Supernatural

  And speak of the incubus, Eidolon, a dark-haired, impossibly hot Seminus demon, jogged into the bustling emergency department and snagged a pair of surgical gloves from the supply stand.

  “What have we got?”

  Lena gloved up as she spoke. “Male shifter, unknown breed. Found like the others, with multiple wounds, no vitals when the paramedics found him, but Shade got him jump-started.”

  Eidolon smirked. “What were Shade’s exact words?”

  Shade, Eidolon’s brother in charge of the hospital’s paramedics, rarely minced words. Yes, he’d given her all the technical jargon, but only after his more personal observations.

  “Hell’s fucking rings,” she said, doing her best Shade imitation. “Dude looks like he went through a wood chipper.”

  One dark eyebrow arched. “That’s more like it.” The red rotating light at the ambulance bay doors lit up, signaling the ambulance’s arrival in the underground lot. Before the doors opened, Eidolon turned to her, lowering his voice. “Did the serum work?”

  All the adrenaline that had been surging through her veins turned to sludge, and she absently rubbed the spot on the back of her hand where she’d given herself the injection.

  “No.” She cleared her voice to rid it of the sudden hoarseness. “I didn’t shift.”

  Pity dulled Eidolon’s espresso eyes. “I’m sorry, Lena. I’ll keep working on it.”

  He didn’t say anything more. What was there to say? Sorry you’re a freak who can’t shift into your animal form, even with a drug that works on everyone else? Sorry you’re going to go insane and die?

  Over the years, she’d been through therapy and lessons, desperate to shift into her furry form before she turned twenty-four, when the inability to shift would kill her. Yesterday, on her twenty-fourth birthday, she’d injected a drug Eidolon had developed as a catalyst for those who couldn’t shift any other way. It hadn’t worked. She was a failure among failures, and it was probably a good thing her father wasn’t alive to see how, very soon, she’d lose her grip on reality and grow violent before finally dying in agony. Shifters with her problem rarely survived more than six weeks after turning twenty-four, and she’d already started marking off days on the calendar. So much time wasted. So much more she’d wanted to do.

  This really sucked.

  The ER doors whooshed open, and Shade and his partner, a werewolf named Luc, wheeled in a bloody male on a stretcher. As they hurried the patient to a room, Shade rattled off vitals, the dismal numbers putting an immediate damper on hope. Lena had only been out of nursing school for a couple of years, but she knew a goner when she saw one.

  The acrid stench of death clung to this male like a dire leech, and . . . she gasped, grinding to a halt as Shade and Luc lifted the patient onto a table.

  “Vladlena?” Eidolon’s right arm, which was encased in glyphs that ran from his fingertips to his shoulder, lit up as the healing ability inherent to his species channeled into the male. “You know this patient?”

  “Vaughn.” She stumbled to the side of the bed, her legs threatening to give out on her. “He’s my brother.”

  Vaughn had been the only one of her three brothers who hadn’t tried to kill her. As the runt of the litter, she’d been the target of their vicious games, and if not for her father, they’d have slaughtered her. Now that he was gone, Van and Vic had made several attempts on her life . . . which was one of the reasons she pulled a lot of double shifts at the hospital. Here, she was safe.

  Eidolon motioned for another nurse to take over for Lena, and she didn’t argue. Vaughn needed care she couldn’t give right now. Not with the way her hands were shaking and her mind was spinning.

  Dear gods, he’d been torn to shreds. One arm looked like it had been chewed nearly off. Deep bite wounds left skin and muscle flayed in massive slabs that peeled back from exposed bone. His throat had been torn open, and blood seeped through the layers of pressure bandages.

  One of Vaughn’s eyes was swollen shut, but the other opened, and his bloodshot gaze latched onto hers. Recognition flared in the blue depths, along with unthinkable pain.

  “Hey.” She took his hand, tried not to cringe at the icy-cold, clammy skin. “You’re at UG. You’re going to be fine.” She offered a trembly smile that faltered when she glanced up at Eidolon, whose expression made a liar out of her. “Vaughn, what happened? Who did this to you?”

