Taking the Stage: Soulgirls, Book 2

Dedication

For my soulgirls. You make me smile.

Arcana Royale

Las Vegas, baby, at the casino of all casinos—the Arcana Royale. This high-end supernatural casino caters to an exclusive clientele. Some guests are immortal and some are not. The Royale itself has a very distinct personality and some even believe it may be “alive” in its own right. Home to dozens of lounges, shows and games of chance—anything can happen at the Arcana Royale and anything goes, but don’t piss off the Overseers or you may find yourself serving up your soul as penance. Discover tales of forbidden romance, sexy heroes and dark mysteries.

Midnight Mystery Lounge

Heidi: The stage manager wields considerable influence and power. She is seen as both mother hen and mysterious benefactor.

Minion: The imp-like demon is Heidi’s pet and companion, though she is known to spend a lot of time with the dancers.

Performers

Pandora: Lead dancer for fifty years, Pandora’s real name is Jeannie Williams. Vampire Malcolm Reynolds helped end her contract with the Arcana Royale and she left the show behind to experience life with her paramour.

Roseâtre: The Amazonian princess earned the role of lead dancer after Pandora’s exodus. She and Cerveau are shield-sisters and very close. They are the only two dancers to have had a friendship prior to their service at the lounge.

Cerveau: An Amazon, Cerveau and Roseâtre are very close, but Cerveau’s origins and actions appear to be a mystery.

Kiki: A playful member of the chorus line, Kiki likes to party and she always brings the laughter with her.

Peppermint: Southern gentility and honey-sweet are just two of the labels applied to Peppermint. Everyone loves her.

Brat: One of Kiki’s friends in the chorus line, she’s often caught up in Kiki’s schemes.

Amber: One of the chorus line.

Others

Stan: Mysterious guardian of the Midnight Mystery Lounge, he serves as both a bouncer within the theatre and a bodyguard for the dancers when they venture outside of it.

Overseers: Shrouded in absolute mystery, the identity of the five figures who rule the Arcana Royale and oversee it remain the most closely guarded secret.

Malcolm Reynolds: Vampire warrior, diplomat, wrangler, researcher and attorney. He visited the Arcana Royale to negotiate the release of his younger cousin Frederick and fell in love with Pandora. He arranged for her release with some skilled games.

Frederick Reynolds: The younger cousin of Malcolm Reynolds, Frederick must work off a debt to the Arcana Royale with one hundred years of service.

Fairuk: The lead dancer of the Midnight Mystery Lounge when Pandora arrived at the Arcana Royal, Fairuk reportedly earned her freedom, thus allowing Pandora to take the lead, but she continues on at the Arcana Royale serving as an emissary of the Overseers.

Anthony diNapoli: The recently arrived “tiger” tamer who brings his white tigers to join the dancers for performances at the Midnight Mystery Lounge.

Andrew: The Prince of Las Vegas is the tacit head of the city’s paranormal population, specifically its vampires, and while a regular visitor at the Arcana Royale, his domain does not extend within its walls.

Chapter One

“Not the toes.” Roseâtre refused to squeal. As lead dancer for the Arcana Royale’s Midnight Mystery Lounge, she would never squeal or scream, but her voice pitched high enough that the syllable at the end of
toes
cracked.

The great white tiger snuffling her feet through the five-inch strappy black-and-sapphire Louboutins rolled his head away. Instead of obeying, he stroked a whiskered cheek down her bare leg.

“Cut!” Voice booming, the show’s stage manager hustled out from the wings. Heidi was a brisk woman with a quick temper and a stout body, dedicated to creating the best shows. After Pandora’s escape from her contract, she relied on all of her girls to have the same dedication to the performance, Roseâtre more than most.

Pandora.
She’d always made the lead look easy. She’d walked out on the stage and owned the audience. Roseâtre believed Pandora could have shared the stage with twelve chimpanzees and it wouldn’t have mattered. Gazes would have been riveted to the tawny nymph.

The white tiger stretched out his neck and yawned, showing off a mouthful of glistening teeth. He flexed his paws, claws scoring the stage. She wasn’t fooled by the sleepy-eyed expression or house-cat similarities. Big cats weren’t pets.

The rest of the dancers relaxed from their poses, some even dropping down to coo and stroke the cats whose arrival had elicited a long round of
awws
and
aren’t they sweets
. Roseâtre, however, shifted away from the cat with his tickling whiskers and raspy tongue.

“Rose?” Heidi beckoned, a pen behind one ear and a notebook tucked under her arm. She pursed her lips in a you’re-not-in-trouble-yet moue, but the wrinkles knitting her brow told an entirely different story.

“Yes, ma’am?” Roseâtre didn’t drag her feet. One certainly never dragged Louboutins, but she couldn’t quite resist displaying her mutiny with an uplifted chin and wrinkled nose.

Cats
.

Her nose twitched. Her sinuses burned. Her eyes threatened tears. But she maintained her composure.

Damn cats.

“Look, I know you’re not thrilled with this idea.” The opening gambit was classic Heidi, softening her up for the too-damn-bad often attached to those statements.

Closeted together at the far end of the stage, Roseâtre was glad to be out of earshot of her shield-sister Cerveau, the other dancers and thankfully, the damn tigers.

The Midnight Mystery Lounge was closed for an entire week so the dancers could learn this new act. She’d woken to the bad news that the diNapoli Tigers—
tigers—
were joining the show for a three-month trial to drum up business in the magical casino and resort.

