Chapter 8

Chapter 8

ALASTAIR

T his day just keeps getting better and better , Alastair thought bitterly, watching as the Demon tied to a chair in front of him broke down sobbing.

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about, I swear it," he blubbered. The collar of the Demon's cheap silk shirt was wet with tears and snot. "Please, I promise I didn't do anything. You've got the wrong guy, I swear!"

Pathetic.

Lesser Demons were always like this, all bluster and slick words, but underneath the cocky attitude, they had no fucking backbone. They played the part of tough, powerful little shits, but the moment you threatened to cut off just one ear, suddenly here comes the waterworks.

Boo-fucking-hoo.

Alastair dug the blade across the Demon's jaw a little harder, drawing a line of blood, and he was rewarded with a fresh sob from his captive. This was almost too easy.

"I think you do know what I'm talking about," Alastair told him calmly. He applied a little more pressure to the knife, dragging the blade up and under the Demon's earlobe, but not pressing hard enough to do any real damage. Not yet anyway. "See, I can smell a lie from a mile away, and guess what? You're lying to me right now. You fucking reek of it."

The Demon tried to say something else, but his sobs were so loud and so disgustingly wet that Alastair couldn't understand a single word. The guy could barely breathe through the crying, and as Alastair watched, a glob of snot fell from the tip of the Demon's nose and onto the front of his shirt, leaving a long string of slime hanging in its wake.

Disgusted, Alastair straightened, taking the knife from the Demon's face and moving far enough back to ensure he was out of slobbering distance. He didn't care much about getting blood on his suit, but with all the stuff dripping out of this guy right now, he'd just as soon avoid getting too much of this asshole's fluids on himself.

Two hours ago, this know-nothing Fallen was drinking up a huge tab in Alastair's club and enjoying his night. Two hours ago, he was having fun, laughing and dancing, picking up chicks. Two hours ago, he made the fatal mistake of trying to sell drugs under Alastair's fucking roof.

Other Vamps sometimes asked him why he employed a full staff of Wolf Shifters to tend the bar and run his security, why he didn't stack the club with Vampires, and his answer was always the same: A Wolf can smell drugs better than a Vamp ever could. Alastair would let a lot of shit fly in his club, but drugs were something he wouldn't tolerate. This is why he kept the Shifters under his employ paid well enough to keep them loyal. A good paycheck ensured his employees came to him the second they sensed any of that shit in his club.

And that's exactly what happened tonight.

"Here's what we're going to do, you little shit," Alastair said to the Fallen, speaking a little louder than necessary so he could be heard over the sound of the Demon's crying. "You're going to tell my friend Ferus here every single person you sold to tonight. And then you're going to tell him exactly who gave you the drugs, and who made you think even for one fucking second it was okay to bring this shit into my territory."

The Demon was shaking his head, saying something that just came out as wet mewing. Alastair ignored it. He was done with this asshole, anyway.

Alastair motioned for Ferus, who leaned against the wall, and the Wolf gave a solid grunt and straightened. Ferus was huge, six foot seven, and nothing but muscle. Alastair had never seen his Wolf form, but even his human form was feral enough to scare the piss out of most hardcore patrons.

When Alastair's favorite bartender had smelled drugs on this piece of shit Demon two hours ago, he'd immediately sent word to Ferus, who'd brought the dealer back here. They'd found enough baggies full of devil dust on him to know he was a fucking dealer, but that's not what was pissing Alastair off so much.

This was the second small-time dealer that had been caught in his club in as many weeks. The second low-life Lesser Demon who thought he could pull this shit under his nose. The second round of baggies all marked with the same symbol. All from the same supplier.

"I want to know who you're selling this shit for." Alastair waved the baggy underneath Mr. Sobs-a-Lot's nose, making sure he got a good long look at the symbol printed there. "And after you've told Ferus everything you know, then you and I can have a good long chat about whether you're going to walk out of here alive."

Alastair's knife was wet, a combination of blood and tears, and he wiped the blade clean on a dry patch of the Demon's shirt. The way he flinched away from the knife made Alastair smile coldly.

He wasn't going to kill him, of course. Not really. Alastair wasn't unreasonable , after all.

Just really fucking pissed off.

"Find out everything he knows. I want a name, even if you have to carve it out of him," Alastair hissed at Ferus, handing him the knife, handle first. He said it loud enough for the Demon to hear. Ferus nodded, taking the blade, and palming it with another grunt. It was for show. Alastair knew from experience that Ferus would have the guy talking in five minutes flat, without getting even a drop of blood on that blade.

That's why Alastair hired him.

And if Ferus couldn't get it out of him, well…

Alastair had plenty of other tricks up his sleeve to get the answers he wanted.