  “Th-thirst . . .” His voice was barely a rasp, his words gurgled through blood. “Club . . .”

  He convulsed, and her co-workers became a flurry of action. Shade pulled her back with gentle hands as Eidolon tried to save her brother.

  Time became fluid, elastic, stretching without giving Vladlena any sense of how much of it had passed before Eidolon finally looked up at the clock and spoke the words no one wanted to say—or hear.

  “Time of death, 3:22.” The doctor looked over at her, his powerful shoulders slumped in defeat. “Lena, I’m sorry.”

  She nodded, her throat too clogged with emotion to speak. “Shade.” Eidolon lifted a sheet to cover Vaughn’s body.

  “Where did you find him?”

  “Same place as the others.” Shade gave Lena’s shoulders a squeeze and stepped away from her, though he stayed close. “In the sewers beneath Fifth street.”

  Shade’s words barely registered. She’d latched onto a rhythmic tapping noise that rose up even over the din of the bustling emergency department outside the cubicle. It took a moment to realize what it was; her brother’s blood, dripping to the obsidian floor. Odd what the brain focused on when it didn’t want to think about something horrible right in front of you.

  “What is going on?” Lena whispered.

  Shade’s dark hair brushed the collar of his black paramedic uniform as he shook his head. “I don’t know, but your brother is the only one to make it through the hospital doors alive.”

  “This is the third victim this week.” Eidolon stripped off his gloves. “The human and demon realms have been in turmoil lately, but this is too specific to be related to the apocalyptic events.”

  Turmoil was a mild way to put what was happening, given that the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse had recently appeared, and at least one apocalyptic Seal had broken. The hospital had been dealing with the violent fallout nonstop, and Eidolon had been forced to hire unschooled help and train them on the job just to keep up with the patient load.

  Shade casually kicked a towel beneath the exam table to stop the sickening drip of Vaughn’s blood. It was a small thing, but a thoughtful one, and Lena could have kissed the demon for it. “So what the hell are we dealing with?”

  “Fight club.” Wraith, Shade and Eidolon’s blond, half-vampire brother, sauntered up, his leather duster flapping around his boots. “You’re dealing with some sort of underground gladiator fights.”

  “And you know this, how?” Shade folded his arms over his broad chest in that universal big brother pose Vaughn used to give her while he waited for an answer he knew he wouldn’t like.

  Wraith blinked, all mock innocence. “I wasn’t always a model citizen, you know.”

  Vladlena glanced over at her brother’s lifeless body before quickly looking away. “He wouldn’t have been involved with something like that.”

  “Maybe not willingly,” Wraith said. “These places are run by the same kind of scum who run dog and cock fighting rings.”

  Her hands tingled, and she realized she’d been hanging onto the stethoscope around her neck like it was a lifeline. “What are you saying?”

  “That your brother could have been bait. Used to train fighters. Or he could have been forced into fighting.”

  The strawberry milkshake she’d had for dinner soured in her stomach. Pinpricks of pain spread through her fingers as she pried them away from the ancient stethoscope, which used to be her father’s. “Where do these things operate?”

  Wraith jammed his hands into his jean’s pockets. “The really skeevy ones are run in Sheoul, but the
most profitable ones are here in the human realm.”

  “Hey, guys, look at this.” Shade held up Vaughn’s arm, and under the glow of the ultraviolet lamp on the wall, a stamp glimmered beneath blood on the back of his hand. “One of the other victims had a similar stamp.”

  “Thirst,” Wraith murmured. “Nice place.”

  Vaughn’s voice rang through her head. Th-thirst. She sucked in a harsh breath. “That’s what Vaughn said when he came in. I thought he was asking for water. What is Thirst?”

  “Vamp club.” Wraith propped his hip against the counter and crossed his booted feet at the ankles. “Shifters and weres go too, and a few humans who are in the know about us.”

  Vaughn had been even more of a recluse than she was. So why he’d go to this vampire club was a mystery. A mystery she was going to solve. If she had only a few weeks left to live, she’d make the most of them, and she’d get revenge for her brother.

