Blood and Midnight

Chapter 2

2

HALEY

Two years.

That’s how long I’d spent convincing myself this place didn’t exist. Convincing myself that Elian’s return from captivity in Midnight and the subsequent launching of a whole new life in New Orleans—one that didn’t include me—was just a rumor.

Now, standing before the entrance to his exclusive French Quarter club, I could no longer deny the truth.

Saints and Sinners, the sign read. To humans, it was just another abandoned cathedral with blown-out windows and crumbling spires, complete with a hulking gargoyle perched above the main archway.

But for those of us who could see past the illusion of the fae glamour, a set of glowing silver doors awaited—an invitation I still couldn’t bring myself to answer.

There were no bouncers or velvet ropes, no demands for the secret password. Just the ancient gargoyle and the doors and a small plaque reminding me this was hallowed ground, so could I please check my weapons at the armory inside the narthex?

I practically snorted.

Fat f*****g chance.

This was no Temple of the Dark Moon. Just because Elian’s den of supernatural sin was housed in an old church, that didn’t make it hallowed ground any more than it made him a priest.

No one showed up in a place like this looking for redemption, anyway.

They showed up looking for an escape.

Or in my case—to beg.

Damn it. The thought of even facing that prick again—let alone asking him for help—tied me up in knots. But what choice did I have? My sisters’ lives depended on me seeing this all the way through, and Elian truly was my best shot at surviving the horrors of Midnight.

Probably my only shot.

So, decked out in a new lace dress the color of the stars and thigh-high leather boots I’d picked out just to make him suffer, strapped from hip to ankle with weapons that would finish the job if the outfit failed, I pushed open the doors and stepped inside.

And immediately fell under its spell.

Everything about the place was designed to hypnotize, from the rich, blood-red walls to the restored stained-glass windows that pulsed with magick. Suspended in gilded cages from the ceiling, painted fae couples performed dances so erotic, I was already wishing for a cold shower. Semi-private candlelit alcoves lined both sides of the former cathedral, and the pews had been removed from the nave, the flooring replaced with black marble that glittered with tiny silver points.

It looked as if the club’s many revelers were dancing across the night sky.

I was relieved not to spot Elian among them. Despite the fever-inducing performances of the fae dancers, five years’ worth of resentment and abandonment issues still simmered inside, and one look into his entrancing silver eyes would set it all ablaze.

Not a fire I wanted to face while sober.

Chin raised, shoulders squared, I beelined for the bar and slid onto an empty barstool at the end, trying to spot any potential threats. Hunters were always my first concern, but we’d taken a pretty big bite out of their organization during the Battle at Blackmoon Bay. Those who remained loyal to their f****d-up cause would likely be licking their wounds for a good long while.

Here at Saints and Sinners, vampires and fae made up the majority of the clientele, all of them rich, well-dressed, and predatory. The fae were even more refined than the bloodsuckers, their otherworldly beauty as mesmerizing as it was dangerous.

The bartender, though… He didn’t fit the profile. Demon. Rough around the edges. A head of messy, jet-black hair and a mouth so sultry it was almost a crime to look at. He wore a white dress shirt and dark slacks but no tie, his sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms mapped with scars.

My own scars practically tingled in response.

As he finished up with one of his vampire customers, I studied him. Another sexy scar ran the full length of his face, slicing through his eyebrow and ending in the dark stubble along his jaw. A black patch covered the injured eye.

When he finally made his way over to me, he nodded and set a coaster on the bar, but didn’t smile or say hello. Just waited, arms crossed over his broad chest, one blue eye glowering at me like he was daring me to ask about the missing one.

What I really wanted to ask was what time he got off work and how soon he’d like to get started on becoming my next ex-boyfriend, but…

“Drinking or leaving, new girl?” he asked, smooth and cold as ice. “You’re holding up the line.”

I took a deep breath, trying to re-focus on the mission.

Midnight.

Begging.

Elian.

“Drinking. Definitely drinking. I’ll have… I don’t know.” I offered a flirty smile. “Whatever you think I’ll like.”