“But you’re just going to have to get over it. The apothecary will provide you with a tea for your allergies. We need this show and you’re the headliner. That means you and the tiger will be all over each other on that stage and you’re going to love it.”

And there it was, the verbal slap demanding submission. The command chafed. But a promise was a promise and she was as bound by her oath as her shield-sister Cerveau was by her curse.

“Is there any way we can do this without cats?”

“Not really, no.” The sympathy was real, but from Heidi’s compressed expression, the stage manager was plainly not on Roseâtre’s side. “I’m sorry, Rose. But the diNapoli Tigers were an enormous success in Monaco and Paris. We need them for resurgence of interest or the Overseers may very well break up the show.”

“Really?” Panic drifted under the surface of her skin, sending her heart puttering. The Overseers controlled the Arcana Royale, the sprawling complex where meta-humans of all types were welcome and could be themselves. They controlled the shows, the people and in the case of the dancers, their souls. Breaking up the show meant the dancers with varying leases on their souls could be placed elsewhere at the Overseers’ discretion.

Worse, Roseâtre and Cerveau could be separated. Roseâtre couldn’t allow that to happen. She’d sworn an oath. Pride could be sacrificed. Honor could not.

A shield-borne oath was an oath.

“I’ll
try
. It’s not just the allergy, though.”

“What is it?”

No simple answer existed. Roseâtre glanced over her shoulder to where the great cats lounged. Some groomed themselves while yet another rolled over on its back, presenting its belly to Peppermint for attention. Of all the dancers, Peppermint was the most gracious, the most loving and the most likely to enjoy gamboling with the tigers on the stage.

“I assure you,
nothing
is wrong with
my
cats.” The dark, deep masculine tones teased up her spine. She jerked her attention back to discover a bare-chested, bare-footed blond god had joined them.

Oh my. Who did he kill to get those abs?

She snapped her jaw shut with a flicker of irritation, and forced her gaze up from the hard six-pack of clear-cut muscle to roam over the ripped planes of his chest and shoulders.

Dear gods, does it end?

The cool dislike in his blue eyes slapped her back to the present. Everything about the man seemed larger than life, from his thick thighs, easily three times the size of hers, to his wide hands and square, chiseled jaw.

“Roseâtre, Anthony diNapoli.” Heidi’s snapped introduction rebuked her. “Anthony, this is our headliner, Roseâtre.”

Be professional.
She extended her hand and kept her gaze focused above his chin. Despite the five additional inches her designer shoes added to her considerable height, topping at around six foot, the man towered over her.

And he inspected her with an air of detached amusement, his gaze clearly dipping below her chin to where her breasts strained against the confinement of the black leotard.

“Your pleasure, I’m sure.” The bastard smiled and ignored her hand.

“Anthony’s cats are in high demand, and he’s graciously consented to this trial contract so we’re going to do the best we can to make the most of this situation.” Heidi turned to Anthony as though unaware of the icy drop in Roseâtre’s regard. “We’ll add extra rehearsal time so Roseâtre and her cat can get used to each other.”

We will?
Incredulous, Roseâtre could barely pull her eyes away from Anthony to look at the stage manager. “More rehearsals?” Tired of holding her hand out to the air, she let it drop.

“Absolutely.” Heidi nodded briskly, clapping her hands and striding away to gather the dancers, completely ignoring the cats with the poise of one who was likely more dangerous than the wild animals. “Ladies!”

Cerveau stood next to Kiki, Peppermint and Amber, the question in her expression obvious, but Roseâtre shook her head, waving her off with one short hand gesture. She didn’t need backup.

“So what’s your problem with cats, princess?” The words shivered up her spine. Anthony’s voice prowled behind her, his body heat brushing against her in challenge and invitation.

“Does it matter?”

She didn’t have to play nice. The bastard couldn’t be bothered to shake her hand.

“It might. You’re going to be
riding
my tiger every night for the next three months.” The words dripped with mockery and some other indefinable emotion.

Roseâtre shifted away, sparing him a dismissive look. She’d practiced the art of cool disdain for years under her mother’s tutelage. He might call her princess in his low, rolling sexy voice as a jest, but it didn’t make it any less true.

“What’s the problem now, princess?”

“You’re getting sarcasm on my shoes.” She lifted one, taking great care to inspect it.

Anthony threw his head back and laughed, a deep belly-trembling shout of amusement.

The noise drew the dancers’ attention like children to free chocolate. Cerveau’s face twisted comically, a mixture of censure and curiosity reddening her cheeks. She wouldn’t approve the tone, but she would appreciate the cause.

“You still haven’t told me why you don’t like my cats.”

“They’re cats.”

Head canted to the right, he studied her. The deep blue of his eyes was enhanced by a circle of darker blue along the iris. His pupils seemed to blink on their own, but that wasn’t possible. Roseâtre forced her gaze back to his dimples, just barely disguised by the thick rush of blond beard coating his cheeks.

“Cats are magnificent, bold and affectionate creatures. They are slow to trust, but have unshakable loyalty.”

“Until you’re dead and then they just eat your corpse.” She shuddered.

He laughed again. “You don’t need your body when you’re dead.”

She was missing everything Heidi was saying to the other dancers. Clearly, the stage manager didn’t care because she wasn’t even looking in Roseâtre’s direction, much less shooting her with her optic laser beams of impatience.

“I’d rather my body was undisturbed, thank you very much. The idea of anything feasting after I’m dead is unappealing.” Not to mention sacrilegious. A warrior’s death should be honored with blades and flame, never teeth.