  A forbidden thrill shot through her at the thought, and yep, that had to be a symptom of the pending insanity, because the idea of violence had never excited her. And somehow, she couldn’t even bring herself to be upset about it . . . which was probably another symptom.

  Very gently, she tucked Vaughn’s hand under the sheet. “Looks like I’m going to pay a visit to a vampire hangout.”

  “Lena, if Thirst is a cover for a fight club, it’s too dangerous for you.” Eidolon’s tone softened to the one he used with children. “When your father asked me to give you a job, he also asked me to look after you if anything were to happen to him.”

  She stared at the handsome doctor, surprised by his admission, but it didn’t change anything. “You can’t stop me,” she blurted out, and wasn’t that mature? She might as well stomp her foot, too. Breathing deeply, she found her big girl voice. “I need to do something that matters in the time I have left.”

  The doctor closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, they were resigned. “Give me an hour to do some research.”

  “I’ll do recon,” Wraith said, his blue eyes bright with mischief. She didn’t even want to know what he had planned. With Wraith, it could be anything.

  Shade popped a stick of gum in his mouth. “I need to clean the rig, but let me know if you need anything.”

  The brothers left her alone with Vaughn, and she sat with him, remembering all that they’d been through, from games of hide-and-seek as cubs, to mourning their father’s death. An hour later, Lore, the fourth Seminus brother, arrived to take Vaughn to the morgue.

  “I’m sorry, Lena.” Lore placed his hand—gloved to prevent any accidents with the lethal power he wielded—over hers. “I’ll treat him well.”

  As he wheeled Vaughn away, Eidolon arrived with a cup of coffee. He handed it to her, and she took it, hoping the hot liquid would ease the chill that had settled in.

  “You can access Thirst either through a secret entrance behind a human Goth club called Velvet Chain,” he said, “or from a hidden door in the sewer beneath it. Since it’s mainly a vampire club, non-vamps are expected to donate blood.”

  “Not if they work there.” Wraith swept in the way he always did, like a tornado. “The club employs six medics. And they’re hiring.”

  Eidolon frowned. “How do you know?”

  “Because they’re now short two medics. I convinced one to quit.”

  “And the other?” Eidolon asked.

  “I convinced him to die.” Wraith flashed fangs. “It was that douche you fired last year for swapping out patients’ pain meds for vitamins.”

  “Excellent.” Eidolon nodded in approval. “But I still don’t like the idea of Lena going into that den of violence.”

  “It’s not your decision,” she said quietly.

  “You’re right,” E said. “And I wish I could send someone with you, but we can’t afford to lose any more hands.”

  “It’s okay. I have to do this.”

  Wraith clapped her on the shoulder. “We’ll check in on you.”

  Before she had a chance to thank him, Eidolon rounded on her, danger rolling off him in a scorching wave she felt on her skin.

  “If anything happens to you,” he said, in a voice as deadly as she’d ever heard from him, “I promise we’ll bring that club down so hard nothing will be left standing.”

  “Especially not the fucks who run it,” Wraith added, his eyes glittering with anticipation.

  Funny thing. People talked big, said stuff like that all the time but never followed through. Without a doubt, these guys meant every word.

  Chapter 3

  Vladlena was a nervous wreck as she entered Thirst for the second time that day. Earlier in the afternoon, she’d spoken with the assistant manager about the medic job. He’d been impressed with her credentials, and after the interview, he’d sent her on her way with high hopes for a callback. Four hours later, she’d gotten the call.

  Marsden had spoken with Eidolon, and now all she had to do was impress the big boss, some vampire named Nathan.

  She halted just inside the main entrance and eyed the crowd, which seemed heavy for only six o’clock in the evening. But then, the patrons who came here lived all over the globe, so really, time in an underworld club was meaningless.

  The scent of lust, blood, and booze was thick in the air, and as she navigated her way toward the medic station, she caught whiffs of aggression, as well. No doubt a place like this saw its share of fights. But it wasn’t the regular bar fights she was interested in. There was a sick, twisted sport going on here, and she’d make sure those responsible for her brother’s death paid.

