Changing Beauty (Book 2) (The Deadly Beauties Live On) (32 page)

Chapter 43

MASTER

“They got the wolf back, Master,” the trembling, useless dark user says as he bows his head in shame.

He should be ashamed. He should also be dead already.

Studying the new vials of purple, glowing blood, I consider how exactly I want him to die.

“Don’t forget they know you’re working with us now,” my visionary says, glaring at the dark user who no longer holds any value.

Gavin was so much better. Then again, he had much more to lose. This one is a miserable waste of power by comparison.

“Kimber saw me, but she might not have realized it was me. Everything happened fast,” the dark user rushes to say.

Weak. Pathetic. Utterly useless.

“And now I can’t use the visionary anymore because you let the wolf brand her.”

Yes. My visionary holds a very good point. The visionless visionary girl was our eyes into their operation, and now she’s protected. I really don’t like that sort of failure.

My hand slides over the blade of an anointed dagger, watching as my fingertip bleeds from barely a graze. This one is too sharp. It’ll hurt him less.

“Master, please understand. It wasn’t my fault. I did as I was told to do. No one warned me she’d know how to free or protect Kimber.”

My visionary stands and walks over to the pointless dark user. “We lost two important things today—our eyes into their circle and our tracker. We still have a
first
night stalker on the loose, and we need him back before they find him.”

I move over to the werewolf’s claws that are strapped to a paddle, and I feel them. So many times these raked across the chests of my Gemini twins before the anointed weapons came back to life.

The claws have been dull for a while, useless for inflicting quick pain. But I’m not looking for
quick
pain at the moment.

“And my Geminis? The wolf was the only way we’ll ever find them. She’s had their blood, and now she can find them for the queen’s circle.”

Silence falls as my words echo off the stone walls, and I pluck the claws away from the paddle before holding them in my hand. With one squeeze, they slowly slide over my fingertips, and the skin binds with the claws, holding them in place like they’re my own.

“I can still get her back. Just give me another chance,” the dark user cries in panic, stammering half his words.

Weak. Weak. Weak.

“I keep losing people to them,” I tell my visionary. “It’s time to use Morgana again.”

“You said she was pointless.”

“I said she was pointless because Gage no longer cares for her. But Gavin does. If Gavin is within their flock somewhere, he’ll see he has no choice but to come back.”

“You know how risky that is,” he argues.

“I do know. We’re not ready to fight them right now. The Princess is much stronger than we anticipated. Which is good for us later. Much later. Not now. I feel as though we’re being rushed, and you know how I hate that. Morgana can tilt the tables.”

The dark user is knocked to his knees by my visionary, and he cries out as his knees hit the floor. I’d almost think he was human for being so pathetic.

“No, please,” he whimpers as I rub the dull edges of the claws across his face, over his trembling lips. “I can still help. Gavin isn’t with them. I d-don’t know w-where he is, but he’s not with them. Neither are the Gemini. Morgana won’t be of any use.”

I withdraw my hand while looking at my visionary, and he tightens his lips.

“They do have the night stalker Gavin infected with power,” he says after a beat, while the dark user continues to sniffle, forgotten at our feet.

“What about him?”

“He can’t have control of his power yet. He’d need a guide, and I’m sure it’s not easy to get help from a bunch of power-happy beings, such as they are. Morgana could be of use there. She could befriend him, offer to help him learn. Seduce him, even. It would put us inside the circle.”

Brilliant. Why can’t everyone be so helpful?

“Zee,” the dark user chimes in, reminding me he’s still here. “His name is Zee. He owns a club where bitten fey or blood drinkers of any kind go to snack without alerting humans. They hide in plain sight. I-I could get you in. Show you where it is. Not just anyone can show up and be allowed access.”

The cowardly always beg and bargain.

“What about my demon hybrid?” I ask him. “Where is she? With them?”

“N-No,” he stammers out. “Only the twin sister is with them.”

The useless one with half the power. That does me no good.

“And an anointed is dead? Don’t forget that infraction. She could have been vital to weeding them off, but you didn’t even know you had her in your grasp. One mistake after another.”

“No one knew there would be an anointed there! I only left because I was called back. I never even made it to the house. I was trying to locate the wolf!”

“The wolf you met at the party and didn’t even recognize?” my visionary drawls, leaning against the wall as he looks on the same useless waste I am.

“She looked nothing like the pictures. She was—”

“Just cleaner,” I interrupt, sighing sadly as I mull over a new replacement. I’m really getting sick of the damn queen and her minions. Yet she never seems to be around.

“Why is their precious queen absent so much right now?” I ask, deciding to give the dark user one last chance to be useful.

“She’s… She’s… I think she’s…” His head drops, which tells me he’s stalling because he has no clue.

Good. I’d rather see his blood than find a reason to spare him.

“And you can’t see anything?” I ask my visionary.

He takes a wary step back as though he’s afraid of enduring the same fate for being unhelpful.

“Not of them. Not of much. I catch glimpses, but not enough to work with. I sent men to track down the
first
night stalker we recreated after getting a glimpse of some familiar scenery he was at. But they came back with empty hands. He’d already fled. He’s not staying still.”

Sighing, I run my other hand over the tips of the dull claws.

“Why can’t you see them?” the dark user asks him, still stalling. Or perhaps he’s trying to point out my visionary’s shortcomings.

“Because they’re too powerful. Especially when clustered together. Their magic interferes with my own. Only one visionary was ever strong enough to see through blocks so fierce as that. And she’s no longer a threat. She’s also no longer of any use, because of you.”

