Chapter 1

I adjusted my tie,using my reflection in the whiskey bottle sitting on the bar. “How do I look?”

Tom Collins, the bartender, lifted his gaze from wiping a glass and gave me a head-to-waist once-over. He arched a dark eyebrow, and went back to cleaning the glass. “Lose the tie.”

“Really?” I frowned. I liked the tie. I’d never worn one before. And today was important. All about first impressions. If the hotel guests were going to take me seriously, then I needed to look the part. That was, if any guests showed up. “Doesn’t it make me look sophisticated?”

“You look like a lawyer,” Tom said, with zero tact. “If that’s the vibe you’re going for, fucking have at it.”

Guests probably wouldn’t want a snarky, judgmental bartender. They’d want a bartender who poured drinks and listened to their woes. All cheer and no sneer. “Maybe you should turn your profanity filter on?”

“Fuck you.”

Oh-kay,it appeared as though the Tom Collins AI bartender package I’d bought off the shady fae in downtown San Francisco needed some settings tweaked. I should have known it was a deal too good to be true. The fae were notorious con-artists.

At least he looked the part, in his three-piece suit and styled, smooth black hair. Quite dashing, in that 1930s chipper way.

I’d take a look at his settings later. There wasn’t time to fix him now. The clock on the wall read eight forty-five. I had fifteen minutes before the hotel doors officially opened for the first time. Six months’ work. A whole lot of cash, blood, sweat, and bodily fluids—and some questionable ritual sacrifices—had all been leading to this moment. Opening day had to go off without a hitch.

My heart squeezed. I grabbed the glass of whiskey, downed it, almost coughed it back up again and while wheezing, waggled the glass at AI Tom for a refill.

He obliged. I downed the second glass, winced around the burn, and climbed off the stool. Checking my reflection again, I huffed and yanked off the tie, then undid the first few buttons on my shirt, going for the smart-casual vibe. “Better?”

Tom pointed a finger and winked. “Classy. Pay the tab before you leave.”

“You know I own this place, right?”

“No freeloaders.” He pointed to the sign on the wall beside a mounted shotgun, that read: No Freeloaders, as well as No Fights, No Bounty Hunters, No Biting, and Don’t Fucking Argue with the Bartender. I definitely should have checked his settings after plugging him in. But if an AI bartender who swore like a sailor was my only problem today, then I’d call it a win.

Somehow, I doubted I’d get off that easy.

A hotel for supernaturals—Lost Ones, as they were more commonly known—was always going to be a tall order. But it had to work. My ability to stay alive depended on it.

I did the rounds one more time—walking the lobby, the halls, checking the rooms, the kitchens, the dining area, and the lounge. The staff were all at their places. A team of misfits, held together by hope and the fact they were safer here than outside, in a world that begrudgingly lived alongside them but would prefer to burn most of them at the stake.

With my rounds done, I stopped at the front door, my hand on the push bar, and took a long, deep breath to steady my heart.

A low thrumming filtered through the door seals. Or maybe that was the sound of my heart racing in my ears. Was this crazy? Was I crazy? Once I did this, there would be no putting the djinn back in the bottle.

The other option was to run. But I’d tried that, and it hadn’t turned out so well.

At least, like the guests, I’d be safe here. The wards made sure of it.

A blast of purple static burst into the corner of my vision. I gasped, reeled, then got a proper look at the demon who had appeared in a cloud of electric glitter. Only one demon could flit about the hotel, appearing and disappearing like a rat running through the walls.

Zodiac. My business partner, and inimitable pain in my ass.

He grinned, baring small, sharp teeth in a brilliant smile. “Fuck, did I scare you again?”

“I need to put a bell on you.”

His smile widened, turning salacious. “Does it come with a collar?”

I rolled my eyes but kept him in the corner of my vision. He wore slim-fitting black pants, high-heeled boots that ended at the knee, and a purple waistcoat a size too small—and nothing else—leaving his arms and Adonis belt bare, while exposing an arrow tattoo on his hip that pointed downward. His wings—angular expanses of leather—framed slim shoulders. A gold ring glinted in one of his two sweeping horns, while a length of silver chain looped around his neck as jewelry. His jaw-length hair, parted in the middle, was half black, half purple.

