Adrian Phoenix - A Rush of Wings

“Do you know anything about the murder next door? Or the victim?”

De Noir shook his head. “Only what I’ve heard from the police and on the street.” The gold lights in his eyes vanished. “And I’d imagine that Dante would know even less. He doesn’t keep up with the news.”

“It looks like it hasn’t hurt business, anyway,” Heather said, offering another smile. “Is there somewhere quieter we can talk?”

“The courtyard outside,” De Noir said, turning away and stepping into the crowd. His tied-back hair, black and gleaming, reached to his waist.

Knowing there had to be an office on either the second or third floor of the building, Heather wondered why she was being ushered out the back. So to speak. But, for once, she didn’t have a problem with that; she wanted to see the courtyard that adjoined DaVinci’s.

Slipping her badge back into her purse, Heather followed De Noir onto the dance floor and through the parting crowd.

DANTE EASED OUT FROM behind Gina and slid to the edge of the rumpled bed. The black lace curtains framing the opened French windows twisted in the cool night breeze. The smell of rain and Mississippi mud filled the room. Dante trailed his fingers through his hair.

Still kneeling beside the bed, his hands resting on Gina’s thighs, Jay watched him with interest.

“What’s wrong, sugar?” Gina said, sitting up.

Dante didn’t have to look at Gina to see the pout on her lips. “I’ve gotta go,” he said. Candlelight flickered orange across the shadowed walls, across his leather pants, his boots. Pain flickered in his mind.

Gina’s fingers wrapped around Dante’s belt. She tugged. “Looks to me like you’re all hot and bothered. Looks to me like you need to stay,” she murmured. “Just lie down and we’ll—”

Gently plucking Gina’s fingers free from his belt, Dante stood. He shook his head. “Later. Play without me for now.”

“Dante, mon cher… ” Jay’s hand slid from Gina’s thigh, reached for Dante.

Dante pushed away Jay’s hand, then seized a handful of the mortal’s blond hair and yanked his head back. Jay’s breathing became rough, uneven. Bending down, Dante kissed him deeply. The honey, musk, and salt taste of Gina on Jay’s tongue and lips damn near changed Dante’s mind. But a familiar, dangerous restlessness burned within him. He couldn’t stay.

Finishing the kiss, Dante released Jay’s hair and trailed a finger along his jawline, then straightened and strode from the room. He heard Gina advising Jay to let him be.

Out in the hallway, Dante leaned against the wall. Eyes closed, he thumped his head lightly against the plaster. He waited for his hard-on to subside, wishing the dark, writhing things inside would subside as well. But knew they wouldn’t. Pain prickled at his temple.

Fuck ! Focus, dammit. Something’s troubling Lucien. Zero in on that .

But Lucien’s shields were up and he couldn’t get through. In fact, it almost seemed as though Lucien was keeping him out deliberately. Dante opened his eyes and shoved himself away from the wall.

HEATHER GLANCED AT THE people sitting on the stairs as she weaved through the crowd behind De Noir. They watched her progress with something close to envy or maybe disbelief on their powder-pale faces. De Noir edged past them, seemingly oblivious to the shining gazes, the half-parted lips, and the whispers:

“Lucien. Will he see us?”

“Is he coming down?”

“Lucien Nightbringer. Lucien…”

Earnest, desperate, hungry.

Heather stepped past their outstretched fingers, disturbed by De Noir’s silence. She wondered why he didn’t say anything, why he didn’t even glance at them.

De Noir stood aside and opened the door to the courtyard, gestured for Heather to enter. She looked into the ivy-draped clearing. Protected within gargoyle sconces, candles cast eerie windblown shadows across the stone walls. Her gaze was drawn to the wall where a killer’s message had been smeared in blood on the other side. For a moment, she saw the blood seeping through the stone, letters forming in reverse. Her gut told her: Not by chance or coincidence. This wall had been chosen .

She was about to step out of the club when a sudden whisper rushed through the crowd like wind through tall grass. She stopped as the yearning voices abruptly fell silent. The air seemed to thicken, to crackle with anticipation.

She glanced at De Noir. His face was still, his eyes unreadable. But tension tightened his muscles. He met her gaze, seemed to be willing her into the courtyard. Slowly, Heather turned and looked back the way she’d come.

Someone walked down the stairs, stepping out of the shadows on the second-floor landing. It seemed to Heather as though every single person in the club sucked in a breath at the same time.

Then the figure crossed into the light and glanced with gleaming eyes over the heads of the crowd at Heather or maybe past her to De Noir, she couldn’t be sure. She stood frozen, unable to move or breathe, then the collective pent-up breath in the club released. Voices clamored:

“Dante! Dante! Mon ange !”

“Yeah! Fuckin’ hope he gets in the Cage tonight!”

Heather stared, dizzied and stunned, as he descended, overwhelmed by what she’d seen in the moment he’d looked her way—

Dark, light-filled eyes looking into her, drawing her in—

Slender, hard body, five nine or five ten, moving with dangerous and unself-conscious grace, all coiled muscles and knife-sharp reflexes—

Tousled black hair spilling past his shoulders, dressed in mesh and leather and steel-ringed bondage collar, a sexuality that scorched—

She wrenched her gaze from him and watched the faces of those who called his name, witnessed their smiles and tears as he stroked a jawline there, touched a cheek here, kissed a pair of lips there.

Then…he stepped into the crowd and out of sight, and Heather gasped for air, able to breathe again.

If that was Dante Prejean, then he was literally breathtaking. She’d never seen anyone so gorgeous. It also meant that De Noir had lied about Dante’s not being here tonight. She turned to face De Noir and caught him rubbing the bridge of his nose, gaze on the floor. He looked like a man who’d suddenly felt the pain of Murphy’s Law kicking him in the ass.

“Strange, I was sure you’d said that Dante wasn’t here,” Heather said. “Must’ve just arrived, then.”

Dropping his hand, De Noir said, “So it would seem.” Lifting his eyes, he met Heather’s gaze. “The police have already spoken to him, Agent Wallace. I see no need to—”

“I’m sorry,” Heather interrupted. “But I do.”

She glanced over her shoulder. Dante climbed the steps leading to the cheesy Kingdom-of-Hell themed throne. Kneeling between the pretty underage punk and the earthy blonde, Dante stroked the boy’s purple spiked hair. He leaned in close to the blonde, seemed to speak into her ear. Several Goth princesses at the foot of the steps bounced and squealed.

Why was De Noir so protective of Dante Prejean? What was he hiding?

Heather spun away from De Noir’s strange black, gold-edged eyes and slipped into the crowd. She intended to find out.

DANTE GLANCED OVER HIS shoulder. He didn’t see the red-haired, trenchcoated woman who’d been standing beside Lucien, but he felt her pushing through the crowd, resolve and authority radiating from her like sunshine; bright, piercing, and deadly.

< What’s going on , mon ami?>