A big, bald, ugly-as-hell guy with a twisted nose and a scar sliding down his left cheek, jerked open the door. “What the ’ell do ye want?” A thick Irish brogue marked his words.
The scent of blood was stronger now. Moans whispered in the air, the faint pounding of drums, the light strum of a guitar. And then a scream.
Irish put one meaty hand on Adam’s chest and shoved back. “This ain’t yer place, mate.”
Adam glanced down at the hand, thought about breaking it. Just one quick snap. He took a deep breath and glanced back up into Irish’s beady green eyes. “I’m here for the woman.”
“No woman ’ere.” His lips curled into a snarl. “Now get your arse out of—”
The hand was still on his chest, pressing a bit too hard, and it was really pissing Adam off. So he grabbed the jerk’s wrist, twisted—not enough to break, not yet—and shoved Irish back against the door. “The woman you just let inside,” he whispered. “I want her.”
Irish shook his head. “Ye don’t want ’er.” He jerked his hand back, clenched his fingers into a fist.
“Oh, but I do.” And he wasn’t leaving without her. Adam waited for the guy to attack. Waited—
A hard crack of laughter filled the air. “Dumb bastard.” Irish stepped back, motioned him inside. “Yer funeral.”
Adam walked down the long, dark hallway. Small, sputtering candles were on the floor, providing just enough light to see the passage, but shadowing the blood he could smell all around him.
The hall ended in a large room. A band played on a small, wooden stage. A drummer. A woman who sang as she strummed the guitar. Adam could see the blood trailing lightly down their necks. Could tell by the glazed expression in their eyes that they were the slaves of the vamps.
Damn. He fucking hated vampires.
Parasites.
His back teeth clenched as he glanced around the room. Doors led off in every direction. He already knew where all those doors would take him. To hell.
But he needed to find Maya, so he’d have to go—
“Don’t screw with me, Armand!” A woman’s voice, hard, ice cold. Maya.
He turned, found her leaning over the bar, her hand wrapped around the bartender’s throat.
“I want to know who went after Sean, and I want to know now.” He saw her fingernails stretch into claws, and he watched as those claws sank into the man’s neck.
“I-I d-don’t k-know.” The guy looked like he might faint at any moment. Definitely human. Vamps were always so pale it looked like they might faint. But this guy, he’d looked pretty normal until Maya clawed him.
“Find out!” She threw him against a wall of drinks.
Adam stalked toward her, reached her side just as she spun around, claws up.
He stilled.
She glared at him. “What the hell do you want?” She snarled, and he could see the faint edge of her fangs gleaming behind her plump lips.
It was his first time to get a good look at her face. He’d seen her from a distance before, judged her to be pretty, hadn’t bothered to think much beyond that.
He blinked as he stared at her. Damn, the woman looked like some kind of fallen angel.
Her thick black hair framed her perfect, heart-shaped face. Her cheeks were high, glass sharp. Her nose was small, straight. Her eyes were wide and currently the black of a vampire in hunting mode. And her lips, well, she might have the face of an angel, but she had lips made for sin.
Adam felt his cock stir, for a vampire.
He shuddered in revulsion.
Oh, hell, no. The woman was so not his type.
Her scent surrounded him. Not the rancid, rotting stench of death he’d smelled around others of her kind. But a light, fragrant scent, almost like flowers.
What in the hell? How could she—
Maya growled and shoved him away from her, muttering something under her breath about idiots with death wishes.
Then she walked away from him.
For a moment, he just studied her. Maya wasn’t exactly his idea of an über-vamp. She was small, too damn small for his taste. The woman was barely five foot seven. Her body was slender, with almost boyish hips. Her legs were encased in an old, faded pair of jeans, and the black T-shirt she wore clung tightly to her frame.
He liked women with more meat on their bones. Liked a woman with curves. A woman with round, lush hips that he could hold while he thrust deep into her.
But, well, he wasn’t interested in screwing Maya. Not with her too-thin body. Her too-pale skin. No, he didn’t want to screw her.
He just planned to use her.
Adam took two quick strides forward, grabbed her arm, and swung her back toward him.
The eyes that had relaxed to a bright blue shade instantly flashed black. Vamps’ eyes always changed to black when they fought or when they fucked.
Sometimes folks made the mistake of confusing vamps with demons, because a demon’s eyes, well, they could go black, too. Actually, Adam knew that a demon’s eyes were always black, and for the demons, every damn part of their eyes went black. Even the sclera. With the vamps, just the iris changed.
Usually demons were smart enough to hide the true color of their eyes. But the vamps, they didn’t seem to give a flying shit who saw the change. If a human happened to see the eye shift, it was generally too late for the poor bastard, anyway, because by then, he was prey.
Gazing into Maya’s relentless black eyes, Adam had a true inkling of just how those said poor bastards must have felt.
A growl rumbled in her throat, then she snapped, “Slick, you’re screwing with the wrong woman tonight.”
No, she was the right woman. Whether he liked the fact or not.
So he clenched his teeth, swallowed his pride, and in the midst of hell, admitted, “I need your help.”
She snorted. “What the hell do I look like? The freaking Red Cross?” Her gaze held his as she bared her teeth. Her extremely sharp teeth. “I am not a helper. Now get your hand off me before I have to hurt you.”
As if she could.
“Playing with your prey, Maya?” A male voice drawled from the shadows.
Adam’s head jerked to the left as a tall, skeletally thin man stepped forward. The guy had bright red hair and a face that looked like it had been smashed by a shovel. His twisted smile showcased his glistening fangs.
Maya swore.
“Ah, sweet, is that any way to greet an old friend?”
She moved in a flash, lunging across the room and wrapping her fingers around his throat. “You,” she told him, her voice colder than ice, “are not my friend.”
Rage sparked in his black eyes, but, to Adam’s surprise, he didn’t try to fight her. “Armand…told me…about Sean.”
She slanted a quick glance back at the bartender and a satisfied smile curved her lips. “Ah, I knew he could get some information for me if he just tried.”
Armand swallowed and lowered his head.
Adam didn’t move. The tension in the air was suddenly, dangerously thick. The bar was quiet now. The guitarist had stopped strumming. There were no more whispers, no more moans. It was as if everyone were waiting, watching to see what would happen next.
Because that’s exactly