in. After Wyvern’s little visit, Rafe had no choice but to catch the first flight across the ocean. He virtually kicked himself for getting into debt with a dragon. Now he was bound by their little agreement. At first glance, it was a straightforward, win-win deal – he would put a tail on the draconian demigoddess, find out if she was still fucking the vampire king, and report his findings back to the draconian senator. And for that piece of information, his five-figure debt would magically disappear. But something was off. He knew it; his wolf knew it. As the old saying goes, if it looks too good to be true, it probably is.
Rafe took the small piece of paper out if his battered jeans’ pocket and checked the address. Yep, this was it alright. He looked at the pile of rubble in front of him. The house that was supposed to be there had burnt to the ground not long ago. His nose caught the odors of freshly charcoaled plastic and rubber. Yuk. He’d spent the last decade in one of the most polluted cities in the world, but he still wrinkled his nose with the smell of burnt modern appliances. And this house had been full of them.
He ducked under the yellow police tape and strolled around the site where Zoricah’s home had once been. A burnt-down door frame indicated a hallway leading up to a living room and open-plan kitchen, which was fairly intact. Hmm , so the fire hadn’t started with a forgotten roast in the hot oven then. Interesting. He sniffed the air again, and caught something else this time around. Something acrid. He bent down and ran his fingers over a broken piece of marble, probably a part of the mantle of the fire place. Brown powder stuck to his fingers. He brought them to his nose and sniffed. Iron oxide – a key ingredient to make explosive devices, such as grenades.
He wandered around a little longer, stepping over the debris. Going by the extent to which everything had turned into ash, whoever started this fire was very keen to see Zoricah dead. Very few pieces of furniture had survived. One of them was the toppled bin in the kitchen. A small business card inside it caught his attention. He reached across and took it into his hands. A logo with a phone number.
“Fluid,” he said, reading it out loud.
That name, the colors, the curved lines…where had he seen that logo before? He pulled his cell phone out and dialed the number on the card.
A female voice answered after the second ring. “Fluid, good evening.”
“Hi, there. I have a reservation for tonight. I just want to confirm the address.”
“I’m afraid this is an invitation-only club, sir. Are you a member?”
Rafe chuckled low and hung up. He didn’t need any further explanation. For a true connoisseur, only half a sip was enough, wasn’t it? He twirled the small piece of paper between his fingers. This mission had suddenly gotten quite interesting. Who would have thought – Zoricah was a member of a swingers club. Did the vampire king know about her little hobby? Or maybe they went there together? He rubbed his short stubble with his fingers. Very interesting indeed.
He put the card in his back pocket and stepped out. Even though Zoricah’s address was located in a quiet cul-de-sac, his ears could clearly hear the buzz of the nightclubs and bars in Camden Town.
The hairs on the back of his neck suddenly went up. His wolf went into full alert. He was being followed. He closed his eyes and let a little of his beast out. Not too much, just enough to give him a substantial advantage over whoever was after him. Ears pricked, nose sniffed, sharp teeth and claws emerged. Heavy footsteps, were coming close. Just a few seconds before they reached him, Rafe turned around and prepared for battle. Then he stopped.
“Stand down, soldier, I come in peace,” Balaur said. His open palms were raised above his fat shoulders.
“What do you want, draco?”
“I want to help you.”
“Oh, really? Since when doesa draconian senator give
Rafe took the small piece of paper out if his battered jeans’ pocket and checked the address. Yep, this was it alright. He looked at the pile of rubble in front of him. The house that was supposed to be there had burnt to the ground not long ago. His nose caught the odors of freshly charcoaled plastic and rubber. Yuk. He’d spent the last decade in one of the most polluted cities in the world, but he still wrinkled his nose with the smell of burnt modern appliances. And this house had been full of them.
He ducked under the yellow police tape and strolled around the site where Zoricah’s home had once been. A burnt-down door frame indicated a hallway leading up to a living room and open-plan kitchen, which was fairly intact. Hmm , so the fire hadn’t started with a forgotten roast in the hot oven then. Interesting. He sniffed the air again, and caught something else this time around. Something acrid. He bent down and ran his fingers over a broken piece of marble, probably a part of the mantle of the fire place. Brown powder stuck to his fingers. He brought them to his nose and sniffed. Iron oxide – a key ingredient to make explosive devices, such as grenades.
He wandered around a little longer, stepping over the debris. Going by the extent to which everything had turned into ash, whoever started this fire was very keen to see Zoricah dead. Very few pieces of furniture had survived. One of them was the toppled bin in the kitchen. A small business card inside it caught his attention. He reached across and took it into his hands. A logo with a phone number.
“Fluid,” he said, reading it out loud.
That name, the colors, the curved lines…where had he seen that logo before? He pulled his cell phone out and dialed the number on the card.
A female voice answered after the second ring. “Fluid, good evening.”
“Hi, there. I have a reservation for tonight. I just want to confirm the address.”
“I’m afraid this is an invitation-only club, sir. Are you a member?”
Rafe chuckled low and hung up. He didn’t need any further explanation. For a true connoisseur, only half a sip was enough, wasn’t it? He twirled the small piece of paper between his fingers. This mission had suddenly gotten quite interesting. Who would have thought – Zoricah was a member of a swingers club. Did the vampire king know about her little hobby? Or maybe they went there together? He rubbed his short stubble with his fingers. Very interesting indeed.
He put the card in his back pocket and stepped out. Even though Zoricah’s address was located in a quiet cul-de-sac, his ears could clearly hear the buzz of the nightclubs and bars in Camden Town.
The hairs on the back of his neck suddenly went up. His wolf went into full alert. He was being followed. He closed his eyes and let a little of his beast out. Not too much, just enough to give him a substantial advantage over whoever was after him. Ears pricked, nose sniffed, sharp teeth and claws emerged. Heavy footsteps, were coming close. Just a few seconds before they reached him, Rafe turned around and prepared for battle. Then he stopped.
“Stand down, soldier, I come in peace,” Balaur said. His open palms were raised above his fat shoulders.
“What do you want, draco?”
“I want to help you.”
“Oh, really? Since when doesa draconian senator give
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