“Zee, we talked about this.”

“About the bell? Did we? I’d remember?—”

“About the... you.” I waved a hand at his exposed middle and the arrow, clearly advertising what was beneath his pants—the part of his anatomy he believed to be his best feature. “We don’t want people getting the wrong idea about what we’re offering here.”

He sighed with his whole body, lifting and drooping his wings. “You know, people will pay by the hour for this.” He swept his hands down himself, adding a cocked hip and scandalous smile.

“No.”

“Fine.” He gave himself an all-over shiver, vanishing the wings and horns, and wrapping himself instead in a purple and black tailcoat over a ruffled shirt, and tight leggings that vanished into his boots. He could have worn a trash bag and he’d still have upstaged me. Standing next to Zodiac was like standing next to a neon sign. Which was fine. I was just an average joe in an average suit. Nothing to see here, move along.

I leaned back and arched an eye at his forked tail, looping and knotting on the floor behind him. “All of it.”

“Oh, come on.” He whipped his tail up and skimmed its smooth, warm touch along my jaw, and I’d have lied if I said his caress didn’t skitter tiny little darts of lust down my spine. I wasn’t entirely immune to his charms—I had urges, like everyone else—but he also wasn’t trying to seduce me. For him, flirting was as natural as breathing. “You’re killing me here, Kitten.”

I was actually killing him. He thrived on attention, literally fed on it. Or, more precisely, fed on the desire of others. Too long alone, or if he was forgotten, he’d die. Asking him to tone down all of him was like asking the sun not to shine. “It’s just for this morning.”

His tail withdrew, then tucked itself up the back of his tailcoat. Crossing his arms, he glared at the door between us and the outside world. “You owe me, Adam,” he said. And now he’d lost his smile, his tone held a thin thread of warning. Zodiac was all smiles and innuendo—until he wasn’t. Beneath the sassy one-liners, the jaunty walk, and his endless energy, lurked a demon far more dangerous than he pretended to be.

“I know.” But he owed me too. So we were even. Mostly.

“Ready?”

“Hell, yes.” His grin flashed back onto his face.

“Let’s do this.” I shoved open the doors, and stepped onto the wrap-around front porch. Brilliant, wintery sunshine had me blinking away, so it took a few extra seconds to focus on the angry protestors brandishing placards and banners, telling the Lost Ones to Go Home in many creative ways.

“Ugh, humans,” Zodiac sneered, careful to keep his lips from moving so nobody could read his disgust.

“I’m human,” I muttered.

“Yes, but you’re not like them.” He flicked his glossy, sharp purple nails at the crowd. “Look at them. Animals.”

The local police had set up a cordon, clearly having anticipated trouble. Some of the crowd held up their phones, taking photos. A religious contingent chanted about sin and prophecies. A small cadre of well-dressed men and women to one side were clearly from the press.

I’d always been careful not to show my face to cameras. And here I was, standing in the spotlight. At least everyone was looking at Zodiac. Even when he pretended to be like them, he clearly wasn’t. Too handsome, too striking, too extra, to be anything but demon. The religious contingent waved their crucifixes at him, as though to hold back the sin. Half the human population still believed their God had torn a hole in the veil in 2024 and let the Lost Ones in to punish all sinners. When in reality, it had been proven to be too much hydrofluorocarbon in the atmosphere, weakening the veil. Like the hole in the ozone, only instead of the human population getting a harmful dose of radiation, it got an influx of other beings from another realm. But hydrofluorocarbons were far too reasonable and scientific. So now, in 2028, four years since the veil had torn, sinners got the blame.

“Adam Vex?” a woman called, waving her arm. Her mop of tightly curled white hair gleamed like ice in winter sunshine. “Noreen Greene from the San Francisco Post. Do you have a few minutes to tell us about this fabulous hotel of yours?”

“Go on, then,” Zodiac urged. “Do your thing.”

“Or would Mr. Zodiac like to?—”

“No! I’ve got it—it’s fine.” I hurried down the steps to the cordon. If Zodiac talked to a journalist, we’d have all his tricks lining up outside his room.

Noreen began by asking some warm-up questions, asking why I’d created a sanctuary for the Lost Ones. She seemed nice, but we’d barely begun to chat when the crowd parted for a sleek black sedan.

