Bloodlust (Page 13)

“It’s a spell,” Solus murmured.

“Huh?”

“Tarn has a few pet mages. He uses them to cast useful spells. Such as masking the sounds of what goes in here to anyone outside.”

“And the Ministry is okay with that?”

“They’re not exactly Ministry mandated mages.”

Interesting. This Unseelie Fae had more power than I thought if he kept a couple of rogue wizards in his back pocket. I had firsthand experience of how the Ministry felt about anyone using magic outside of their fold. I wondered just how much Solus had to do with members of the Winter King’s court. It was a world I’d never really come into contact with, and I had to admit that my knowledge about it was rather scanty. But with the ogre continuing to hover next to us, this wasn’t really the time to ask. Solus delved into his pocket and I heard the distinct chink of coins, which he then passed over to the bouncer before I could see just how much this little excursion was costing him.

“I’ve crossed your palm with gold,” Solus commented cheerfully. “Now let us in.”

The ogre grunted, then gestured Solus towards another closed door with a distinct curl to his rather large, wrinkled and protruding lip. The Fae led the way, opening the door with a flourishing sweep that was melodramatic even for him. Then we were in.

“He’s a real charmer, isn’t he?”

I barely heard Solus’ words above the music. It reverberated loudly through my body, until it felt almost as if my heart was thumping to match the beat. The interior of the club was vast, deceptively so from the small entrance through which we’d just come. Blue strobe lights flashed through the darkened dance floor, highlighting shadowy figures of all shapes and sizes, and a murky looking balcony hung over the space from behind the glow of the circular bar in the middle. There was an odd smell in the air, almost like cloves interspersed with cinnamon, and small flying creatures balancing trays with elaborate looking drinks flapping by.

There was a moan to my left and, upon turning, my mouth dropped open to see a vamp with her head curved into the neck of an apparently very willing victim, whose eyes flickered open when he felt my gaze. He smiled at me dreamily, as a trickle of blood dribbled down his neck and onto his bared torso. The vamp’s tongue followed it down, lapping at it with the delicacy of a small cat. Sickened, I looked away.

“Let’s get a drink,” said Solus into my ear.

Feeling faintly claustrophobic, despite the size of the club, I demurred. “I don’t want a drink. I want to find Tarn then get the hell out of this place.”

“You’re not going to find Tarn,” he replied, although I had to strain to catch all his words. “Tarn will find you.” And with that, the Fae tugged at my arm and led me through the crowd to the bar.

He shouted something to the bartender, holding up two fingers and then turned to me with a dazzling smile. “I’d forgotten how much fun it is here.”

I decided that Solus’ idea of fun and my idea of fun were poles apart. The flashing lights and the thumping music were encouraging the violent return of my earlier headache. The bartender set two drinks down in front of us; strange rainbow coloured concoctions that appeared to be smoking. I hoped that it was purely as a result of a scoop of dry ice and not some mage-inspired spell. I really didn’t want to have to cope with any bizarre magic related hangover tomorrow morning. He lifted up his drink and raised his eyebrows at me. Sighing, I did the same. He chinked our glasses together, then downed the entire thing in one fell swoop. I took a tiny sip and almost gagged. Hastily returning the drink to the bar-top, I eyed the Fae curiously.

“You’ve been here before?”

He shrugged. “I used to hang out from time to time. The nightlife in Tir-na-Nog isn’t exactly thrilling.” A half-naked woman, with what appeared to be writhing snakes for hair, wandered past us. His eyes followed her swaying waist. “And there are lots of opportunities for,” he paused momentarily, licking his lips, “excitement.”

I glared at him with distaste. “Assuming you don’t get turned to stone in the pursuit of that excitement.”

I bristled. “I’m not a prude, I just…” My words fell away as I felt a heavy shove from behind, and went careening into Solus’ arms.

I twirled around, green fire already lighting up at my fingertips. In front of me rocked a satyr, clearly heavily under the influence. He had a smarmy grin on his lips as he looked me up and down. “Fresh meat! How about you and I take this party somewhere else?”

He reached out for my arm, but instead I extinguished my fire and grabbed his bicep, twisting it and bringing him to his knees. His yelp of pain was audible even above the music. Solus stepped over next to me. “You are a were-hamster, remember, dragonlette.”

I doubted very much that by now there were many people left in the Otherworld, ogre-shaped bouncers aside, who were still going to believe that. Regardless, I released my captive.

Solus’ eyes’ sparkled. “Come on. Let’s dance.”

“I don’t want to fucking dance,” I began, but he took my hand anyway, threading his long fingers between mine, and led me off to the cavernous dance-floor.

“If you want Tarn to notice you, then you need to do something other than look like a fire-breathing dragon with homicidal tendencies,” he murmured in my ear. “He’s UnSeelie. That means he has some baser instincts that take little encouragement. And you are, as our satyric friend over there stated, ‘fresh meat’. Dance with me and make it look good, and I will bet you that we are in.”

