The bartender, a woman was in her mid-twenties, was beautiful, of course, because vampires would surround themselves with nothing else. She kept to the red-and-black theme in her tight corset and red lips. Her expression was a mixture of disdain and horror – but to be fair that was how most people looked at Laire’s outfits. “I don’t think you belong here.”
Laire plopped down on the barstool. “And I’m supposed to care about the opinion of someone who drools over corpses? Your implants have more sense than you do. Get me a boilermaker.”
The woman’s nostrils flared, which probably hurt when you took into account all those piercings. Still, she started to fill the order. Laire called after her, “And hurry. Who knows when we’re going to be interrupted, and I want my drink.”
“What are you, an alkie?” Fallon stood to the left of the mage while Wulver sat on the right.
“You are the one who said I needed to be pleasant to a suckhead and not start a war. Don’t harsh my means of achieving it.”
The music was low, played more to enhance the dark, sensual mood than as a main attraction. The majority of beings here were human, though a few elves and a couple of nymphs were visible in the crowd. All of them beautiful and most of them women.
So where was their host?
Fallon extended her senses for the magical signatures. There by the far wall, a pulse of necromantic magic. And another in the middle of the dance floor. Neither were strong, acolytes monitoring the outer club or other low-level duties.
She extended further, discarding the signatures of the weaklings. They would pose no threat if she needed to kill them to escape. Stronger here and there, but not yet, not quite…
Tendrils vibrating with a heavy thrum of magic wrapped around her senses, caressing down the length until it reached her body. Without her shields it would have engulfed her and demanded she kneel in its wake, shudder with despair, degradation…desire.
Reign.
A big tankard was placed in front of Laire, leaving the mage clasping her hands in childish display and with a gleeful, “Sweet! I was afraid all they would have was absinthe or shit like that.”
Wulver was on the stool next to Laire, leaning back so his thick forearms rested behind him on the bar, the movement stretching his blue T-shirt tight across his chest. “I know we’re on time. How long do you think before they notice us?”
Fallon catalogued all eyes on them from both living and dead. “Oh, they’ve noticed us. But Reign wouldn’t be Reign if he didn’t exert his authority.”
Wulver nodded. He tried to appear nonchalant, unconcerned, but he failed so spectacularly the passersby were giving him looks of pity. Not unexpected, since there were few things bossman hated more than being surrounded by suckheads.
Then he tensed, his gaze fixed on the far end of the bar. “What’s this?”
Laire turned to look. She straightened in her seat, her hand going to fix her hair. “Oh, he’s cute!”
“Sure is. Too bad he’s up for sale to the highest bidder,” Fallon said, taking in the V-shaped torso and long legs of the man at the end of the bar.
“For sale?” parroted Laire, and damned if she didn’t reach for her purse.
“Give me that.” Fallon grabbed the purse and threw it to Wulver, who threw it behind him. “Please tell me you recognize the most in-demand mercenary in the business.”
“Why, did we have a drunken one-night stand you forgot to tell me about?”
The jeans and T-shirt combo marked the man as much an outsider as they were. Anyone without training would buy the good-ole-boy obliviousness he projected – if good-ole-boys had thick black tribal tattoos running over large chunks of exposed skin and long black hair with dyed-red streaks in it – but the defined lines of his body were a little too tense, his stance too close to battle-ready for those used to war to mistake this man as a non-threat.
Motioning toward the end of the bar, Fallon said, “Since we’re waiting for Reign anyway, I’m heading over and saying hi, maybe ask him about a certain rumor we’ve heard.”
Wulver nodded, while Laire asked, “Can I come too and get his number?”
“I’m going to say no.”
When she was only a step away he called out, “Fancy meeting you here, Dragon Slayer. Hanging with vampires…seems I should have given the stories I heard a little more consideration.”
Leaning against the bar so her sword hand was free, Fallon said, “I was wondering why I’m seeing you here as well, Merc. I never took you for a guy who was interested in the lace and tights crowd. Searching for a new personal style?”