“Hello?” Zodiac said, sidling up beside me. “Who do we have here?”

The driver hopped out, popped open an umbrella—which was odd, considering there wasn’t a cloud in the pale blue sky—and opened the car’s rear door.

The man who climbed out wore a suit too, but his was stitched with gorgeous red filigree on the lapels. Glossy black shoes, perfectly tailored black pants with the creases as sharp as razor blades, and then the rest of him emerged as he straightened under the umbrella. Long dark hair fell like a waterfall of silk over proud shoulders and framed a lean, striking face. Dark lashes accented cool, mercury eyes.

“Fuck,” Zodiac said, breathlessly. “Forget getting paid, I’d pay him to spank me.”

“Don’t print that,” I told Noreen. She side-eyed me, and was definitely going to print it.

“Do you know who that is?” she asked, in a tone that suggested shedid know. I had no idea, but our new arrival was looking up the hotel steps as though trying to decide if his beautiful shoes might catch poor if he ventured up them. The crowd had fallen quiet too, waiting for his assessment.

“No,” I told Noreen, feeling like Zodiac and I were the only ones here who didn’t know who the handsome stranger was.

“Victor Reynard.”

Was I supposed to know the name?

“Tech billionaire? Reynard Technologies?”

“Oh.” No, still no idea. I didn’t really do digital. Didn’t own a phone. Hid from the internet. Most advanced tech didn’t work inside the hotel wards anyway, only Tom Collins, the fae-bought AI bartender.

“Vampire baron?” Noreen prompted.

“Oh, right. Sure. Yeah. Of course.” That explained the umbrella then. I still had no idea who he was, but his being of the vampire persuasion at least explained why he might be prettying up my hotel steps.

“Is Lord Reynard staying here?” Noreen asked me, looking doubtful.

Zodiac snorted. “You think he needs to stay here? Look at him. He sweats cash—if he sweats at all. What’s he need to stay in a shithole like ours for?”

Oh my stars, why didn’t demons come with filters? “What Zodiac means is, we’d be delighted to host Lord Reynard.” A man like him, arriving on the first day, could legitimize the hotel overnight. But there was no way he’d want to stay. “Our hotel doesn’t look like much, but it’s a work in progress.” We all glanced up at the hotel’s tired fa?ade, cracked windows, and the hotel sign that I’d fixed, but had—sometime in the night—decided to break itself again. “Of course, there’s still someways to go?—”

“Kitten,” Zodiac purred, in that voice that meant he wanted something or was about to school me in the ways of demons. “The back windows are held in with tape, and when I turned on the faucet in my room a gremlin crawled out.”

Zodiac needed to stop being helpful. And I needed to greet our potential first guest. But I also couldn’t leave Zodiac with Noreen without risking her publishing how the SOS Hotel was a sleazy whorehouse run by a sex demon and his hapless human hanger-on.

“I’ll go,” Zodiac said, sensing my irritation from my less-than-subtle glare, and sashayed his way over to Lord Reynard. Whatever was said between them, I didn’t hear, since the crowd had started to call for Lord Reynard to take selfies with them, or sign their shirts. They exchanged a few words. Zodiac’s smile cracked and fell away, and for a moment it seemed he might drop the reserved business-partner act, and go full-wings-out. Whatever Reynard had said, Zodiac wasn’t pleased. And instead of returning to me he climbed the steps, heels clicking and tail lashing, vanished into the hotel, and let the door swing shut behind him.

Zodiac’s moods swung like a clock pendulum, but Reynard had managed to piss him off in just a few seconds. Impressive.

He lifted his chin, then among the shouts for him to notice the humans in the crowd, he tilted his head and turned his piercing gaze on me. A shiver spilled down my spine, not unlike the shiver Zodiac’s touch had ignited earlier. But Zodiac wielded lust as easily as breathing. The lust that snatched my breath away now was all homemade.

Holy Hell.

Under the shadow of his umbrella, he climbed the steps, and entered my little run-down hotel.

“So, uh...” I glanced at Noreen and swallowed to moisten my suddenly dry throat. “If you uh... call me, later, I’ll go into those questions in more depth. But as you can see, we have a guest, and I really need to be inside, so...” I flashed her what I hoped to be a charming grin, and backed up the steps. “Call me.”

