Chapter 10

Chapter 10

ALASTAIR

" Y ou're fired," Alastair informed Ferus, straightening his shirt and buttoning his jacket. But there was no heat to the words, and Ferus ignored him, looking away pointedly as Alastair adjusted himself in his pants. His cock was so hard it ached.

Fuck the Goddess , he was a wreck. His skin was on fire from where he'd touched her. It had been so fucking hard to leave her there, on the verge of breaking for him. Five more minutes, that's all he would have needed, and she'd have been ready to give him anything. He'd make up for it when he returned. He'd have her screaming his name by the time the night was over.

Alastair took a deep breath to calm himself.

But, until then, he had work to do.

"You've got a name for me?" Alastair asked, knowing Ferus did.

"Yes, sir, but you're not going to like who it is," Ferus told him.

Alastair just stared, waiting. Ferus sighed.

"The dealer is your cousin, Santiago."

Alastair ground his teeth together. Ferus was right—he didn't like the answer.

As a general rule, Alastair avoided his family at all costs. Excluding his younger brother, there wasn't a single member he could stand to be in the same room with for more than a handful of minutes.

Santiago was no exception.

The younger vampire had situated himself in a VIP booth, and he occupied it like a king keeping court. He was a slippery scavenger of a thing, Alastair thought, more rat than Vampire.

Santiago's eyes lit up when he saw Alastair approaching, and he raised a glass of cheap liquor in greeting.

"Cousin!" he called cheerfully, and the conversation at the booth stilled as his makeshift court turned to watch. "Join us! I just ordered a bottle for the table! To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?"

A necklace glittered at Santiago's neck, and his shirt shifted just enough to give Alastair a look at the pendant hanging there.

At the symbol on it. One he immediately recognized.

"Grab him," Alastair told Ferus, and as one he and four other Shifters moved forward.

"Wait, what is?—"

"Out," Alastair snarled at the other patrons at Santiago's booth. They didn't need to be told twice, some nearly climbing over the others to get out of the way.

Santiago moved deeper into the booth, protesting, but Ferus grabbed him by the leg and yanked him unceremoniously out and onto the ground.

"Alley," Alastair snarled as the Shifters grabbed his cousin, ignoring his shouting and struggling.

They had to drag him through the entire club to get there, but that was part of the lesson. A reminder to the patrons, lest they forget who they were fucking with.

This was his club. And if Alastair wanted to drag someone kicking and screaming across the dance floor, he fucking would.

Santiago didn't pause in his protesting, not until Ferus flung him out the club door into the alley, where he landed hard against the concrete.

"What the fuck, cousin!" Santiago snarled, coming to his feet, his chest puffed out. The lame attempt to appear intimidating was lost on Alastair, who looked at Santiago like he was something he'd found at the bottom of his shoe. Santiago barely came up to Alastair's shoulders, and in power level, the two weren't even on the same planet. He was as intimidating to Alastair as a gnat.

"You're banned from the premises. Come here again, and I will personally rip your throat out."

"You have no right, I haven't done?—"

"I have every right, " Alastair snarled. He took a step closer to his cousin and was pleased when the younger Vamp flinched and stepped backward away from him. "You forget who you're speaking to, cousin. "

Santiago held his hands up, shifting tactics. "Hey, man, sorry, I didn't mean any disrespect. Let's talk about this, I'm sure this is just a misunderstanding, okay? I know we can come to some sort of?—"

Alastair was on him in a moment, and Santiago's head cracked against the alley wall where Alastair had thrown him, before slumping to the ground.

"You came to my club," Alastair said, his voice low and dangerous. "You brought this shit"—he pulled a baggie from his suit pocket and shook it in Santiago's face—"into my territory. Did you think I wouldn't find out?"

Santiago groaned on the ground.

"And you know what gets me, cousin ? Not that you would do it under my nose, but that you were stupid enough to mark the bags with the same symbol as that stupid fucking necklace you wear."

Santiago started to protest again, but Alastair was done with him.

"If I see you here again," he repeated, turning back to enter his club, "I will kill you, cousin. That's not a threat, it's a promise."

As the club door shut behind him, Alastair called out mockingly over his shoulder.

"Send father my regards."

Jasper had another whiskey ready for him when Alastair entered the club. Whatever disturbance Santiago's trip through the club had caused was already forgotten, and the dance floor pulsed with bodies and lust. Memory was a fickle thing in a place like this, where pleasure reigned, and a bit of fear could just be fuel to the fire.

"I'm going to my office," Alastair told Ferus, handing Jasper the now empty whiskey glass. "And I swear to the Goddess herself if you disturb me for anything—and I fucking mean it, Ferus, even if the fucking building is on fire—I will drag you out of this club just like him, and I will leave you broken in that fucking alley."

Ferus's lips twitched with what could have been a smile.

"Fuck you," Alastair said. "Fuck you and fuck that twinkle in your eye, Ferus."

"Yes, sir," Ferus said, and Alastair left with a snarl.

He should have felt something after throwing his cousin out on his miserable ass. Not guilt, fuck no, but something . Relief? Accomplishment? If Santiago had been the one supplying devil dust to those low-level dealers in his club, then the problem he'd been struggling with over the last few weeks was solved.

But he didn't feel accomplished, and he sure as hell didn't feel relieved. He had an itch under his skin that he needed to scratch.

It took all his willpower not to run back to his office. To walk, perhaps faster than usual, from the bottom floor back up to the VIP area.

His heart beat faster and faster as he approached the door, already responding to the trace of her scent that lingered in the hallway. But there was no need to rush, he assured himself—not now. They had all night, after all, and he intended to make every second count. If he could get her that worked up after only a few minutes, what could he do in an hour? What could he do in a night?

He stifled a groan at the thought.

He needed this, needed the relief that awaited him in his office. He'd been rough with her, maybe too rough, but he'd make up for it now. Witches were the closest Faction to the Goddess, so they said, and by the end of the night, he'd have her praying to him instead. It had been a long, long time since he'd been this worked up, and he intended to make sure she'd never forget this night. Make sure she couldn't walk the next morning.

He was already hard by the time he opened the door.

"Hello, Witchling," he called, his voice husky. "Where were we?"

He blinked. The room was empty.

She was gone.