The Becoming Trilogy Box Set (Books 1-3) (19 page)

‘He comes in quite a lot,’
Liath said, ‘never comes close enough for me to ogle though.’ Liath’s brows
waggled.

Ash let out a snort as she
looked back at the woman’s teasing smile. ‘He’s ogle-able, but a little
strange. He thought here would be a quiet place to talk.’ Air quoting ‘quiet,’
Ash rolled her eyes.

‘Really?’ Liath’s groomed
brow arched, locking onto the doctor. ‘Weird. What is he doing now? He’s not a
good date if he leaves you to entertain yourself.’ Liath winked, dragging them
into a realm of girl talk Ash had never been so familiar with. She blushed.

‘He’s getting us some sort of
booth in the VIP section on the lower level. Who’d have thought it took so
long?’ Drawing back a little, Ash frowned as the playfulness drained from
Liath’s features. ‘What?’ she asked, fussing with her hair. ‘Do I have another
head? ‘Cause I already have conversations with myself, and that would just make
things so much easier.’

Liath’s hair fluttered with
the shake of her head, a halo of blonde in the black and red surroundings. ‘No,
no second head ... but, Ash, I didn’t think that down there was ...’

‘Was what?’ Ash asked.

‘Was ... you know, your
scene. I mean, do you know what you’re getting yourself into? It’s -’

‘It’s time to go.’ Madden’s
hand curled into the flesh above her elbow, the height of him a sudden shadow
cast over the bar. ‘Shouldn’t you be getting back to work?’ He barked at Liath,
who recoiled with a wide-eyed concern as he urged Ash down from her stool. She
cut him a vicious glare, trying unsuccessfully to work her arm free.

She threw Liath a pleading
glance as she was dragged away from the bar. Her neighbour was looking down,
punching numbers into a handset. ‘Slow down,’ Ash complained to the doctor,
‘I’m coming, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise we were on a time-sensitive mission,
what with you dragging ass getting us a booth. Wait -’ She tugged against his
grip, but failed to loosen the vice on her skin. ‘Will you just slow down!’

He relented a little, letting
her feet catch up to the awkward angle of her body, and they headed down,
passing through heavy satin curtains into darkness.

Y
ep, I’m definitely being led into Hell
. She was being swallowed up by the Second Circle, led
into deeper black until the motion-triggered sconces lit up like fire along the
walls, alerting their movements to anyone in the bowels of the VIP section.
They stepped onto a shimmering black dance floor and Ash had to catch her
breath. It looked more like a whore house, albeit with extremely expensive
whores. Bigger than the one up top, this level was all sin and seduction. Lush
booths big enough to double as circular beds were set in half moon alcoves
lining the edge of the dance floor. Table tops hovered on metal chains and
appeared to be moveable. Ash’s head tipped back, judging how the suspension
worked, allowing Madden to lead her where he would. She snapped her head
forward just in time to swerve past a buxom blonde and her male companion.
Locked together, their hands wandered and their hips thrust, mimicking ...
nope, correction, really not mimicking. The man was up her skirt and grinding
them both to the edge of a shuddering peak. He gave her a wink over the
blonde’s shoulder, the golden ring curved through his nose glittering under the
lights. Ash backed away from the show-bull throwing his sexual weight around.

What the
... Was this what Liath had meant? The lower levels
were some kind of exhibitionist sex club. The women were skimpily dressed and
crying out in ecstasy, adding to the rock-beat pounding from hidden speakers.

Ash was way overdressed, or
really, really underdressed. She pulled the hem of her dress lower to cover her
knees as she bent-tripped after Madden, keeping her focus on the toes of her
boots instead of the orgy going on around them. She needed kevlar, protection
against the bullets of gross being thrown her way, or maybe just a whole-body
condom. She prayed she didn’t get lost in the drift of literal sex on the dance
floor.

The air was stifling amongst
the heat of bodies. She gasped when they finally cleared the crowd in one piece
and relatively un-groped.

Her gaze cut up to tell
Madden to slow, but the words halted, frozen on her tongue like ice cubes
waiting to melt into speech.

Glimmering twin spots of
light caught her attention, like Will-O’-The-Wisp. The booths were in darkness
and only the red blinked, on and off, in the shadows. She stared harder.

What are you?

When her mind identified
them, Ash recoiled.

Eyes. They were eyes,
catching the light from the sconces and the small candle flames set into
holders above the floor.

Ash only hoped her eyes
weren’t that creepy when she looked at someone.

‘Doc,’ yanking on his arm,
she felt about twelve years old, ‘is this really quieter? I mean, Starbucks
might still be open ... if we run?’ Her voice trailed off at the annoyed frown
he shot her.

‘The people I want you to
meet aren’t at Starbucks, Ashling, they’re here. And they can tell you the
truth.’ She let the subject drop into silence. It was either go forward with
him, or try and survive going back without him.

The limpid-eyed girls
flocking around the booth scattered on their approach, casting longing gazes
back in the direction of the two men seated there. A leggy blonde held back,
raking Ash with an openly hostile glare, before turning on her heel and
stomping in the direction of the next booth with her ass swinging like a baboon
in heat.