She didn’t look impressed to be ditched for a vampire, and would probably write a horrible report about the SOS Hotel, but what had I expected? It was always going to play out like this. Nobody wanted us here. They’d all made up their minds. The protestors and religious contingent alike echoed much of the San Francisco sentiment, and that from around the world.

I hurried into the lobby, grateful when the doors closed on the chanting for “Freaks” to “Go Home.” They didn’t care for the little details, such as the fact the Lost Ones couldn’t go home. Not since the hole in the veil had sealed itself.

But I wasn’t about to let them ruin our opening day. We had a guest. Our first. A billionaire tech mogul. This was going to be great! Just so long as nothing screwed it up.

Reynard wasn’t in the lobby, where he should have been.

“Where’s uh... where’s our guest?” I asked Madame Matase, the receptionist. Matase appeared to be a young woman of Romani origin, with long dark hair and soft, sympathetic dark eyes. But in truth, she wasn’t any of those things. She looked up from her knitting. “Hello, darling.” And nodded toward the closed bar doors. “He said he’d wait for you in the bar.”

The bar?! Why did he have to wait in there?

Maybe it wasn’t so bad. Perhaps he hadn’t interacted with Tom Collins yet?

Reynard’s arrival could be a PR godsend, if Tom Collins hasn’t told him to go fluff himself.

I headed for the bar, mentally cursing myself for buying an AI off a fae. At least Tom would distract from Zodiac’s flirting, assuming he was also inside the bar. I really needed to hire a concierge who wouldn’t simultaneously try and get every single guest into bed, or be brutally honest about their clothing and swear at them.

Reynard was at the bar, his tailored ass perched on a stool. Not that I was looking. I wasn’t. But Zodiac was nowhere in sight, which was good news, at least.

“Hello, there!” I laughed. Why did I laugh? Nothing about any of this was funny.

Even Tom looked at me as though I’d lost my mind.

I thrust out my hand. “I’m Adam, Hotel Owner and Manager. Welcome to the SOS Hotel.”

Reynard sipped his drink and licked his lips of a thick, dark substance that looked a lot like blood. Where had Tom gotten blood? Was it human? Never mind, I’d worry about that later. Reynard slowly set the glass down, leaving my hand sticking out for several painfully awkward seconds, then turned on the stool and wrapped my hand in his.

Cool fingers clasped mine, gave a single shake, then let go in the world’s quickest handshake. “Charmed.” His voice had a cultured, smooth cadence that did complicated things to my insides.

Mercy, I needed the stool to keep my knees from giving out. Whatever this was, I wasn’t sure it was a normal reaction. I’d need to dig out Wilson’s Guide to Supernaturals later, look up vampires, and see if they had any powers that might explain why my body had gotten all extra sensitive.

Any supernatural that fed on humans, usually had a nifty little way of luring their prey into their grasp. Zodiac could bespell a crowd with his allure, whereas Reynard here had those eyes that pulled me in and at the same time made me want to drop to my knees.

I cleared my throat, and perched on the stool beside him.

Zodiac might know what kind of power Lord Reynard could wield, but asking him why the hot vampire had turned me on with a glance seemed like a bad idea. None of that mattered anyway, because all of this was strictly business, and clearly, Victor Reynard was here to discuss something important.

“It’s lovely to meet you. Usually, we’d of course welcome you in the lobby, but...” I trailed off under his unblinking gaze, then glanced at Tom, with no idea why. He wasn’t going to help, unless we wanted alcohol. And blood, apparently.

“Whiskey?” Tom asked me.

“Oh, it’s a bit early for whiskey,” I tittered.

“Wasn’t twenty minutes ago.” He poured me a whiskey.

And now Lord Reynard, billionaire tech vampire, knew I had whiskey for breakfast and was probably a hopeless alcoholic. I smiled at the smug AI prick and tipped my glass. Thanks for nothing, Tom.

“Tom Collins,” Reynard said, in a voice that lit up all the parts of my brain that controlled my libido. “Twenty twenty-seven model. Let me guess, you bought it off a fae?”

“I uh...” I laughed, and it was genuine this time. “I did.”

