Dangerous Creatures (20 page)

Someone powerful.

Someone who wants me to know just how powerful he is.

Running wasn’t an option. She couldn’t leave Ryan alone here.

Fight was out, too. Ridley didn’t know exactly what she was up against, but she had a pretty good idea.

This one move told her more than most. She could smell a predator a mile away, and more than anything, she knew when she was bested.

Checkmate, Lennox Gates.

She was in New York City, on his turf. She had dragged her boyfriend all the way here, and she’d put her future and his on the line. Now she was staring at her kid sister.

It was the first time Ridley understood that getting out of this whole mess was going to be trickier than she’d thought. She had underestimated her opponent. After Sarafine and Abraham, she thought she’d learned never to do that again.

Ridley’s hand was around Ryan’s wrist before Ryan could say another word. “Get out of here.”

“Why?” Ryan looked shocked. “I thought you invited me? For Link’s gig?”

“We didn’t invite you.” Ridley was already pulling Ryan toward the door, which wasn’t easy, seeing as she nearly knocked over an Incubus carrying a pitcher of what she doubted was cherry soda. He glared as she pushed past.

“How did you get here, Ryan?” The sisterly inquisition was on.

“Tunnels.”

“And Mom thinks?”

“Mamma thinks I’m sleeping at Jackie Eaton’s.” Ryan looked past Ridley. “Hey, Link.”

“Hey yourself, Ryan. Lookin’ sharp.” Link leaned in for the same old awkward hug he usually gave Rid’s little sister, the kind that avoided all unnecessary touching.

“Why are you here, Ryan?”

“That note you sent.”

“I never sent you a note.”

“Of course you did. I have it in my bag.” Ryan slipped her suede backpack off her shoulders and unzipped it. She handed Ridley a slick black envelope sealed with red wax.

The wax had been stamped with the letter S, only the S was a serpent. “ ‘Ridley Duchannes and Wesley Lincoln request the pleasure of your company at a private concert benefiting the Sirensong Foundation. Come join us in celebrating the opening of the club Sirene. R.S.V.P. & H.T.V.T.’ ” Ridley looked up. “What the hell? Is this some kind of a joke?”

“H.T.V.T.?” Link looked blank.

“Hold to Virtually Teleport. It’s a Rip letter. All Ryan had to do was go anywhere in the Tunnels with this thing in her hand and she Ripped right here.”

Ryan’s eyes were still glowing. “It was like riding in a Ferrari.”

Ridley shook her head. “Not an easy Cast, more of a status thing. You know, big party, transportation provided. Check it out.” Ridley held the letter out to Link.

He raised his hands. “No way. I’m not touchin’ that thing. I have a bad enough time Rippin’ as it is.” Link looked as worried as she felt.

She knew they shouldn’t have come here.
But then, if we hadn’t, who would be taking care of Ryan right now?

Ryan’s face clouded over. “If you didn’t invite me, Rid, then who did?”

“I did.” The words sounded like they came from the sky, both above and behind her. But Ridley knew better.

Not the sky—the balcony.
Ridley recognized the voice immediately, though she hadn’t heard it in weeks now. It still made her shiver.

The one who looked as hot as he acted cold.

The one she owed not one but two markers.

One that could ruin her relationship, and one that could ruin her life.

He was the reason they were here tonight, and the reason she was in New York at all.

Ridley had finally met her match, and his name was Lennox Gates. Ryan was his move. It was a challenge, head to head. Siren versus whatever the hell kind of Dark Caster he was.

Forget Liar’s Trade. The real game was only now beginning.

This might be Link’s audition, but it was her game.

Her fist clenched in the sudden green light of her Binding Ring.

It’s on.

The moment she turned to look at him, the club went quiet.

Not quiet—utterly and completely silent, because there was no one left inside. Every single person had disappeared, and now it was just the two of them. Ridley could hear her own heart pounding.

Lennox Gates was there, standing at the railing of a raised industrial platform. His eyes were as intense—and as gold-flecked—as she remembered. Something about them reminded her of what Dark Fire looked like.

Pure power.

Ridley couldn’t see past what he wore under the leather jacket, but it was clear that whatever it was concealing included a compact, athletic build. His golden hair fell around his face and almost curled in places, especially near his neck.
He looks like ambition
, she thought.

He looks like danger.

Ridley didn’t take her eyes off his face. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of thinking he had impressed her with his little magic show.