Ah, yes. I love a good bitch fight. Unfortunately for the whining dark user, I’m also bored with this conversation.

“Morgana is our only option then. The night stalker shouldn’t be too hard to seduce. He seems to suffer from the hero complex, and he doesn’t have companionship. It’s the perfect job for her.”

The dark user’s shirt splits open with the flick of my wrist, and he struggles to move when he feels my invisible hold against him. My claws slide down his chest, moving tauntingly over his heart, before finding his ribs.

“Wh-what are you go-going to do?” he whimpers.

Smiling, I meet his eyes. “I’m going to carve out all your organs.” He screams in pain as the dull claws start to burrow into his flesh, and I add, “Starting with the ones you don’t need to live.”

End of Book 2.

Book 3, Bitten Beauty will be next.

For a sneak peek at Zee’s book, continue reading.

Thank you to everyone reading. I love the hell out of you and appreciate your support. Feel free to join book club and discussions. It’s an amazing group of people that I enjoy dropping in on.

BOOK 3 – Bitten Beauty

Chapter 1

LEAH

“I’m not sure about this,” I say warily when I start to regret ever agreeing to feed Marilyn’s delusion.

“It’s just a club,” she says too casually.

My eyes flit around the room at all the people who are engaged in lusty role play. There are large, black and red velvety couches and chairs everywhere. The low lights cast a hazy glow on all the writhing bodies that might as well be moving things to a bedroom.

I swallow hard when I see them actually drinking from each other. Their fake fangs dig into the soft flesh, and blood spills in trickles. They lap it up, making sounds that suggest pleasure as opposed to disgust.

I’m going to be sick.

“This is not just a club,” I hiss.

She swats a dismissive hand as though she feels I’m overreacting. I’m not. At all.

I’ve had to do a lot of weird things with her in the past, but this tops the crazy charts. I didn’t realize being her assistant would be such a hands-on job. Sometimes I’m not sure if I’m being the friend or the employee.

“Fine. It’s a vampire role playing club. I need this for research. It’s important that I become completely submersed in their world—no matter how far-fetched and ludicrous it might sound.”

At least she still admits this is all absurd. Sometimes I wonder if she has crossed the line of researcher into believer, and if she has truly detached from reality.

I appreciate the fact she’s a very thorough researcher—for her nonfiction pieces on underground clubs and secret societies—but I’m not keen on being involved with said research. This is her obsession and her publishing deal, not mine. When I signed up for the job, I expected to be making phone calls and making appointments for her.

I never thought I’d be standing here in a short leather skirt and a barely there scrap of a red shirt that shows all of my back and most of my stomach. High heels and I do not get along very well, either, but I’m frigging wearing them. Maybe we should discuss proper work attire.

“You don’t really plan to let someone… do
that
, do you?” I ask, my stomach churning as I motion to a girl who is lying across a man’s lap as he sucks blood from her wrist.

She turns to me with that patented determination in her eyes. She’s definitely going to do it.

“I can’t write about something I haven’t ever truly experienced. It’ll be like I’m writing a lie. And I don’t write fiction.” She glances around the room, and I swear she looks a little excited. “Besides, it can’t be that bad. You have to admit that it’s seductive.”

“My brain is still firmly attached to reality, so no; I don’t find it seductive.”

I look over just as a girl bows her body into the arms of a man, arching her chest against him as he sucks from her neck. Her moans reach us even over the low beat of the scandalous music, and I find myself squirming. Okay. Maybe it’s a little seductive.

“Look at how free they all seem. It’s as though they have no inhibitions,” Marilyn points out, turning her eyes back to the room. “And I had to work really damn hard to get an invitation here. It’s not like there’s a fat sign on the door—hence the
underground club
title. I had to lie to and bribe people left and right because this place is very exclusive. Now make yourself useful and chat up some wannabe vampires.”

She struts off, leaving me on my own, and I sigh while slowly walking around the room, taking in the scenery. Oh damn. Is his hand really up her dress and moving in front of everyone?

I cut my eyes away from the latest naughty couple, and head straight for the bar. I definitely need a drink if I’m really going to stay here.

When I finish placing my order, I start looking around once again. But my eyes freeze on one sight that I can’t seem to tear my gaze away from.

There’s a guy sitting in a chair in the corner with a girl sitting on the floor between his legs. She’s talking to another couple on the sofa next to them, but the guy’s eyes are trained on me as he studies me very intently. And I can’t seem to stop staring back.

He’s wearing a black, sleeveless shirt that hugs the lines of muscle on his long body, and he’s holding his chin with a hand that has black painted nails. Gothic has never been my thing, but he wears it like a pro—a sexy, ungodly gorgeous pro.

Long, intricately detailed lines of ink run the full lengths of his arms, looking so good against the tanned skin of his body. His inky black hair is styled in a short faux-hawk with dark blue tips that I can see from here. He’s everything I’ve never been attracted to, but now I can’t stop looking at him as though he’s exactly what I’ve always wanted.

Two black leather cuffs are on his wrists, and his black combat boots stick out from the bottoms of his dark denim jeans. In real life, he’s probably an accountant or something. But this is role play, so he can be dark and mysterious here.

His steady gaze doesn’t waver, and I feel heat in all the wrong places as he starts absently strumming one of his long fingers over the crease of his lips. It takes more effort than it should, but I finally manage to break eye contact. It helps that the girl between his legs has now gotten up onto her knees and is slipping her hands under his shirt.