“Probably overpaid. That year was notorious for certain... glitches. The model was discontinued in twenty-eight. They’re rather rare now, because of it.”

Of course he’d know all about a bartending AI. His company had probably built them. And within thirty seconds, I’d exposed how cheap we were. I couldn’t afford the latest in tech to woo my guests. I could barely afford the wage bill. And here this man was, wearing shoes that cost more than my entire budget to fix up the hotel, which admittedly, hadn’t been much. Maybe he was here because of how clearly desperate we were, because he certainly wasn’t here for a room, and I was kidding myself if I thought he’d spend a single night under our gremlin-infested roof.

“You must think all this is ridiculous,” I said, cradling my whiskey.

“How so?”

“Trying to create a safe haven for the Lost Ones, when nobody wants them here. No one is going to stay here. But if you came to laugh, you can leave again. I won’t give up. This hotel is happening. It’s staying, and I’m going to make it work.”

He smiled, exposing two sharp, gleaming fangs that hadn’t been on display on the hotel steps. “On the contrary, I admire what you’re doing.”

He admired—wait, what was his angle? “Well then, I’m not selling if that’s what you’re here for. I’ve had offers, crazy offers. There’s this guy, Gideon Cain from Cain Developments. If you’re with him, then you should leave. I’ve told him many times, no means no.”

“You seem eager to get rid of me, Adam?”

Even knowing how he must have looked down on our silly hotel, the way my name touched his lips had some very visceral parts of me coming alive. He was definitely doing something to me, but it couldn’t be to-cause-me-harm magic, or the wards would have kicked in.

I huffed—rattled, slightly aroused, definitely confused. “No, I just... Look, what do you want?”

“Merely to spend the night.”

“Uh... Okay. We can do that.” It killed me not to ask why he’d stay with us, when there were plenty of five-star hotels in town, and some who even took Lost Ones. Zodiac would have asked, but I had more tact. Lord Reynard was our first guest, and we needed to start as we meant to go on, with politeness and discretion.

“Good.” He tilted his head back and downed the blood drink like I’d earlier downed the whiskey. I watched his pale throat move, knowing I shouldn’t, but a man could look—right? What did he taste like? All warm and spicy? Or were vampires cold? Rumors suggested they were undead, but he didn’t look like an animated corpse. Did his heart beat?

Tom caught me ogling, and judged with that raised eyebrow of his. I showed the AI my middle finger and caught his smirk in return. Maybe I could ask Reynard to fix him, make him more amiable and friendly and less of a jerk?

“With that settled, will you show me to my room?” Reynard asked.

“Yes. I... yes, of course.” I left the whiskey at the bar, which was probably for the best. “I have just the room for you. One of our most up to date and luxurious.”

“Perfect.” He eased off the stool and walked alongside me toward the door, Oxford shoes clipping the tired boards. He was tall, but not Zodiac tall. Although, Reynard wasn’t wearing heels, and Zodiac’s heels got higher with each day.

“And do not be offended, but should the incubus deign to approach me again, I’ll take my leave—with a full refund.”

Well, that was... stern. “Oh, erm... Zodiac? I’m sure he won’t . . . I’ll talk with him.” Hm, clearly this vampire had a beef with Zodiac, and the way he’d said incubus, implied it was the demon aspect he had an issue with. If it wasn’t personal, then it should be easy enough to keep them apart for one night.

“Adam? One more thing.” He stopped in the bar doorway, and lifted his gaze to the back wall, where the rules were displayed. “What is the shotgun for?”

Oh, he’d noticed that. I supposed it was rather crude, since we used wards to protect everyone. “Display mostly. Nothing really.”

“Then it’s not there for backup, should the wards fail?”

I smiled, and liked the way the vampire lord absorbed my smile, drinking it in, his silvery eyes widening with something almost like surprise. “The wards won’t fail. Trust me. In the SOS Hotel, every guest is guaranteed a safe stay.”

I signed him in at reception, ran his black card for payment, collected the room key, and we stepped into the lift together. It was only a short journey up, just a few floors.

The elevator jolted, the cables twanged, and the gears groaned.

“It’s uh... it sounds worse than it is.”

“I’m sure.”

