Page 37 of Wake the Dream

Still, his eyes lingered on her. She chuckled. Illaria one, Kieran zero.

She nodded, absorbing his heat when he dropped his forehead briefly to hers, and then followed him when he opened the storm door and trotted down the cement steps. They passed through some sort of magic barrier, the ward woven between the walls of cement nipping at her skin as they passed through and causing a mild nausea to wash over her.

Smoke-scented darkness enveloped them as they continued down, down, down, until their feet hit smooth level rock. The air was dank and full of mold and mildew. Although she’d half expected the air to be cold, the atmosphere warmed the more they walked until the heat caressed her. Better, much better.

Dim light ahead signaled they’d finally arrived. Music boomed. Bodies shuffled. She cursed her lack of magic when she suddenly lost hold of Kieran’s hand and couldn’t spot him in the crowd. Feeling oddly empty, she moved toward the bar in the back of the space and held up a hand for a shot, dragging cash out of her cleavage to pay.

“Haven’t seen you around here before.”

“Underground supernatural bars aren’t exactly my thing. I’m trying something new.” She turned to face the stranger, noting the fangs slipping out from between his teeth. Some kind of shifter, perhaps. The smell of wet animal clung to him like a second skin.

“Can I buy you a drink?” the stranger asked, scouring her with his eyes. On any other night, she might have taken him up on his unspoken offer. He’d take her home, show her pleasure if she let him.

Not tonight.

Illaria sent a smile and some bills toward the bartender when he slid a shot her way. “I’m good, thank you,” she replied to the shifter. “I’ve got this.”

She kept her back to the bar, twisting around to survey the room and knowing the shifter remained at her side, staring.

She stood out, branded as a freak. Completely out of her element.

Why would her sister come to a place like this? It reeked of body odor and piss, and the patrons were dirtier. Monsters, more like. These were beasts who would stand out even with Hedgehill’s magic. Some lumbered around the perimeter of the room, hunched over in the shadows. Some surrendered to the wild beat of the blaring music, moving trance-like in the middle space.

She slugged back the shot, watered down and cheap.

Had she thought it a storm cellar? More like an underground bunker. One exterior brick wall had been half demolished, extending the space into the earth. Who knew how many miles of tunnels were out there, hiding every manner of sin.

No, Yelena’s friend was a liar. Must be. Her sister would never come here, no matter how stressed she felt. No matter how displeased with her life or in need of some kind of action or adventure.

Illaria racked up shots until a nice burn warmed her from the inside. She fended off several more attempts at flirting, refused multiple drinks when she didn’t know where they came from. Enough time passed for Kieran to search the room, to make the rounds and discretely ask multiple patrons if they’d seen her sister. She let him do his job, knowing he would get the answers they needed. Funny how things had shifted. In the span of a day she went from thinking him the scourge of the earth to an almost competent human being.

She glanced at her wrist and realized she hadn’t worn her watch. Her feet were killing her and Kieran had slipped out of sight. Time to go.

Illaria replaced her last shot glass, shooting the bartender a grateful smile before making her way to the exit. She’d wait in the car until Kieran came out.

A pale white hand shot out of the darkness and grabbed her wrist. Judging from the cool temperature, she’d guess vampire. Her suspicions were confirmed when she recognized the intensity of his magic thrall.

“Hey there, beautiful.”

“Sorry,” she said, giving him a scowl. “I’m not interested.”

“Do you want to wake up?”

Illaria froze. Unable to move even if she’d wanted to. Her feet had grown roots and her knees locked. Blood raced to her head. “What did you say?”

“I asked if you wanted to wake up, fairy. Your sister certainly did.” The vampire leaned in and took a deep inhale, his nose close to the nape of her neck. Drawing her scent into his body. He shuddered, icy blond hair brushing against her exposed shoulders.

Her gaze hardened. “How do you know my sister?”

The vampire took a step closer and brought his lips to her ear. “You smell almost identical. I never forget a scent. Now, I repeat. Do you want to wake up?”

“I have no idea what you mean. Explain it to me,” she demanded, warring against the urge to break his grip, to call her power and send him spiraling away in a tornado. The familiar urge stirred inside of her but when she reached for her magic, for the everlasting well inside of her, she found nothing.

Jesus, not again.

Her shoulders shook and the burn inside of her turned venomous and sour. If she’d had time, she might have thrown a temper tantrum, tossing bar stools against the panic of losing access to her magic, the questions arising in its wake, and the cold-blooded, double-fanged wonder boy telling her she smelled like her sister.

“How about I show you?” the vamp continued, light glinting off the tips of his fangs.

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