingering taste in their mouth, enough to make them want to come back again.
From the way his crimson eyes were undressing her, Cillian would no doubt want seconds of her, now that he’d gotten a look, the scent of her magic in his flared nostrils.
“Pity,” he said. “A shame for all this to go to waste.” He cast a hand over the spread before him.
Dani had completely forgotten Trixie was even there in favor of licking her way across the vampire’s neck like she was a panting dog instead of an autonomous human.
Exactly like Cillian thought she was.
“I agree,” Trixie said in earnest. She wanted to pry Dani off him and get her friend out of there, but there was no way she could do that without making a scene.
That’d only get them both killed.
“Don’t forget to feed her,” Trixie nodded at Dani. “Something other than blood.”
Cillian lifted his wineglass in acknowledgment.
Without another word, Trixie turned on her heel, heading back toward her seat at the bar. She downed the last of her drink, quickly ordering another. When the bartender delivered it a minute or two later, she drained it. Service was fast due to slow business on a Wednesday night. She slipped the bartender another generous tip, holding onto her glass.
“You see the vampire by the restrooms over there…the one that can’t keep his eyes off me?” she asked.
The bartender nodded. She was human, like Dani. But from the look in her eyes far more seasoned and aware of what kind of creatures she worked for. “I see him.”
Trixie slipped her an extra bill. “You tell him if he’s lookin’ for a good time to meet me in the back in five minutes.” She nodded toward the bloodsucker. She had no doubt the vampire could see them.
The bartender accepted the bill but shook her head. “I don’t think I’ll have to tell him. He’s going to watch you walk out.”
Trixie grinned, chuckling slightly before she patted the other woman on her warm hand. “That’s why we do it, honey.” She could feel the vamp’s eyes on her as she strutted out, glass in hand.
She only wished the sound of her heels wasn’t quieted by that damn bourgeois carpeting.