“In where?” I shouted back, but it was too late. Solus was already spinning me round, then pulling my hips against his. I was beyond irritated, but if this is what it was going take to get an audience with Tarn, wherever the fuck he happened to be, then I was going to give it everything I had.

Trying to look considerably more confident and dance-proficient than I actually felt, I shook out my hair and began to grind, reaching behind for Solus’ waist and half-closing my eyes. That was more out of sheer embarrassment than due to my suggested pleasure at being thrust up against the Fae; I just had to hope that it was the latter that was being conveyed. At least like this there was less chance that I’d topple over as a result of my stiletto heeled height.

I felt Solus’ hands leave my waist and travel up my body. “This is more excitement than I had anticipated, dragonlette,” he murmured in my ear.

“Don’t get any fucking funny ideas, Fae,” I snarled back, albeit keeping a happy half-smile on my face for the watching public.

He laughed and spun me round until we were facing each other, then pulled me close again. I flung out my arms to give some semblance of wild abandon and, as the music’s tempo increased, allowed Solus to grab hold of my hands. Our bodies twisted around together as we danced, taking up more and more of the space, and forcing other couples and dancers out towards the periphery. The shiny catwoman inspired get-up I was wearing might look sexy, but it certainly wasn’t designed for any kind of real physical exertion. Sweat was dribbling most uncomfortably down my chest and back but, due to the tight nature of the outfit, was merely pooling in a slick mess against my skin.

Solus said something that I didn’t quite catch so I leaned in closer until our faces were almost touching. “What?”

“I said,” he repeated, “that don’t look now, but we’re on candid camera.”

Slightly puzzled, I maneuvered myself around to where his eyes were directed, while still keeping up with the beat of the music. I realised that large television screens were broadcasting our dance to the entire club, beaming down images of the pair of us writhing together. Okay, maybe I did look kind of hot, for once in a sexy way rather than a bloodfire way. Watching myself gave me the oddest sensation of hedonistic voyeurism. Enough was enough.

“That’s got to do it,” I shouted back. “Let’s go and get a drink and see what happens.”

“Aw, dragonlette,” purred Solus in my ear, “we’re only just getting started.” He allowed me to lead him off the dance floor, however, and back towards the bar. More than a few eyes were transfixed in our direction as we sauntered off; I just had to hope they included Tarn’s.

Fortunately, my expectations were realised as, just as I gestured towards the barman, another hulking ogre appeared. This one was wearing a bowtie round his thick neck and very little else, as if he were a member of the Chippendales. I found it hard to imagine screaming women thrusting money towards him, but, hey, who was I to judge? He bowed formally towards us, in a manner even more incongruous with his shape and size than his outfit was.

“The owner would like to meet you,” he said gruffly.

Yes! Trying not to be appear to overly exultant, I glanced quickly at Solus. He nodded, returning my look with a wink, and then the pair of us followed the ogre. The speculative looks in the eyes watching us were narrowing into jealousy as we weaved our way through the crowds to an ornate door set in the side. It opened automatically and we were beckoned in. At last.

The ogre ushered us into a waiting lift. I had been starting to assume that Tarn would be up in the balcony area although the presence of a lift suggested that we were going higher up than that. Clearly this UnSeelie Fae wasn’t much of one for exercise, however, as the journey took less than five seconds and it was obvious when the doors dinged open that we were only one floor up. The music seemed less intrusive up here, and the surroundings were considerably more plush: gilt mirrors, dramatic paintings that were akin to some Hieronymous Bosch visions of hell, and comfortable looking booths in which various Otherworlders were lounging. A few of them gave us curious glances but, for the most part, we were ignored. The ogre pointed us towards the back, and then we were on our own.

Feeling slightly unsteady on my feet, I grabbed Solus’ arm. I ignored the tiny flicker of humiliation I felt at needing his support to do nothing more than walk, but figured it might make me appear less threatening towards the club’s owner. If I could persuade him to tell me about Endor without having to resort to violence, then all to the good. As we approached his table, I realised that what must be Tarn himself was in the centre, arms akimbo while several scantily clad women leaned in towards him. With a jolt, I recognised one of them as a shifter. I didn’t think, somehow, that fawning over a Fae was quite what Corrigan had in mind for his minions. Tarn brushed the girls off, and stood up with a remarkable amount of grace, considering he was probably the only overweight Fae I’d ever come across. He was still remarkably good-looking, making me wonder if it was a prerequisite for the Wee Ones to be genetically disposed to attractiveness, no matter which side of the Seelie-UnSeelie spectrum they landed on. His head was shaved, as were his eyebrows, and his dark eyes glittered. I’d mistaken Solus for an UnSeelie Fae when I’d first met him - now I realised just how wrong I’d been. There was something of the night about Tarn that clung to him in a manner unmistakably of the darker side of faery.