  One of the bouncers pointed her to Marsden’s office, which was far down a long hallway at the rear of the club.

  “Thanks for coming, Vladlena.” He dipped his head in greeting as she entered, and she wondered if the gelled spikes in his ash-brown hair were as sharp as they looked. With his funky hair, piercings, black-painted nails, and jeweled fangs, he was one odd-looking guy. “Like I said on the phone, everything looks great. Getting Nathan’s okay is mainly a formality at this point, but he’ll probably have some questions for you.” He pointed to a door across the hall. “Good luck.”

  The “good luck” didn’t sound promising, and she wondered what she was going to be dealing with. Inhaling deeply to steel herself, she tapped on the door. A gruffly spoken, “Enter” was the response, and she pushed open the door, unease curling inside her chest.

  At first, she didn’t see him. She was too busy admiring the giant oak desk scattered with some sort of tickets marked with GLADIUS, the exotic—and expensive—Persian rug, the artwork on the walls. Then she stepped fully inside and looked toward the wet bar to the right.

  He was standing with his hip propped against the bar, long fingers caressing a glass of amber liquid, his crystalline azure eyes drilling into her. Shiny, black-blue hair fell in a straight curtain below his broad shoulders, and damn it, she hated when males had better hair than she did. Sharp angles defined his face, from high cheekbones to a strong jaw, and when one corner of his mouth lifted into a half-smile that revealed a gleaming fang, her pulse did an excited flutter.

  Her roommate, Blaspheme, would say that from his expensive loafers to his well-fitting black slacks and gray silk shirt, this male exuded pure, hardcore sex.

  Not that Lena would know anything about that.

  “Um . . . hi, Mr. Sabine. I’m Vladlena—”

  “Take off your clothes.” His husky voice, tinged with a faint French accent, was so mesmerizing that his words didn’t register for a few seconds.

  Finally, she blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “Marsden sent you, right?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then strip.”

  He moved toward her, and with every step, her heart hammered faster. He’d been carved from a stone slab of danger, power, and grace, and if he possessed even an ounce of softness, she’d eat the file she was holding. The room shrank as he closed in on her, erotic energy pulsing off him
and making her skin tingle. Those wide shoulders rolled, reminding her of a lion on the prowl, and although at five-nine, she wasn’t short, he was at least seven inches taller. He could crush her with his pinky finger, and here she was, in the place her brother had lost his life, alone in an office with the male who might be responsible.

  “I didn’t know that getting naked was part of the job requirement.” She was proud of the way her voice didn’t waver. Much.

  His expression hardened even more, something she hadn’t thought was possible. “Jesus. Where did Marsden find you?”

  This was not going well at all, and she clutched the file in her hands tighter to keep them from shaking. “I applied for the job this morning.”

  “He’s taking applications?”

  “You’d rather your medical personnel pop in off the streets with no training?”

  A deep frown pulled at his brow, and then he laughed, and good gods, he was impressive when he did that. “You’re here for one of the medic positions.”

  So the guy was handsome, but not too bright. “Of course.” Taking a swig of his drink, he dropped his eyes to her feet. Slowly, he dragged his gaze back up her body in a blatant, sensual appraisal before settling on her mouth.

  “Well, then,” he drawled. “How badly do you want the job?”

  Nate waited for a reaction from the female—beyond the shocked-out expression that included a dropped jaw, wide eyes, and utter speechlessness, anyway. He’d figured out immediately that she wasn’t a screw sent by Marsden . . . well, almost immediately, though he hadn’t determined why Mars had sent her. In the first few seconds, he’d just been happy his lieutenant had sent an attractive but plain female who was actually wearing clothes, and not one of the fangfuckers from the club decked out in an outfit more appropriate for the bedroom than a bar.

  This female was different from anyone he’d ever seen at Thirst, from her scuffed black flats and well-fitting but conservative charcoal slacks to her long-sleeved sweater. Her minimal makeup emphasized high cheekbones and full lips, and he had the oddest urge to ask her to take her blond hair out of the tame, hip-length French braid so he could see if it was as silky as it looked.