No. Gods damn it. Not now!
Malicious magic leached from Ronan’s pores, covering him in a vibrant war paint. A shout of unadulterated pain shook the pier above them on its pilings as Ronan threw Joaquin from his body. Joaquin landed thirty feet away, sprawled out on the sand face-first. Fear gripped Naya, chilling the blood in her veins as Ronan went to his knees, his head clutched firmly between his hands.
Without a thought to Joaquin’s well-being, she rushed to Ronan’s side, collapsing beside him. The music was deafening, drowning out everything around her until she was overwhelmed and disoriented. She had to do something. The magic was volatile and, if left to run its course, would mutate him into a creature that Naya would have no choice but to kill. No way was that going to happen. She closed her eyes, centered her focus—
The click of a hammer engaging caused her eyes to fly open in an instant. She turned to find Joaquin standing above them, Ronan’s gun drawn and pointed at his head. Joaquin was all about pilfering weapons tonight. Bastard. Before she could think it through, Naya drew her own gun and leveled it at Joaquin’s face. “Drop it,” she said, as cold as ice. “Or I’ll drill a silver round straight into your brain.”
CHAPTER
16
Apparently Christian wasn’t the only one trying to get his hands on Gregor. If he was still in the city, like McAlister thought, the son of a bitch was certainly laying low. Christian had been tracking the berserker warlord for a little over a week and had yet to find a sign of him or any of his kinsmen anywhere in L.A. If the bastard knew what was good for him, he’d have been tucked away in the Highlands of Scotland by now, licking his wounds and devising a plan to get back in the Sortiari’s good graces. As it were, he’d face a harsh punishment if Christian managed to get his hands on Gregor. The Sortiari didn’t take betrayal lightly.
Christian watched the woman with interest. She was any hot-blooded male’s wet dream: tall, lithe, dressed in leather and lace with a river of curling black hair and creamy porcelain skin. Her green eyes were like emeralds, sparkling in the low light of the club. Heads turned when she walked by, both male and female alike. The attention meant nothing to her. She obviously knew she was the shit. He could get behind—on top of, under, beside—a woman like her.
He kept his distance as she made the rounds. So far, she’d beat him to anyone who could be considered a potential contact, and the proprietor of this particular club happened to be a mage who kept a finger on the supernatural goings-on in the city. This was the third club she’d been to tonight, and those she spoke with treated her with a certain level of respect or even reverence. Who was she? She looked like a fucking porn star and good enough to eat. But Christian doubted it was celebrity status that elevated her in the opinions of those she interacted with. An aura of lethal power surrounded her, and he knew by the hard expression on her face that she demanded obedience.
Damn. What he wouldn’t give to be brought into line by such a woman.
His skin prickled and Christian leaned back in his chair, letting the shadowed corner swallow him. The woman turned, her hawkish gaze drilling into him. Her irises flashed with silver and Christian swallowed down a groan. Not a woman. Dhampir if he had to guess. Fuck. So much for stealth, she’d probably been aware he was tailing her all night.
McAlister had warned Christian that the vampire king would want to see Gregor and all of his kinsmen dead. It served to reason, what with the berserkers nearly wiping out the entire vampire race. So who was she? She didn’t look like the type who took orders from anyone. An assassin, maybe. Hired help so that Aristov wouldn’t have to get his hands dirty. A trait all of those in power shared. Why bother when you could send someone else out to do the grunt work?
The female’s gaze locked on Christian and she stood, unmoving. Those around her gave her a wide berth, and still as a statue amongst chaos, she stared as though she could see straight through him. But rather than unnerving him, Christian found the attention electrifying as a tingle raced down his spine and settled low in his balls. Hot. Damn. Her full lips curved into a disdainful smile as though she’d sized him up and found him to be … uninspiring.
Awesome.
He took a sip from his Jack and Coke and dragged his gaze away from her. It took a serious fucking physical effort. The female was a high-powered magnet and he was nothing more than a helpless hunk of metal. He kept her in the periphery of his vision, watching as she continued to chat with this person or that for a half hour or so. Christian took note of several sets of silvery gazes scattered throughout the press of people, one of them belonging to a mammoth son of a bitch sporting dual sets of fangs. Vampire. And definitely not Aristov. Looked like the orphaned king wasn’t wasting any time in repopulating his race. Which meant that Christian needed to get a move on if he wanted to get his hands on Gregor before the berserker’s enemies did.