“No.” Darius turned to leave, shooting a firebolt at the oak door barring their exit. Rage suffused him that he would be denied the opportunity to avenge his father and the Storm Lords. He literally saw red, his anger growing by the second. “I’m not going—” he growled before the world faded to black.
When he next opened his eyes, he found himself staring at a strange sky overlooking a world not his own. The sky was still blue, the trees still green, yet everything felt flat, lacking the spark of magic that made Tanselm so rich. His senses felt dampened. The colours weren’t as bright, the smell of life muted, as if filtered by the heavy air around them. A low growl broke his study and he blinked at the dangerous beasts close approaching. Canine, he thought as he rolled to his feet and reached for the dagger he always kept at his side. Somewhat smaller than those at home, yet just as deadly in a pack. And as one in particular leaned closer to bare its teeth, he wondered if they would have been safer in Tanselm fighting the Netharat.
Chapter Two
Samantha Brooks shifted a hunk of drenched hair out of her eyes and sneezed. She hadn’t been back through Seattle in months and now thought she should have postponed this trip until the weather warmed.
February usually brought snow, but on this unfortunate Thursday night—no, she amended as she checked her watch, make that way-early Friday morning—the weatherman had correctly predicted freezing rain. Too bad she hadn’t unpacked her heavy winter coat or even an umbrella.
Shivering in a thin leather jacket, not in the least waterproofed, she sighed and stared at the blazing neon sign of Seattle’s newest nightspot, Outpour.
“Catchy title,” she murmured and banged on the front door. Checking her watch, she noted the hour had passed closing time, almost four a.m. Damn, she’d wanted to see the club in full swing but her flight had landed later than expected, there’d been that haggling over the location of her luggage, then the rental car agency had lost her reservation and she’d had to fight for their very last car, a compact beer can on wheels. Well, she was here now. Maybe she could plan a workup of what the club was like after-hours, get a fresh feel for the place without bodies before she started her improvement assessment for Gerry.
A rivulet of water managed to sneak under the collar of her jacket, sending a frisson of cold down her spine.
She knocked harder. Surely the staff remained behind to clean up. She thought she heard music. After standing another minute in slushy rain, she pushed on the door, surprised when it opened.
Once inside she felt instantly warmer and wandered down a darkened hall to the low hum of music and the dim glow of lights.
Stripping out of her sodden jacket, she carried it to the nearest bar, looking for a hint of anyone present.
“Hello?”
Her only answer was the muted thrum of Prodigy pulsing through surround sound speakers. Someone had been cleaning, she noted, seeing the massive trash bins staged at various points in the overlarge room. The smell of stale beer lingered in the air, mixed with a hint of citrus cleanser that made the stench almost pleasant.
Chrome tables and matching chairs with neon coloured cushions littered the main floor that surrounded the dance area. Throughout the room several higher platforms housed booths and tables, designed, she imagined, to hint at exclusivity.
Staring around her, she spied a second bar across the room. She gathered her jacket and approached the barstand, looking behind it in hopes of finding someone to talk to. This area appeared recently cleaned, the countertops shining and devoid of debris. Leaving her sopping jacket and satchel on a barstool obscured by the bar, she resumed her study of the area.
Someone had to still be here. She wandered around looking for signs of life and noticed a door reading ‘employees only’ cracked open. Much as she longed to go to her hotel and deal with this later, she needed to find out who had left the doors unlocked and the floor untended.
She entered cautiously, feeling like the dim-witted victim in a horror movie who searches an abandoned warehouse only to find death in the arms of a deranged serial killer. Samantha despised those films for portraying the victims as so hopelessly stupid. But as she descended step after step, she wondered at her own intelligence.
Maybe I should just come back tomorrow. Her footsteps sounded like thunder on the cold concrete of the basement floor, and she hesitated as she reached the end of the stairwell light’s perimeter.
“Hello? Is anyone here?” She flicked the light switch at the bottom of the stairs, not surprised when nothing happened. “Damn.” Gerry could deal with the absent employee tomorrow. There was no way she was going to tramp around a dark basement, especially one that felt this eerie. She couldn’t be sure if her imagination ran wild, but she swore she could feel someone, or something, watching her from the dark.
“I’m outta here.” She turned around and put one foot on the steps when the stairway light flickered and died. Goosebumps crawled over her skin, making her shiver with more than just cold.
Reaching for the railing, she had ascended the second step when a hand settled hard over her shoulder, pulling her back into a large body.
She shrieked and flailed, trying to free herself from the strong arms suddenly caging her to a steely male frame.
“Hold,” a deep voice sounded near her ear.
She immediately froze, her heart beating a mile a minute. Her breath caught as the arms around her loosened. A hand tugged at her wet hair, then trailed over her face and down her chest, lingering over her breasts.
Her face heated and she tried to yank herself from his grasp, terror gripping her hard, yet he continued to pat her down. His hands felt uncomfortably warm, stirring both fear and a curious ache in her loins that made absolutely no sense.
“Didn’t I tell you not to come back here?” the deep voice asked. “I’m not your plaything.” His hands returned to her breasts and tightened almost painfully. Odd, but his tight grip only excited her further.
As his words dawned, Samantha breathed deeply and sought some control over her off-kilter emotions. Okay, so the guy wasn’t some psycho killer. He thought he knew her.
“Look, there’s been some misunderstanding. I don’t know who you are, but the owner invited me here.”
His hands slowly left her body, grazing her nipples and shooting sparks through her already overloaded senses. She turned cautiously, ready to run at any moment. A sudden light lit the room and she blinked at the glare of flame in his hand. Odd, but she couldn’t see the source of flame. If she didn’t know better she’d swear his fingers were on fire. He cursed softly, breaking her stare on his hand and drawing her attention to his face. And all thoughts of nonexistent matches and lighters vanished.
Her eyes widened as they took in the dark-haired Adonis standing before her. Black hair grazed his shoulders, framing a face steeped in sensuality. Fathomless black eyes gazed at her, from her head to her toes, making her want to cover herself from his brazen inspection. Yet his study wasn’t the least bit leering. It was full of male speculation, and downright dangerous.
Samantha couldn’t help returning his study. The man had surprisingly arresting features, from his straight, aristocratic nose to his stubborn, squared jaw. And his body…tall and muscled, he could have appeared right at home in a muscle magazine.
“You aren’t Janet.” His voice oozed sex appeal, dark and husky, like the rumble of thunder that passed overhead.
“No, I’m not.” She took a small step back, needing to regain her senses. Adrenaline coursed through her system, as much from the fright he’d given her as from his luring attractiveness.