He leaned in close, his demonic scent enveloping me. It reminded me of the smoke that lingered in your hair when you spent too much time by the fire, a hint of lemon simmering beneath it, and holy hell did I want to jump across the bar and—

“I need a bit more to go on,” he said, then shot me an icy grin to match his voice. “If it’s not too much trouble for you.”

“Fine. Let’s do something with a kick, but nothing boring or predictable. That rules out whisky, vodka, and tequila. I’m not a huge fan of bubbles either, and I don’t like anything too milky. Sweet’s good, but not too sweet, and a little fruit is fine, but nothing super fruity, unless it’s—”

“Sorry I asked.” Without waiting for me to finish, he wiped his hands on the towel draped over his shoulder, selected a martini glass from the rack overhead, and turned toward the multi-colored bottles lined up behind him.

Before I could offer any more helpful pointers, a wave of vertigo hit, alerting me to the presence of a vampire. One getting way too close and personal.

“Did it hurt?” A husky voice breathed in my ear.

I turned to meet his gaze, resting b***h face locked and loaded. “Excuse me?”

“When you fell from Heaven?” He spread his arms and grinned as if I might find the whole package so charming I’d leap into his embrace, wrap my thighs around him, and ride him all the way home.

“Not as much as it did when they cut off my horns and tail,” I said. “Anyway, I’m all set here, so… Have a good night.”

“Can I at least buy you a drink, beautiful?”

“No, thank you. I’m not interested.”

His face fell, then twisted into a scowl. “You don’t have to be such a bitch.”

“Actually, I do. Because otherwise bloodsuckers like you assume a smile or a kind word is a full-on invitation to Pussytown, and I promise you, friend. That’s an exclusive ticket.”

“Check the guest list again.” He reached over and touched my hair, bringing a lock to his lips before dropping his hand to my thigh and giving it a possessive squeeze. “Pretty sure I’m on it.”

Pretty sure you’re going to regret touching me, but ooh-kay…

“Well, since you’re so persistent,” I cooed, “maybe I should check.” With a faux-seductive smile, I slid my fingers into the top of my boot, seeking that cold, comforting piece of wood I never left home without.

One minute, the hawthorn stake was minding its own business in the boot holster. The next, it was jammed into the back of the fucker’s hand.

Such was the beauty of my sharp and pointy friend.

He jerked back with a howl, the hawthorn poison already paralyzing his fingers. I yanked the stake free, spun it in my palm, and shoved it against his crotch, stopping just short of inflicting a more serious injury.

“Touch me again, bloodsucker,” I hissed, “and your hand won’t be the only thing going limp.”

“Go… go f**k yourself, bitch.”

“I’d return the sentiment, but I’m pretty sure that hand won’t be up for the job any time soon.” I laughed. “Get it? Hand? Job?”

He bared his fangs, then stumbled away like a wounded, dejected bird.

“First drink is on me,” the bartender said. “That was the best thing I’ve seen in months.”

I reached forward and yanked the towel off his shoulder, then wiped the blood from my stake. “Thanks for the assist, demon.”

“You had it handled. Be grateful I don’t toss your ass out for smuggling in that stake.”

“This teeny tiny little thing?” I finished cleaning it off, then slipped it back into the holster. “It’s not like it was going to kill him.”

Wooden stakes could poison the fuckers—hawthorn was especially good at interfering with their healing abilities, and a well-placed stake to the chest would knock them out for hours—but still, that was just a temporary fix. Killing vampires required decapitation or burning, and I wasn’t about to ruin my new outfit with all that mess.

“In any case, best not to draw too much attention.” The bartender set down the martini glass, now brimming with pale amber liquid. A single mint leaf floated on top.

“What is it?”

The barest hint of a smile quirked his lips. “It’s called a Fallen Angel.”

It was the smile that saved him. Asshole.

Hiding my return grin behind the rim of the glass, I took a sip, then another.

Damn, that Fallen Angel concoction was good—good enough to savor over a long conversation laced with innuendo. A conversation that on any other night might’ve led to a kiss and maybe even an orgasm or two.

But tonight?

I tipped back the glass and chugged it all down. Then, before I could talk myself out of it, I said, “I’m looking for Elian.”