A Gray Area Page 16

  It was just what I needed.

  We found a spot near the bar; cleared for us by the owner himself. Wallace—a fire-talented supe—was tending his own bar along with three other bartenders. He was delighted to see Davorin, despite Davorin's recent departure from his employment. But that wasn't a surprise to me; Dav was well-liked in the Market. He's just one of those guys who gets along with most everybody.

  “What can I get for you?” Wallace asked as Lily and I climbed up on bar stools and the men gathered around us.

  We gave him our drink orders, and I leaned back against Malik's muscled chest as we waited. I had ordered a shot. I had no intention of sitting on that stool for more than a few minutes. Just long enough for a good song to come on. Luckily, “Raise Hell” by Dorothy started to pound through the club's speakers just as Wallace set my tequila before me. I gave Malik a grin before I downed my shot; allowing him just a moment to take a swig of his beer before I grabbed his hand and pulled him out onto the dance floor.

  “This song is perfect for you,” I said into Malik's ear.

  “Except Hell is not below us.” He pulled me against his chest and started moving us in a tribal grind. “And I don't have to sell my soul to go there.”

  “Don't ruin it,” I chided him and playfully bit his lower lip.

  Malik growled and swung me around so that I faced away from him. He set his body against my back and rumbled into my ear, “Feel familiar?”

  Malik's mouth trailed down my throat as his arm tightened around my waist and his fangs nipped at my skin. I sighed and shivered; vividly remembering the moment we met. My arm slid up and back to thread my fingers through his hair. He'd had it military-short when we'd first met, but it had grown out a little and there was more for me to grab now. I liked it. Not only did it make a nice handhold, but it also looked good. His hair had a bit of a wave to it that took the sharp edge off his deadly features.

  I'd worn a tight dress; similar to the one I'd had on when we met on that very dance floor. Malik was making good use of my outfit; running his hands down my body as he continued to kiss the column of my throat. It was deliciously erotic, but I'd had enough of that. I wanted to see him. I spun around and swung my hips to the beat as I moved down his body and then up again. Malik's amethyst eyes had darkened in the shadowy interior of the club; turning the color they'd once been, but his aura flared with lust.

  “I thought you wanted to dance?” He murmured in my ear as he swayed his body with mine.

  “I do.”

  “Then why are you teasing me? Much more of this, and I'll throw you over my shoulder and run the entire way to your townhouse.”

  I laughed in delight. “I thought you had better control than that, Prince Malik.”

  Malik grinned wide enough to show the tips of his fangs; accepting the challenge. And then he showed me moves that I had no idea he possessed. Several women eyed him from the arms of their partners. The way Malik was dancing—with powerful shoulder thrusts, mesmerizing hips sways, and masterful hands that guided me against him, away from him, and back into sexy dips—was something I'd only seen in movies. It was enticing in the most masculine way; something very few men could manage without looking like a stripper. Or just plain silly.

  “I didn't know you could move like this,” I said breathlessly.

  “Battle is just another form of dancing; one in which I excel at.” Malik lifted me, spun me in a circle, and let me slide down his body. “I merely have to imagine a different victory and my body guides me.”

  “I'd like to make you work for your victory.” I grinned up at him sensuously. “But this kind of dancing makes any kind of protest seem pointless.”

  Malik yanked me against his chest and set his lips over mine. The dancers around us hooted their encouragement, but the sound died down in a way that had me easing out of the kiss in curiosity. People were moving absently; every eye focused on the club's entrance.

  I looked over my shoulder as I felt Malik's chest tense beneath my hands. A group of faulin had just entered the club; looking as sensual in their nightclub clothes as they did in their sex-club uniforms. In their midst stood Cyprian; practically glowing beneath the low lights. A beacon of pale hair and glittering eyes among his stunning entourage. He looked relaxed but his stare shifted through the crowd anxiously until it landed on me. Then he smiled slowly.

  “You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Malik growled. “This guy does not give up.”

  “Ignore him,” I said as the music changed.

  “Battlefield” by Svrcina began. Malik growled. I didn't dare glance at Cyprian. I wanted to be angry with him, but part of me was impressed by the man's determination. Still, I couldn't allow him to come between Malik and me. I had told him so in no uncertain terms. Now, I would show him.

  I started singing the sweet lyrics to my lover. It was a love song that was perfect for a Bleiten warrior. Malik had said that battle was another type of dancing, but this song made our dance into a battle cry. Life was our fight, and we would face it together. As I sang about being his sword, shield, and camouflage, and how he would be mine, Malik's body shivered and his stare focused back on me. His lips parted, his eyes flashed, and his body hardened; reaching for mine through his jeans. I instantly forgot about Cyprian.

  We began to sway to the gentle music as I continued to sing to him, and Malik lowered his forehead to mine briefly before pressing kisses down my face. His hands swept up my back; holding me in a tight embrace. I lifted my face to his attentions and reveled in the shivering delight that he sent through my skin and far deeper. He was heat and life and love and everything I had ever wanted. There was no one like Malik.

