“Oh hells no.” In the play of light and shadow across her face, Laire’s face lost its usual softness, and now her features were a blade, sharp and battle-ready. “You don’t do this alone. I don’t care if you officially tell me about it or not – go ahead, give me plausible deniability. I’m still standing with you.”
“Any plan that involves the Master Vampire is the wrong action. Even she knows this. She follows you out of loyalty, not out of believing this is the right choice.”
Officially not listening to you as of now, so please, though I know there’s no breath to waste, how about you give it a break? Fallon held firm against the urge to rub her head against the ache that was forming there. “Fine. Since I can’t get rid of you, I guess we’re going together.”
“It’s not like it’s the first time I heard that.” Laire took her arm, and together they stepped forward.
As they walked deeper into the club, the innocuous décor became sparser, the obvious accoutrements of whips and ball gags and the like coming more to the foreground. The only thing that didn’t change were the signs of obvious, overwhelming wealth. “I need to find the Crimson Room,” Fallon said as she took everything in in quick, unnoticeable glances, blueprinting everything in her mind should she need it later.
“Why do you think I know where that is?” Under Fallon’s unblinking stare, Laire gave an offhand motion. “That way, elevator in the back right corner, takes you straight there. Crimson room is crème of the crème. Who are you meeting that deserves that?”
“Plausible deniability, remember? Otherwise I would have brought you here to begin with and used your membership number.”
“I so do not have a membership number. They don’t have those here.”
As they made their way to the back, a man came to stand in their path. He was tall and good-looking in a dark and brooding way. The suit spoke of wealth, and the body beneath it spoke of long hours at the gym.
Seeing as he wasn’t moving, Fallon shifted to walk around him, but he side-stepped to remain in her path, ending up only inches away from her. He was a couple inches taller, enough that he could peruse her figure in what he probably thought was in seductive display. “A woman as beautiful as you should have a collar.”
Laire piped up. “And if you’re meeting who I think you’re meeting, a collar would be a nice choice. A little extra neck protection is never a bad thing.”
Resisting the urge to bop Laire for that remark, Fallon instead focused on McDom in front of her, giving him the most uninterested look she could plaster on her face. “Doesn’t go with my outfit, but thanks for the fashion tip. Now I have places to be, so excuse me.”
The man did not give up, mirroring her movements yet again. “You should be dressed in nothing but silk, deep red, and I would make you a collar the same gold of your eyes.” He leaned forward a scant inch, tilting his head in a way that highlighted the fantastic bone structure of his face and had probably been practiced multiple times in front of his mirror. Lowering his voice to a seductive rumble, he said, “Deep down, every woman desires to submit.”
Yeah, he was good-looking, and no doubt that line had dozens of women wanting to be chained up for him, but come on – she had a sword strapped to her back that was as big as he was. Shouldn’t that put the guy off? Fallon glanced over to Laire for guidance, only to see the mage’s eyebrows arched high in surprise. At Fallon’s look Laire shrugged her shoulders high. “Don’t ask me. I’m not the one who thinks that’s a good line.”
“As if I don’t have enough BS to look forward to.” This time Fallon maneuvered around the man before he could get in front of her.
A hand shot out and grabbed her above the elbow. “We haven’t finished speaking.”
As Fallon turned to face the man, every person around them within several feet stepped back from the pure menace the redheaded woman was projecting. Even Laire took a step away. The man faltered, his hand loosening though not falling away, and for the first time the smug assuredness was missing from his face.
“Laire?”
“Yes, Fallon?”
“The rules of the Club don’t allow him to touch me, do they?”
“Nope, completely against the rules. No touching unless permission has been established.”
“Oh, goody.” Fallon stepped forward into the man’s personal space, pressing her forehead hard against his, her lip curling in a snarl, and in a voice that resonated with a terrible echo, said, “Go away.”