Dangerous Creatures(38)

Lennox Gates was there, standing at the railing of a raised industrial platform. His eyes were as intense—and as gold-flecked—as she remembered. Something about them reminded her of what Dark Fire looked like.

Pure power.

Ridley couldn’t see past what he wore under the leather jacket, but it was clear that whatever it was concealing included a compact, athletic build. His golden hair fell around his face and almost curled in places, especially near his neck. He looks like ambition, she thought.

He looks like danger.

Ridley didn’t take her eyes off his face. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of thinking he had impressed her with his little magic show.

Anyone could—what? Evaporate a room full of heavily Charmed and powerfully protected Supernaturals? Throw down a Temporal Distortion like that? Not really.

No one could, except maybe Lena. Even then, it wouldn’t be easy.

Ridley had to admit that. Her heart was pounding, and she wondered if he could hear it, which only made it pound harder.

Get it together, Rid.

She spoke first. Not broke first, she thought. Keep playing the long game. Focus on how you will destroy this person. “You must be really proud of yourself for pulling that one off.”

His eyes didn’t waver from her face. “I’m almost never proud. They say it goes before a fall, and I’m not planning on falling.”

“That’s funny, since I’m not planning on caring. Now what did you do with the nice people in the club, Mr. Gates?”

He waved a hand dismissively. “They’re still there. Having the night of their lives. Or so they think.”

Condescending jerk. “You’re talking about my sister and my boyfriend,” Ridley said. “Put them back or you’ll wish you never met me.”

“How do you know I don’t wish that already?” Now he was smiling.

“What’s it to me, either way?” Ridley smiled back. “Whatever your problem is with me, I guarantee you it’s about to get a thousand times worse. Ask around. I’m sort of famous for that.”


“I’m looking forward to it.” He snapped his fingers and the noise, the chaos, the wild adrenaline of the club instantly returned. He raised his voice over the noise. “Who said I had a problem with you? I’ve missed you since our little encounter at Suffer.”

He snapped his fingers again, and the people disappeared for a second time.

“See? Everyone’s happy as a soft-shell clam.” He gestured toward her. “But this is me time. You and me time. What’s that in your hand?”

Ridley looked down at the black envelope Ryan had given her. It only took a moment before the room around it went even blacker.





CHAPTER 17


Runnin’ with the Devil


Ridley’s head was spinning. Then the darkness gave way to light. But it was no better, because the lights were too bright for her to see. Slowly, as the room began to solidify around her, she realized she was staring into a candle.

“Something sweet? You seem a little light-headed.” Lennox’s voice cut through the light.

Ridley looked up. She was sitting across from Lennox Gates, at what appeared to be a private table for two. Transportation provided. She had forgotten she was holding the damn invitation.

She winced. He’d gotten the better of her twice now. It was more than embarrassing. It was infuriating. “How did you manage to use a Rip letter inside the club, when a whole posse of Blood Incubuses had to Rip outside and walk in the door like everyone else?”

“I Bound the club myself. I can come and go as I like.” He looked pleased with himself, which only made Rid more irritated.

“Just you?”

“Just me, and anyone I hand that invitation to.” Lennox smiled. “Nectar of the Gods?” He lifted a decanter—a bottle so tall and thin that it looked like the neck of some poor dead goose. Golden bubbles rose to the surface of a thick, syrupy drink. Ridley sniffed and smelled sugarcane, the essence of sweetness in its purest form.

Siren catnip. He’s good.

“Go to Hell, Lennox Gates.” It was all she could manage to say.

He nodded pleasantly. “Please. Call me Nox. And I’m sure I will. You could say it’s a family tradition. But until then, perhaps we should toast to our joint venture?”

Ridley dropped the black envelope like a hot coal. “No. And no more cheap party tricks. Please.”

She was beginning to get her bearings. This room was nothing like the rest of the club. Quiet darkness was reflected everywhere—in the vintage-looking black velvet curtains, the black leather booths that curved like shells against the low, vaulted walls, and the massive black stone fireplace that dominated the far end of the chamber.

“Hungry, then? Even a Siren has to eat.” A series of black leather triangles covered the polished metal disc of the tabletop. A silver goblet sat on a crystal plate in front of Ridley. When she looked at the goblet it was empty.

“Perhaps something from the Grand Bazaar? Do you like Istanbul?”

Ridley looked again, and the goblet was full of sweet honeycomb, dribbled with a golden syrup that smelled like wild honeysuckle. A fat bee buzzed lazily over the top wedge. Triangles of what looked like fresh pistachio baklava and Turkish Delight mounded up against the goblet, on the crystal plate.