  “I never knew you could sing,” Malik murmured in my ear; a mirror to my earlier comment about his dancing.

  “Only softly,” I stopped singing to say. “Only to you. Don't tell anyone my secret.”

  Malik groaned and pulled me into another kiss. My hands bracketed his face as passion made it seem as if we were alone. I fell into the falsehood with him; kissing him longer and deeper than I should have in public. But the press of bodies around us felt like a barricade and the volume of the music was its own kind of seclusion. Which is why it was so shocking when I finally eased away and opened my eyes to see Cyprian staring at me through the crowd.

  I blinked—completely startled—and frowned at him. Cyprian's expression was carefully blank but then his lips twitched up into a soft smile, and he bowed gallantly to me; his hair slipping down to cover his face.

  “All right, all of you need to go,” Brock's voice boomed over the music.

  Cyprian looked up with a lifted brow.

  “Are you talking to us?” Mimi asked in shock.

  Mimi was the only one standing beside Cyprian; the rest of his escort had spread out through the club and were dancing, flirting, and generally doing what was done in nightclubs. I looked around at each of them; noting their auras. None of them looked as Cyprian had that first day; with tendrils of lust reaching out to feed. The Faulin were controlling themselves and interacting with the other supes in the most normal of ways. So, what was the problem?

  “Yeah; you,” Brock growled. “Get your sex-sucking friends and get out.”

  I gaped at Brock, but Mimi grimaced as if she'd dealt with this sort of thing all the time. She gave Cyprian a look that made it clear to me that this hadn't been her idea and that this was the exact result she'd expected. I started to go over, but Malik grabbed my arm.

  “What are you doing?” Malik asked.

  “Finding out why they're being treated rudely.” I lifted a brow. “Unless you're okay with racism?”

  “They're probably screwing with the other patrons,” Malik pointed out.

  “I happen to know they aren't. Are you coming with me or not?”

  Malik sighed and waved me ahead of him. By the time I reached Cyprian, his people were gathered around him protectively, and Brock was looking outnumbered. But the bouncer had backup clo
sing in; the other bouncers and even Wallace himself were on their way.

  “We have done nothing wrong,” Cyprian said reasonably.

  “You're upsetting our customers,” Brock spat back. “Don't act as if you aren't here to feed.”

  “We aren't; I assure you,” Cyprian still sounded calm, but his eyes glittered dangerously. “We simply wanted to join our fellow supernaturals for an evening of socializing. You have long snubbed us, and I thought perhaps it was time to show you that we can coexist peacefully.”

  “I can't trust your kind in here,” Wallace said. “I'm sorry, but you need to leave.”

  “Wallace!” I said crisply; my voice cracking like a whip.

  Every eye shot to me.

  “You're expelling supes for no reason other than who they are? You, who were called a demon and cast out of your village? You came to America to make a new life for yourself. You should understand them better than anyone else. And, personally, I expected better from you.” I said with a harsh glare. “No wonder the Faulin live outside the Market if this is how even the most tolerant of us treat them.”

  “Amara,” Wallace gaped at me. “Don't you know what they do?”

  “I do,” I said. “Don't you know what I can do?”

  The music was getting softer; someone was turning it down so the entire club could listen in on the drama. Cyprian's eyes were set on mine; wide, shocked, and uncertain. Malik's hand was supportively on my shoulder; his body pressed against my back. However Malik may have felt about Cyprian, his words to him when they'd met had been true. Mal knew what it's like to be misunderstood—to be labeled a monster when all you wanted was peace—and Wallace's words had just set him firmly on Cyprian's side.

  “Of course, I know what you can do,” Wallace said. “What has it to do with a bunch of sex-suckers?”

  “First off; do we insult each other?” I looked around the room. “Is that what Supes do? Do we divide ourselves with hatred and call each other horrible names? Or is that what humans do to us? Isn't that what they did to us so stridently that we had to create supemarkets? This is supposed to be a sanctuary for all Supernaturals, no matter what their abilities are. And this particular market is supposed to be the most welcoming of them all; the supemarket of our nation's capital. What a fucking joke.”

  The crowd rustled awkwardly and when I looked back at Wallace, he was flushed.

  “Should you be kicked out of Mama's because you might set her diner on fire, Wallace?” I asked him. “Should I leave now because I could turn all of you against each other? How many of us here have fearsome talents?”

  “But they...” Brock trailed off as I stared at him steadily.

  “You were hired because of your ability, Brock,” I said sternly. “We all do what we must to live with what we were born with. Do you think it's easy to be reliant on lust to survive?” I turned to look at the Flamethrower himself. “Is that something you'd like to be saddled with, Wallace? To have to use your body and your magic to fuel the lust of strangers and then take their emotions into yourself simply to live? I can't even imagine the strength it takes to live with that and then to have to deal with—excuse my language—this complete bullshit from people who are just like me. Bad enough to have to take it from humans, but from Supes, it's damn hypocritical. I might go insane if I had to deal with that. I certainly wouldn't be making the effort to befriend such assholes. I would sooner spit on you.”