Alastair turned and left, shutting the stockroom door behind him and leaving Ferus to work his magic. No one would hear the motherfucker scream, not over the club music blaring throughout the place tonight.

With a groan, Alastair leaned back against the door. He reached up, brushing his black hair back and out of his face. A headache was starting to form behind his eyes, and the flashing lights and constant noise from his club weren't helping.

"You get a name yet?"

He opened his eyes to see Jasper standing in front of him, a glass of whiskey in his outstretched hand and a lazy crooked grin on his face. Alastair gave him a nod of thanks and took the drink from him. He swallowed the entire thing in a single go.

Jasper was the bartender who had smelled the guy tonight, and even though he'd only been working with Alastair for a few years, he was quickly becoming his favorite employee. He had a sixth sense for when Alastair needed a drink, and the Goddess knew that was the sort of talent he needed to keep around.

Not to mention the fucker was handsome enough to keep women coming back time and time again, wearing less and less clothing, trying to catch Jasper's eye.

A few of the males, too.

Alastair handed him back the empty glass. "No, not yet. But Ferus will get it out of him." He tried rolling his shoulders, hoping to work out some of the tension in them. No such luck. "Thanks for the heads up about him. And for the drink."

Jasper just nodded. A Wolf of few words.

"If anyone comes looking for me, tell them I'll be in my office, okay?"

Alastair left before Jasper answered, pushing his way from behind the bar, into the crowd and past the VIP rope on the second floor. A few women eyed him hungrily from the dance floor, but he wasn't in the mood for company tonight, not with the shit he was dealing with. The club was bouncing tonight, and even though it was early, he could tell they were already near capacity. The bouncers at the door would be turning people away tonight, which was fine by him. A full club meant money in his pocket.

The music was quieter up on the second floor, and as Alastair moved into the back hallways, his headache was finally feeling manageable. Or maybe it was the shot of whiskey finally working its way through his system. Who could know for sure?

He needed a shower to wash the stench of that Demon's terror off himself, but it would have to wait. He had a few hours of work left to do while he waited for Ferus to deliver that name, so he figured he might as well get started and?—

Alastair froze mid-step, directly outside his office door, and his nostrils flared as he smelled an intruder.

What the fuck was a Witch doing in his office?

It was unmistakable, that scent of power from the other side of the door. Alastair clenched his teeth together to keep from snarling, rage growing inside of him. As if he wasn't already in a foul fucking mood. She wasn't even being subtle. Alastair couldn't just smell her, he could hear her inside his office, shuffling papers around.

Fucking little thief.

Well. If she can sneak into his office, two can play that game. She wouldn't even fathom the tricks he had up his sleeve.

So many in our world believe power is finite. That's why it's becoming less with each generation—as we grow in numbers, as we overpopulate, that power is stretched thinner and thinner leaving less of it to go around. They say that's why the oldest of our kind are the strongest, and why some of our gifts are fading.

But Alastair never believed that shit. Even before he realized his strength rivaled that of the oldest Vamps, he hadn't believed it. Power wasn't fading from the world, far from it. It was just consolidating. And he had enough of that power flowing through his veins to know that beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Alastair put his hand against the door to his office and smiled. After all, these were the same idiots who believed there weren't any Vampires capable of immaterialization left.

Focusing on the sensation of the wood of his office door against his palm, Alastair took a deep breath and let himself slip out of existence. It was easy once you got the hang of it. One moment you were here, and the next, poof you were nothing but a thin shadow.

The old-world Vampires called it Shadow Walking, and as far as he knew, Alastair was the only one left who could do it. It was his little secret, even from his family.

Especially from his family.

The feeling of wood beneath his palm vanished as he slipped into the immaterial world and passed through the wall. He couldn't hold this form for long, but it sure was handy in a pinch.

Like when you want to sneak up on a thief , Alastair thought, slipping through the wall and into his office. He moved around behind her, placing himself between her and the window before he took another breath and brought himself back into the material world.

Everything looked different when he Shadow Walked. Colors were bleached, everything muted and faded, and the world around him bled together into nearly indistinguishable shades of gray like his eyes couldn't perceive the lights and colors correctly. As he started to solidify, the world solidified around him, colors and textures returning to their rightful place.

And there was the fucking Witch herself, going through his shit, completely oblivious to the danger that just materialized behind her.

Even with the growing rage inside him, he had to admit she was gorgeous, at least from the back. He took a moment to soak in the image of her, leaning over the desk. Long red hair ran down her back in silky waves, a perfect shade to complement her pale skin. She wore a white dress, just a touch too tight, and when she bent over to rifle through his desk drawer, it slipped obscenely high up her legs until he could see just a hint of the bottom curve of her ass.

"Just what the fuck do you think you're doing in my office?" Alastair growled, and the scent of fear that wafted from her when she whipped around was intoxicating.