Page 20 of Claimed
I want to groan, to walk over and demand why he seems to be following me. And why he didn’t follow me back to my damned hotel.
After standing in the little hall at the club for several long minutes, I had to walk from the building on shaky legs, my core clenching from a desire to be filled.
For the damn demon to fill me.
Climbing into my car, I had made a beeline back to my room and stood under icy water until I was damn near blue. But even that didn’t help. I dreamed about the stupid demon all night.
And now, as though I summoned him, he’s here, blonde bodyguard in tow.
Pretending to glance around for a seat, I risk another peek in his direction.
He’s just as delicious in an all-black suit, the smooth lines framing his lean but well-built body. A crimson tie runs down his chest. And he slicked all those beautiful midnight locks back, leaving him looking older and more sinister.
The demon could be a wealthy businessman if not for his eyes.
Or a woman’s naughty book boyfriend.
My thighs clench. There is no shower here. No way to bank the desire burning inside me. I force my eyes away and take a deep breath in, then exhale.
It helps.
A little.
“Please find your seats. The auction begins in a few minutes.”
The voice is brisk and distinctly feminine.
I peer around for the source, spying a lean blond woman in a business suit. Her gaze is flinty, like steel, and just as dead.
Slipping past a group of vamps, I press closer to a low set of tables at the back of the warehouse. The crates and pallets from the night before wait just behind a massive line of security. But no matter how much I strain up onto the tips of my toes in my heels, I cannot discern any cases.
I sit in the center of the front aisle, clutch in my lap. The Derringer inside is a familiar weight. But it will only slow down some of the threat around me, and it damn sure won’t stop most of them.
Crossing my legs, I make sure my skirts flash the long blades down my thighs. Anyone that comes after me needs to hesitate.
Hence the knives.
All around me, the other bidders slip into the uncomfortable metal chairs. I keep my head forward, refusing to look for the infernal demon. But out of the corner of my eye, I catch a flash of red across the aisle.
Careful not to turn my head, I watch as he takes a seat at the end of the row. His blonde guard remains standing, one hand clasping his opposite wrist, while his massive size towers over everyone in the vicinity.
Unable to refrain, I spare another glance.
The demon fluffs his lapels as he settles, flashing a matte black sidearm under his jacket.
A touch of confusion spirals into me.
Since when do demons use guns?
His head turns in my direction and I face front fast, cheeks flushing like a teenager.
My hands convulse around my clutch.
Damn him.
The blond host murmurs something to the security at the back of the room. Two tall men step from the group and walk to opposite sides of the room as she takes her place behind the long tables.
“Good evening,” she calls, and the low murmur of conversation fades. “We will now erect the wards, please remain seated until the procedure is complete.”