Anyone could—what? Evaporate a room full of heavily Charmed and powerfully protected Supernaturals? Throw down a Temporal Distortion like that? Not really.

No one could, except maybe Lena. Even then, it wouldn’t be easy.

Ridley had to admit that. Her heart was pounding, and she wondered if he could hear it, which only made it pound harder.

Get it together, Rid.

She spoke first.
Not broke first
, she thought.
Keep playing the long game. Focus on how you will destroy this person.
“You must be really proud of yourself for pulling that one off.”

His eyes didn’t waver from her face. “I’m almost never proud. They say it goes before a fall, and I’m not planning on falling.”

“That’s funny, since I’m not planning on caring. Now what did you do with the nice people in the club, Mr. Gates?”

He waved a hand dismissively. “They’re still there. Having the night of their lives. Or so they think.”

Condescending jerk.
“You’re talking about my sister and my boyfriend,” Ridley said. “Put them back or you’ll wish you never met me.”

“How do you know I don’t wish that already?” Now he was smiling.

“What’s it to me, either way?” Ridley smiled back. “Whatever your problem is with me, I guarantee you it’s about to get a thousand times worse. Ask around. I’m sort of famous for that.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” He snapped his fingers and the noise, the chaos, the wild adrenaline of the club instantly returned. He raised his voice over the noise. “Who said I had a problem with you? I’ve missed you since our little encounter at Suffer.”

He snapped his fingers again, and the people disappeared for a second time.

“See? Everyone’s happy as a soft-shell clam.” He gestured toward her. “But this is me time. You and me time. What’s that in your hand?”

Ridley looked down at the black envelope Ryan had given her. It only took a moment before the room around it went even blacker.

 
CHAPTER 17 

Runnin’ with the Devil

R
idley’s head was spinning. Then the darkness gave way to light. But it was no better, because the lights were too bright for her to see. Slowly, as the room began to solidify around her, she realized she was staring into a candle.

“Something sweet? You seem a little light-headed.” Lennox’s voice cut through the light.

Ridley looked up. She was sitting across from Lennox Gates, at what appeared to be a private table for two.
Transportation provided.
She had forgotten she was holding the damn invitation.

She winced. He’d gotten the better of her twice now. It was more than embarrassing. It was infuriating. “How did you manage to use a Rip letter inside the club, when a whole posse of Blood Incubuses had to Rip outside and walk in the door like everyone else?”

“I Bound the club myself. I can come and go as I like.” He looked pleased with himself, which only made Rid more irritated.

“Just you?”

“Just me, and anyone I hand that invitation to.” Lennox smiled. “Nectar of the Gods?” He lifted a decanter—a bottle so tall and thin that it looked like the neck of some poor dead goose. Golden bubbles rose to the surface of a thick, syrupy drink. Ridley sniffed and smelled sugarcane, the essence of sweetness in its purest form.

Siren catnip. He’s good.

“Go to Hell, Lennox Gates.” It was all she could manage to say.

He nodded pleasantly. “Please. Call me Nox. And I’m sure I will. You could say it’s a family tradition. But until then, perhaps we should toast to our joint venture?”

Ridley dropped the black envelope like a hot coal. “No. And no more cheap party tricks. Please.”

She was beginning to get her bearings. This room was nothing like the rest of the club. Quiet darkness was reflected everywhere—in the vintage-looking black velvet curtains, the black leather booths that curved like shells against the low, vaulted walls, and the massive black stone fireplace that dominated the far end of the chamber.

“Hungry, then? Even a Siren has to eat.” A series of black leather triangles covered the polished metal disc of the tabletop. A silver goblet sat on a crystal plate in front of Ridley. When she looked at the goblet it was empty.

“Perhaps something from the Grand Bazaar? Do you like Istanbul?”

Ridley looked again, and the goblet was full of sweet honeycomb, dribbled with a golden syrup that smelled like wild honeysuckle. A fat bee buzzed lazily over the top wedge. Triangles of what looked like fresh pistachio baklava and Turkish Delight mounded up against the goblet, on the crystal plate.

So he can Manifest, too. Great. He’s got some kind of Shifter blood in there.

Shifting. A Temporal Distortion. Ripping. His powers seemed to cross every conventional Supernatural distinction. Her debt to Lennox Gates was only getting more and more worrisome.

She tried not to panic. She willed her heart to beat more slowly.

There is nothing to be afraid of.

He’s just another bully.