He nodded. The data search was in good hands with Torque, Syre’s son. No one dug up intel better or faster. The rest would be up to Raze. “I’l wait to hear back from Torque and spend some time on the streets. Maybe they’l come to me.”
“Watch your back.” Crossing her long legs on the couch, she leaned toward the screen. “And don’t trust Adrian. He’l throw you under the bus, too.”
Touching a finger to his brow in salute, he acknowledged the warning and signed off.
CHAPTER 3
When he was asked later what drew him to the smal jazz club in an upscale part of Chicago, Raze didn’t have an answer. The place wasn’t his style with its smal round tables, live singer, and elegant patrons. But he’d been drawn to it and the sultry voice of the female entertainer that floated into the street on the night breeze.
Maybe because it was so different from the hard-edged clubs Torque helmed that gave fledglings a safe place to find blood and sex, and—most importantly—register their name and sire for the records. Raze thought maybe what he needed was a palate cleanser. Something different.
Damn it. He was restless and unsettled. He could barely stand to be in his hotel room. Even with the television on and the internet at his fingertips, he felt isolated and stifled. He was beginning to wonder if Baron’s bulet had been tainted in some way. It wasn’t like him to... brood. As endless as his life was, he stil didn’t have time to waste being a pain in his own ass.
He paid the club’s cover charge and went inside, discovering a smal open space with rust colored wals adorned with massive impressionist canvases. Pendant lights offered intimate ilumination, except for at the bar, where the blue glass shelves were lit with bright white light. The floor was covered in multicolored mosaic tiles and patrons danced freely wherever they found an open space, giving the whole establishment a comfortable bohemian feel.
Sliding onto a barstool, he noted the bartender. The lovely blonde on point looked like she just might be what he needed with her sleeves of tattoos, low-slung leather pants, and curvy body. Her hair hung in dreadlocks to her waist and was held back from her delicate face with a black bandana. She glanced at him, looked away, then immediately glanced back. She licked her pierced lower lip and made her interest known with a heated glance.
When she’d finished serving her customer, she came over. “What’s your poison?”
“Shiraz.”
Her brows rose. “Realy? Wouldn’t have pegged you for a wine drinker.”
“No?”
“No. Jameson, maybe. Or Glennfiddich.” She poured expertly and set the glass in front of him. “In the mood for something else?”
His fingertips slid lightly up and down the stem of his glass. “Suggestions?”
“I’m off at midnight.”
“I’m free at midnight.”
Her mouth curved in a sexy smile and she extended her hand. “Sam.”
He stroked her palm. “Raze.”
He watched her saunter off, admiring the way black leather hugged her lush ass, then he picked up his glass and stared into it. Stil fucking brooding, goddamnit.
He smeled the woman who stole his interest from Sam before he heard her.
“She’s not what you want.”
The clipped, no-nonsense female voice stirred something inside him, as did her scent. He savored both a moment before he looked at her, appreciating both her directness and the fragrance she wore, which was light and sweetly floral, a perfect accompaniment to the natural female scent of her skin.
Raze glanced aside at the woman who made herself comfortable in the space next to him. She wasn’t his type. Too refined and complicated for his tastes, but there was no denying she was beautiful. Wilowy body with modest curves. Creamy skin contrasted by dark hair. Vivid green eyes framed by thick, black lashes. She was an altogether stunning package. “She isn’t?”
“No.” She hooked one nude stiletto heel on the bar’s foot rail and set elegant hands on the carved wooden lip of the bar top. No rings, which he found surprising.
She was the sort of prime choice female that didn’t remain on the market long.
Raze canted his body toward her. High-class, he thought, noting the Rolex on her wrist and the hefty diamond studs shooting multi-hued fire from her earlobes. In a quick survey, he registered slim gray dress slacks, a sleeveless black silk top, and dark as ink curls piled high and balanced on a long, slender neck.
An image of her came to his mind... sprawled naked and prone across a red velvet bedspread, her graceful spine arching as he slid his parted lips along its curve.
Decadent. That’s what she was, and decadence was what she needed from the man she took to her bed. A long, slow, deep seduction. He didn’t have that patience in him tonight. He’d had blood dripping from every inch of his skin just twenty-four hours ago and he had a cold knot in his gut that ached.
Lifting his glass, he wet his lips, absently noting the building heat in his blood. Not his type, but he wanted her. “I’m not what you want. Not tonight.”
She reached for his glass and he gave it up. Blood was the only thing he could ingest, but he’d learned to tolerate a drop or two of red wine.
Her dark green eyes stared into his over the lip of the glass. She swalowed and made his dick hard. “Shiraz.”
“Wel done,” he murmured, his eyes folowing the perfect arches of her brows and the sculptured beauty of her cheekbones. With a slow and deep breath, Raze realized every other female in the room had faded into insignificance.
“I have good taste.” The intimacy of her smile included him in that statement, while the determination in her eyes dismissed his assertion that they weren’t meant to be lovers.
He ran a hand over his head and debated what to do. He was no longer interested in Sam the bartender, but he wanted sex and he needed blood. And the only person he wanted either from was the one standing in front of him—the kind of woman a guy didn’t take casualy. “You could have any guy in this room. Any guy you want.”
“Perhaps.” She shrugged and settled on the seat beside him. “But I need you. I’m Kim, by the way.”
She extended her hand. They shook in greeting and he gave her his name.
“Interesting.” Her eyes sparkled. “Suits you.”
Raze inclined his head in acknowledgment, maintaining his hold on her for a moment longer than necessary because he got a charge out of it. He’d chosen the name himself after shedding his angelic one. Al of the Falen had recreated themselves and most minions folowed suit—a new name for a new life. “Odd place to hunt for a rough ride.”