Perhaps some lift music would be a good idea, to drown out the creaking cables. I’d get Claymore, the handyman to install something.

“So, is this a business stay, or uh, for pleasure?” I winced as soon as the word pleasure left my lips. Goodness, was it hot in here? I tugged at my shirt collar.

He stared at the door, but those silver eyes cut sideways to me, as though my question only deserved half his attention. “Pleasure.”

“Oh.” Zodiac probably would have had his life story, his shoe size, what kink he had, and the name of his firstborn out of him by now. But that wasn’t me. We didn’t interrogate guests. Their reasons for staying were their own. They just had to know they were perfectly safe from all outside forces, supernatural or human. Perhaps Mr. Reynard just wanted a change of scenery for a night? Roughing it with the locals? Maybe that was his kink?

The excruciating elevator ride finally ended, and we stepped into a small lobby area. “This room is the only one on this floor, so you’ll have it all to yourself.”

“Special treatment is not necessary.”

“Of course, it’s just, well, you’re our first guest, and that seems reason enough to celebrate. And thank you, for thinking of us.”

“You’re welcome, Adam.”

Hm, there was my name on his lips again.Mercy, his eyes glittered like molten mercury, warm and smooth and absolutely deadly.

“Do you want to put the key in the lock and open the door, or shall I do it?”

“Oh, yes. Right.” I’d been staring at his eyes like a loon.

I slipped the key into the lock, pushed open the door, and flicked on the light. The large room had a sumptuous double bed and a warm, red and black décor, complete with little seating area and coffee table by the window. It was so new, the smell of fresh paint hung in the air. Hopefully, that newness wouldn’t bother him.

His nose twitched.

“Oh, that’s just a fresh lick of paint.” I headed to the side of the bed. “If you need anything, just dial zero for reception. The room comes with all the modern necessities. We’re uh... having some trouble with the internet. The wards don’t like it you see. Something about ill intent. There’s a little fridge, for your uh... chilled wine.” Did vampires drink wine?

He strode into the room, passing me and the end of the bed, heading toward the window. Maybe the paint smell bothered him. There wasn’t much I could do about that, except air out the room—which of course should have been done already! I hurried after him. “We have room service, a laundry service, and?—”

“A corpse?”

He stopped. I stumbled into his arm—so firm—sprang back, and ducked around him. Couldn’t really miss the dead man on the floor, his throat cut and much of his blood on the outside of his body where it was definitely not supposed to be.

“Oh.”

“Is this a gift?” Reynard asked.

A gift? Like a... present? “It’s, uh, clearly... a dead man.” I dragged my gaze from the dead man and blinked at Reynard’s mildly intrigued face.

“I see that, Adam,” he said. “But is he here for me?”

“What?”

“I’m going to assume not, from your bemused expression. In which case, there appears to be a murder victim in my room.”

“Oh, that’s um...” I sniffed, and could smell the decay now, under the paint odors. “He’s not supposed to be here.”

“I imagine not, with your impenetrable wards. No guest can be harmed, isn’t that what you said?”

Oh mercy, this was bad, wasn’t it? Seconds slipped through my fingers. Reynard studied my face, reading every tiny twitch, his lips getting tighter and his eyes narrower. I needed to do something. Call the police? No, that was a terrible idea. This was my opening day. The last thing we needed was a dead body and police all over the place. Worse, someone had been killed here, inside the hotel, and the wards hadn’t activated or there would have been two bodies.

If the wards didn’t work, then all of this was for nothing.

But I couldn’t panic, not yet. It looked bad, but maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was suicide? The wards didn’t stop consensual actions. A guest couldn’t hurt another guest without consent, and suicide was consensual, as an act upon oneself. But where was the weapon? He wasn’t holding anything. Maybe it was hidden under him?

I inched closer to the deceased, crouched at his side and touched his cold, solid shoulder. I lifted him some, to get a look at his face. Grey skin and blue lips suggested he’d been dead for a while. Congealed blood fell like syrup from the savage slice from ear to ear. It was highly unlikely he’d cut his own throat. But that wasn’t the worst of it. As I heaved him over, the true horror revealed itself.

Big red letters on his shirt declared: “LOST ONES. GET LOST.”

“Oh no.”

The dead human was a protestor.