  “Amara, I get it.” Wallace raised his hands in surrender. “And I'll even go as far as apologizing for the name-calling.” He nodded at the Faulin. “But this is a dance club; it's near to bursting with lust, and that's what they feed on.”

  “And, I can assure you, that despite the smorgasbord laid out before them these fellow supernaturals have controlled themselves and not attempted to take even a single sip of the bounty offered,” I declared. “Do you understand the kind of control that takes? It would be like rubbing food on a starving man's face and telling him not to open his mouth.”

  The room went silent. No one questioned me; not even Wallace. They all knew what my ability was.

  “Actions speak, do they not? So, why would they torture themselves like that? What do their actions say?” I continued. “That perhaps they came here tonight in one final attempt at forging friendship? That maybe they want to be a part of our community instead of hiding alone among the humans and that this was their way of showing us they can be trusted here? And what did we do? All of us supreme beings; evolved creatures who believe we're so damn enlightened and accepting. We shoved it back in their faces and called them horrible names. If this is how Supernaturals behave, I want no part of it. I'm ashamed to be one of you.”

  “Fuck,” Wallace growled and ran a hand over his face.

  Women were sniffing, men shuffling in shame, and the Faulin were staring at me as if I'd grown another head—and that new head might be a saint.

  “Damn it all! I hate to be shown up in my own bar, but I hate racism even more. I won't have it here; especially not in my own heart. You've shamed us, Amara, but I thank you for it. And to you, Faulin, my sincerest apologies. You've shown admirable control over yourselves tonight, and not only did we disregard it, but we also tossed it in your faces.” Wallace held his hand out to Cyprian. “Your drinks are on the house tonight and you'll welcome here from this night forward.”

  Cyprian stared at Wallace's hand and then shook it warmly. The whole room applauded, and Malik tightened his grip on my shoulder in approval. Cyprian's stare wandered to mine; his green eyes alight with something I couldn't name. Or perhaps couldn't bear to name. I nodded at him and turned away. Malik gave Wallace's back a friendly pat and murmured his approval to him before following me.

  We went back to the bar where our friends were waiting. They all stared at me.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Spectra, the Cynical Savior of the Faulin,” Jason teased me.

  “That was a rousing speech,” Kyrian noted with a discerning stare. “One that any royal would have been proud to give, and you gave it spontaneously. Very impressive, Amara. Very touching.”

  “It was fucking brilliant!” Leo exclaimed. “Don't you guys get it? She just stood up for the man who is standing between us and the Leech. He's already given her the Leech's name. What else do you think he'll offer her after that display?”

  “That wasn't the reason I did it,” I protested and then shrugged. “But if it yields fruit, I won't turn my nose up at the harvest.”

  I glanced over my shoulder at Cyprian as the members of FEAR congratulated me on my double-win; one for our mission, and one for unity among Supes. Regardless of Cyprian's possible involvement in the Gray, the Faulin, in general, shouldn't be treated like that. If he ended up being a villain, I'd handle it later. Currently, though, Cyprian was surrounded by supernaturals dying to make amends with him and his friends. I had shaken up a lot of supes and Supes weren't easy to sway.

  People started to approach me to express their agreement with my speech and tell me they'd secretly felt as I had but didn't have the nerve to stand up and say it. Right. I'm sure everyone in that bar had harbored hidden support for the Faulin outside the Market's walls. It must have kept them up at night. Whatever. I just nodded and gave them wan smiles until Malik blocked me from the crowd.

  Cyprian, however, was eating the attention up. He had a fresh drink in his hand and a beautiful woman leaning against his shoulder invitingly. Now that I'd given them a reason to accept the Faulin, the residents of the Market were beginning to see the upside of consorting with them.

  Cyprian looked up at me as soon as I laid eyes on him. His expression was serious, nearly somber; made even more so by being set against such a jubilant ambiance. It startled me; perhaps he wasn't reveling as much as I'd thought. But then Cyprian held my gaze and slowly inclined his head as he lifted his drink in salute to me. Mistress; his lips formed the word. I recognized it for what it was; true respect.

  I nodded at him with
a soft smile and then turned back to Malik—who was watching me carefully.

  “One more dance and then home?” I asked him.

  “How about one more dance at home?”

  My smile slipped into a more sensuous sort as I nodded.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  After our final dance in my bedroom, Malik and I made love for hours and then fell asleep tangled together. Despite all of this exertion, something woke me in the middle of the night. I slipped from Mal's warm embrace and went to the bedroom window that overlooked the street. Someone was leaning against the tree down there; staring up through its skeletal branches at my window. He stepped into the light of a streetlamp and lifted a hand in greeting.