Page 18 of The Silver Spider
Chapter Seven
Amnan directedthe hostess to find him a table in a dark corner—and not in Serephone’s section. If she was going to work in a gentlemen’s club, this was one of the better, but anger still churned in his gut. She was his clan now, his responsibility. The forged warrant, his leverage, sat in his vest pocket, waiting.
He would wait though, and watch, and choose the proper time to snatch her up and take her into the sky and home again. He certainly didn’t want her unleashing any of her spiders on him, though eyeing the getups the women here wore, he wasn’t sure where she would even hide them. The thought that she might be in this place unarmed angered him even more.
He sat, brooding, ignoring the dancers and the subtle invitation of the woman assigned to serve him. She was beautiful, of course, and likely highly talented. But his attention, apparently, was already fixed on the tall, raven haired woman across the room, striding between her tables with a nearly dragon like grace, not quite able to hide the feral glitter in her eyes. And despite that there was a grave kind of innocence to her face. Not the innocence born of a lack of knowledge, or understanding—but from a lack of evil in the heart. The darkness in her he understood better now, watching how she interacted with her male clients.
She didn’t behave like a woman, who’d been violated—but like a woman, who’d spent her life guarding against such a crime. Understanding that there were predators around her. He knew her father had left when she was young. Or rather, knowing Kai, that woman had eaten her husband and buried his bones under her vegetable garden.
His server returned after he’d given his information to open a tab. “We have the best drinks in the VIP section,” she purred, kneeling so the level of his eyes went down to her impressive cleavage.
Any other time he would have taken her up on the offer—the blue highlights under her deep, deep skin were striking, the brilliant whites of her eyes and red of full lips tantalizing. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she had a bit of fae in her as well—it wasn’t uncommon in Domes, where immortals and humans mixed. Some Line’s bored younger son always had to dip his wick in the local pools.
“Not tonight, beauty,” he said, and stroked the line of her collarbone, not wanting to offend her. “But you would be my first choice were I not already ensnared.”
He glanced at Serephone as he spoke and she followed his line of vision, thin brow rising, a tiny diamond winking at the tip.
“The new girl?” Her full lips pursed. “I might arrange that for you.”
“She’s my stepsister.” He felt his face heat a bit—he was too damn old for blushing, but her knowing look discomfited him. “I told her mother I would make sure she didn’t do anything foolish.”
She smiled. “I’m Olukemi.” She reached inside a hidden pocket on her snug skirt and handed him a business card. “If you need a pair of eyes when you aren’t here.…”
He genuinely appreciated the offer. “Thank you. We’ll talk.”
Olukemi rose, took his drink order, and returned swiftly, excusing herself without further conversation. His estimation of the establishment went up several notches. They trained their women to serve in whatever manner was required—and not to pester a client once he’d already said no. But the true test was if they pestered a girl once she said no—and Amnan watched Serephone’s clients as they watched her, interest in their eyes. She ignored it—but how long would she be allowed to?
* * *
Serephone felteyes on her the entire evening. It pissed her off, because Etienne was nowhere in sight, and whenever she turned it was only to catch the eyes of one of the men her section. She knew she was beginning to look twitchy when one of the older women—a tall, statuesque beauty with a stunning chest, sensual mouth colored like blood—approached. What was her name? Alanna, Olua—Olukemi.
“You keep looking over your shoulder, darling,” the woman said.
Serephone’s skin crawled—well, the spiders crawled over her skin, but the effect was the same. She stilled, willing them to settle back down.
“Someone is watching me,” she said. She wasn’t crazy, and she wasn’t hysterical. Her eyes narrowed, daring the woman to refute her claim.
Olukemi smiled. “I know.” Her lips pursed as she studied Serephone. “I can see why he’s protective of you. A fresh-faced beauty, all alone in the city? You walk like no man has ever touched you and no man ever will. If it’s an act you’re putting on to raise your virgin price, it’s damn good.”
Serephone ignored the last part of the little speech, focusing on the most important two words. “Who?”
“He says he’s your stepbrother. But that man don’ look at you the way a brother should. I think he’s the most dangerous man to you here, eh.”
Olukemi walked away as Serephone struggled for a moment to smooth her expression. Goddamn him. She turned in a slow circle, eyes piercing the shadows of the club, where a man might sit and eye-stalk an innocent woman simply trying to earn a living and enact a little justified revenge while she was at it.
A flare of light in a far section, like the strike of a match. It was no match—but the eyes of a nosy, winged reptile. Serephone stared into the shadow, expression challenging, before turning on her heels and leaving the floor.
* * *
Was she challenging him? Amnan rose from his seat, teeth bared. Her nostrils flared, eyes betraying her innate magic with sparks of their sepulchral, green light. She’d have to be careful—she’d blow her cover, such as it was. Amnan began to move out of the shadows towards her when she turned on her heels and fled.
That was a mistake.
Every instinct in him sharpened in one second, the human shucked aside as the dragon woke, thrilled to chase. And when he caught her…
Amnan followed her out of the building. She had a fair head start on him because he didn’t wish to bring attention to himself—and running full speed through a crowd, even in sensual, nighttime lighting, would call attention to them both. He inhaled, following her scent, a mixture of rose and gunmetal now overlaid with whatever musky scent she wore as part of her working wardrobe.
Several people looked at him sharply—but he was a tall, well dressed, predatory-looking male, who strode with purpose. They would assume whoever he was, he was not to be waylaid. And they would be right.
