Taboo Kisses(2)
“You’ll tell us precisely why you want her. The truth this time.” Maximus took a page out of Gryphon’s book and slammed his fist on the desk, taking perverse delight in rattling the pen cup off the wood-top and onto the floor. “Or we walk. Right now.”
And I locate her for my own needs. Best goddamn idea yet!
Gryphon paused, studying Maximus in silence. Most in the supernatural community maintained a safe zone from vampyrs. Even the griffins, that outclassed other creatures, elected to avoid his species.
Gabriel rose beside him, retrieved a card from the breast pocket of his jacket. “This is the figure we’d expect if we agree to locate the alleged siren.” Using a gold pen he’d snagged from the same pocket, Gabriel scribbled on the backside of the business card. He flicked the high-grade, cotton square at Gryphon. “Non-negotiable price. Neither is it a guarantee to hand her over to you once we catch her.” Because they would find her. “Once we verify her race and guilt, then she’s yours. If we determine otherwise….”
Gryphon looked between the two of them, without sparing a glance at the obscene figure Gabriel had written on it. “You’re serious?”
“Very.” The hard edge to Gabriel’s voice left no doubt to his seriousness. “We don’t hand over anyone without proof of guilt.”
Maximus smirked. Take that and shove it up your ass, you prick.
“I’ll find another to meet my needs.” Gryphon made a go-away motion with his hand.
Gabriel buttoned his suit jacket. “Good luck.”
Tracking a siren—if that’s what she really was—would require more than luck.
Maximus and Gabriel exited the office without speaking. Not until they climbed into Gabriel’s black Spyder did they engage in conversation. His partner started the ignition, shifted into reverse, and smoothly backed out of the parking spot.
Maximus waited until they hit the interstate before saying, “We’re going after her.”
Gabriel got heavy footed with the pedal. “I hope you took the time to memorize her file?”
“Fuck you.” Of course he had, and Gabriel knew it.
His partner chuckled and threw him a wink. “Anytime, lover.”
Chapter Two
The clicks of Sameya’s knee-high black, dragon skinned boots hitting the pavement were drowned out by the revelry on Bourbon Street. Gah…mortals. Loud and obnoxious. The useless infantile creatures were a pestilence upon the earth. Since exiting Atlantis, she’d culled many murderers, abusers, pedophiles, and rapists from humanity’s numbers. They should give her a medal for the favors she performed.
The best of her species at fact-gathering, she’d left her Empress in the safety of a trusted few and set out to uncover the terrorist in their midst. Thoughts gleaned from a mystic inside Atlantis revealed the source within worked in tangent with a mystic outside the hidden city’s realm. She couldn’t figure out what the non-Atlantian would gain from assassinating their Empress, not unless he was promised entrance into Atlantis. Over her dead fucking body—
A sharp whistle snatched her head around, and her gaze connected with a brown-haired frat boy. Drunk and noisy, his stride wobbly, and his leer detestable. “Holy gawd almighty!” he slurred, and she could smell his liquor-laced breath from ten feet away. “You’re the hottest babe I ever done seen.”
Atrocious English. Imbecile. “Do you know what I am?”
“Fallen angel for fuckin’ sure.”
His buddy slapped him on the chest and chortled, making a fool of himself. “Hopefully, the demon in our bed later?”
New age mankind was as alien to her as the elusive orgasm. When she’d gone into hiding in Atlantis over seven millennia ago, she was the stuff mothers frightened their children with. She’d entered a new world where mortals believed her a myth. How could she garner respect like this?
“Fuck off.”
Moody, she would take his head off rather than ingest his soul if he were rash enough to come after her. She kicked a bottle with her booted toe. It struck the shin of a tourist and he went down hard, clutching his leg.
Oops.
She probably broke a bone.
Sameya halted her steps and pondered at the unassuming establishment located on Bourbon Street. Dirty Liquor. The windows were boarded up as if the proprietor prepared for a hurricane. The scarred door unadorned, the neon light above the entrance the only indication it was open for business. Bold, red power seeped from the building. Tangible evidence a mystic owned the pub. Lots of mojo going on here. Best guess, once inside it’d null the magic of other paranormals, which would make it easier to manage a rowdy group, especially if a magical creature were involved. But this enchantment was not strong enough to affect hers. Hadn’t found a species yet that could micromanage her magic, with the exception of a vampyr and none of them resided in Atlantis.