Like popped toast, the two
men rose to their feet as she reached the table, a towering wall of
testosterone-pumped muscle. Any female would have been crazy not to step back,
and Ash wasn’t so crazy she didn’t acknowledge the threat. They were shorter
than Connal, taller than Madden. One was a hairy beast, a monster of scruff,
wild hair as dark a brown as the few days growth of beard colouring his jaw.
His eyes were like honey, narrowed on her face, nostrils flared. He reminded
her of a dog on the scent. Single, predatory concentration. Turning her head
slightly, she sniffed. Nope. She smelled fine. His waistcoat gaped, black,
buttery leather falling open as he stuffed his hands into the worn pockets of
broken-in jeans that hung too low on his hips to be decent. The man looked like
he should be in a Western. Ash didn’t dare look down to check for boots and
spurs. Instead, her gaze hit chest level, broad and muscled. Dark hair, thick
on his pecs, travelled down his abs, arrowing somewhere she didn’t want to
look. Her eyes jerked back to his face, switching from blushing to scowling
embarrassment at the lusty sneer curving his lips.

Plastering on her best
haughty face, Ash looked away and switched her attention to the man at his
side. There couldn’t have been two more opposite people. His friend would have
fit quite well at a cosplay convention, or the nineteen-hundreds. He was sleek
and suited in Steampunk couture, silver-white hair drawn back in a ponytail at
his nape, jagged wisps slightly shorter and falling into his hazel eyes. Green
popped bright around the irises. Dipping her head to peer closer, Ash had half
the mind to ask if they were contacts. But she got distracted.

If his ensemble didn’t amuse
her, the moustache on his face certainly did. She couldn’t decide between the
images in her head so she merged them. A cross between a Chinese dragon and
Biggles the Porn Star graced a smooth, exquisitely handsome face. He could have
been of Asian descent, but the lights distorted his features somewhat and her
brow furrowed, trying to pin down his origin.

Damn, if the doctor had told
her this was a costume party, she’d have come dressed for the occasion.

Maybe they were band members.

More like extras from a
Terminator
movie.
Whatever they were, they were
totally out of step with Doc Madden’s tailored suit. Ash snickered quietly.

‘Ashling DeMorgan, may I
introduce two of my friends, Brandr and Fite.’

‘Friends?’ Brandr, the hairy
cowboy, growled, pinning Madden with a withering glare.

‘Miss DeMorgan.’ Fite
interjected and before she knew what was happening, her hand was swept up in
gloved fingers, the velvet graze of the man’s moustache brushing her knuckles.
‘
Enchanté
.’ Intelligent, hazel eyes met hers for a brief moment before
he released her hand.

‘These gentlemen can tell you
all you need to know about your new acquaintance, Connal Savage.’

Brandr stiffened visibly,
upper lip curling off his teeth. Once again, Fite drew the focus of her
attention back to his mesmerising, green-rimmed eyes. Stepping aside, with a
grace out of keeping with his considerable size, he motioned for Ash to take a
seat while Madden dismissed himself on an errand to get them a round of drinks.

She squeaked a little, panic
flaring in her eyes as she found herself trapped in the middle of two very
large strangers.

Brandr raked her with a smile
that was sneering. As he sat, his waistcoat gaped completely open and her eyes
snagged on a flash of something under the left side. The stylized wolf brand lay
like a mark of death on his skin, a visual trigger stimulating her heart to
race. Her spine tensed and she drew calming breaths in through her nose. This
time, Ash was determined to tamp down the fear and get some proper answers.

Her voice was weak as she forced
herself to look up at
him. ‘The mark on your chest. What does it mean?’ she
asked, ‘I’ve seen it before. On Connal.’
On the stepfather who watched my
mother torn limb from limb.

Fite threw Brandr a loaded
stare, but the words discharged from Brandr’s mouth like bullets.

‘Do not mention me in the
same breath as that traitorous cur.’

Ash flinched away from the
violent outpouring of words and slammed into the cushioned back of the booth
like she’d been whipped.

‘You should know better than
to take the Devil’s name in vain.’

On hearing the low-timbred
growl of that all-too-familiar voice, Ash groaned. The night was promising to
get worse and worse the more people that joined their table.

Their latest addition jammed
anger into her throat and lead-lined her stomach. She wasn’t even acknowledging
the heat blooming in her lower stomach.

When Connal had materialized
at the table, she didn’t even know. But he was there. Shades pushed up into his
dreads, lips quirked in a grin that clearly irritated the hell out of the
tag-team of Cro-Mags flanking Ash, who shot to their feet like a pair of stone
columns at his arrival.

Jerk bastard
.

‘Chewbacca!’ Connal sneered
at Brandr. ‘Hans Solo let you off the leash for the night?’

Ash snorted so hard her brain
was promising to exit through her nose. She hid the burst of amusement behind a
glare dark enough to double as sunglasses.

The table shook like it just
took a four-point-nine hit on the Richter scale and Brandr actually snarled.
‘You defile this place with your reeking stench,
Vargrliker
!’

‘Such a sweet mouth, Brandr,’
Connal replied. ‘You mean I wasn’t invited to the Wookiee Convention? I suppose
you and Gandalf the White here are going to make me leave?’

Brandr bared the whites of
his eyes, Fite’s narrowed to cruel slits and Connal sucked on his teeth, his
mouth tugged into a sneering grin. She could feel the testosterone poisoning
kicking in with every second that passed. The men she was smushed between had
enough to out-do an entire generation of pre-pubescent boys. Adding another to
the mix had her choking on the fumes of rivalry. If they whipped out a
measuring tape, she was outta there, but not before she’d levelled a good hard
kick to the crotch of their newest member.

She owed him pain.

Ash glared at the rough,
handsome face of her once saviour, and constant stalker. Connal. Her insides
may have swooned, but it was just a blip in the storm of pissed off that rose
to replace an awkward uneasiness. She knew how she felt around him. He didn’t
unnerve her, not like the doctor and his friends. He set her on edge, though it
wasn’t with a worry for her life, not really. It was more because she knew
she’d have to brace for the heaping dose of arousal that hit her at a dead run
whenever he was near.