Freak Show (Alexa O'Brien, Huntress #7)(43)

“Favors don’t come for free, O’Brien. What do you want?” Agent Thomas Briggs of the Edmonton FPA was a hard man, a real ball-buster. Still, he was human, and I knew I had his attention even if it was only from sheer curiosity.

In my peripheral vision, Sloane struggled to stand. If she got up, I’d have to sit her ass back down.

“I need you to track a few cell numbers for me.” Explaining my situation as briefly as possible, I felt the weight of it all hit me suddenly, a ton of bricks weighing on my mental faculties.

I could practically hear Briggs shaking his head at me. “You sure you’re not supposed to be a cat shifter? If anyone needs nine lives, it’s you.” He gave a short, sharp bark of a laugh. “Want me to contact someone at the Vegas HQ?”

“No,” I said too quickly. “I don’t need the Feds involved. This is vampire business. I just need the one favor. Please.” I didn’t mention that the Vegas FPA had vampire ties that made them even less trustworthy than my home team.

“Fine. I’ll let you know if I turn up any locations. Remember, O’Brien, I’m entitled to a favor from you now.”

“That sounds like something a demon would say.”

“Does it? I guess you would know. I’ll be in touch.”

He hung up before I could tell him to hurry. I dropped my phone into my bag and turned to Sloane in time to see her launch her pitiful self at me with a snarl. Hands curled into claws, she managed to rake the side of my face before I grabbed her around the throat.

She put up a good struggle. Bloodlust and weakness had stripped away the vibrant sophistication she’d carried so naturally, leaving her a hollow shell hungry for only one thing. With a push of power, I shoved Sloane back into the chair. Her back arched, and she let out a wail. It took more effort to subdue her than her skeletal appearance led me to believe.

“Sloane, snap out of it. Tell me where I can find Roscoe.” I gave her a shake and a slap. Her energy was so fragile, it bent so easily to my will. She calmed, blinking at me in wide-eyed confusion. “Where is Roscoe? If you want to help Jenner then you have to tell me how to find Roscoe.”

I was almost shouting at her. She blinked a few times then nodded vigorously. “Roscoe has a place at The Golden Nugget. He hunts Fremont Street.” Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she moaned. “Just a taste, Alexa, please.”

“Trust me, you don’t want my blood. You’ll thank me later.” I left her there mumbling and pleading. Though I owed her nothing, I paused long enough to instruct a staff member to get her upstairs and to keep a steady supply of blood flowing.

I moved as fast as my legs could carry me. Like a bat out of hell, I dashed from the building down the street to Paris Las Vegas where I was able to get a taxi. The cab driver kept flashing me suspicious glances in the rearview mirror, and I realized my wounded neck was exposed. Arranging my hair to hide it, I hoped he would be smart enough to keep his mouth shut. It couldn’t have been the weirdest thing a Las Vegas taxi driver saw in a night.

His foot grew heavier on the gas pedal, and in five minutes, I was at my destination. “Have a nice night,” I said, tossing some cash and all but leaping out of the vehicle.

I reached out to feel the vicinity for Roscoe, for anything vampy at all. Making my way down Fremont Street, I checked and rechecked my phone, hoping for something from Briggs. Nothing yet.

Though the wolfsbane had done a real number on me, the effects had mostly worn off. I felt pretty damn good, and I attributed that to my vampire side. Perhaps the two co-existed better than I thought.

Fremont Street was a brilliant, loud and chaotic party place. A street party had never looked so good. For several blocks beneath a large, well-lit canopy laid more shops, casinos and street performers than one could possibly enjoy in just one night. A live band drew a healthy crowd, while incredibly talented dancers earned dollar bills for their efforts.

It had a different vibe than The Strip. A bit more casual and laid back, Fremont Street boasted a family friendly atmosphere. I passed more than one baby stroller as I hastily made my way from one end to the other.

Worry nagged me. Jez was out there somewhere. I could only wonder what effect the wolfsbane had on her, a naturally born shifter. I prayed her resistance had been better than mine.

As I passed the stage where a live band performed a Maroon 5 cover, an older lady danced directly into my path. Petite with short blonde hair, large earrings dangled from her lobes. Her eyes were wide, pupils huge. The scent of narcotics in her system had me trying to dodge her. She moved with me, a crooked smile on her thin lips.

“You can’t save everybody,” she cackled, her body jerking and twisting in a bizarre stoner’s dance. “You can’t even save yourself.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I snapped.

Her eerie grin grew wider, revealing yellow teeth. “A vampire queen with no throne is no queen at all.”

She danced away into the throng of people gathered around the stage, leaving me staring after her in bewilderment. I continued on, turning over her words in my head. It could have been the intoxicated ramble of a woman on drugs, but I didn’t think so. Narcotics had a way of opening the mind up to things nobody should ever have access to. Sinister things that speak horrible truths.

The urge to keep peering over my shoulder was strong. She had made me uneasy. I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. The more distance I covered, the more certain I was that someone was following me. I opened myself up metaphysically to feel my stalker out. Familiar blood. Roscoe had found me first.