Something was wrong.
His fingers curled in to brush against his palms. Whoever those guys at Tristan’s table were, they weren’t Nymar or shapeshifters. They sat away from the glare of lights without being coated in black stripes, so they weren’t carrying a Shadow Spore. Both of the men were dressed in simple, inexpensive clothes resembling the ensembles of every other paying customer in the place. One of them was in his late twenties or early thirties. He angrily said something to make Tristan look at him, while the older man followed her previous line of sight to the stage door. Even though Cole had pulled back enough to hide within the shadows filling the doorway, he knew he might have already been spotted.
Heavy steps sounded behind him, but Cole didn’t need to turn around. The rustle of Rico’s leather jacket was more than enough to give him away. Thanks to the cold weather, the leather had hardened into something closer to a shell than the smoother material of the Full Blood coat.
“Never thought I’d get sick of hangin’ out in strip bars,” Rico muttered. “Tristan out there?”
“She’s talking to someone. Doesn’t look like it’s for official dancer business either.”
Placing a hand on Cole’s shoulder to keep him in place, Rico leaned forward to get a look for himself. He almost immediately leaned back again and snarled, “Shit. Cops.”
“How can you tell?”
“Well, they ain’t Nymar. There’s two of them, and they ain’t buddies out to see some bare ass, because they ain’t grinnin’ from ear to ear with Tristan being so close. Look at the way they’re talkin’ to her. One’s asking questions and the other’s scanning the room. Keeps looking over here. Did you poke your nose out too far?”
“Maybe a little.”
“They’re cops. I’ve had enough of them sniffing around after me that I can damn near smell the doughnut frosting on their fingers.”
Cole shook his head and eased the door shut. There was a narrow slot filled with tinted plastic just wide enough for a dancer to get a look out to see if an unwanted admirer was waiting for her next set. Although he couldn’t see as much as before, Cole could make out the shapes at Tristan’s table if he squinted just right.
“Come with me.”
Those three words drifted through the air without the slightest bit of warning. Both Skinners wheeled around with their hands headed for their weapons before they caught sight of Elle standing behind them.
“You’d better go now,” she said. “Those policemen were asking about you, and it’s not like we can refuse if they insist on searching.”
“Sure you can,” Rico chided.
If Elle had been even slightly intimidated by the Skinners, she didn’t show it as she grabbed hold of Rico’s jacket and dragged him away from the stage door.
Allowing himself to be pulled down the hall, he looked over his shoulder and said, “See? Told you they were cops.”
She led them all the way around the back of the club to the room that had been made into the Dryad temple. The first time Cole had seen the flowing script covering the smooth walls of a similar temple, he was fascinated. Now, it hit him on the same nerve as watching his bus pull up to the curb.
“Will this take us to Denver?” he asked.
Another Dryad was near the edge of the curtain, swaying slowly and humming in time to the thumping beat that filled the club. “No,” Elle said. “It’s to a club in Boulder, but it’s the best we could do. There seems to be some trouble at the Denver clubs.”
“Nymar?”
“No. More police. All of our sisters are staying out of sight in case more Nymar are following all the Skinners going back and forth. I don’t need to tell you what sort of trouble it would be if they found us.”
After having that thing inside him, Cole could still feel a pang of hunger at the very notion of opening one of those beautiful women’s veins and drawing their precious fluid into his stomach. He was still fuzzy on the difference between a Dryad and a nymph, other than a Dryad was supposedly much older and more experienced. Sort of the supernatural equivalent of a MILF. All he knew was that the longer he stood among them, the harder it was to resist. Before his resolve was tested further, he was shoved through the beaded curtain and sent toppling through the breezy in-between that smelled of freshly cut timber and felt like an autumn breeze.
Something was different this time. The trips had always seemed instantaneous before, but this was a bizarre nightmare where the room around him melted away, leaving only phantom glimpses of things he could hold on to. His stomach dropped. Voices screamed in his mind. Music raked against his inner ear. Heartbeats pounded against him like invisible fists, and when he tried to fight them off, his fingers became entangled in what felt like a blanket of cobwebs so thick he could hear it tearing.
Upon reaching the other side of the bridge, Cole flopped onto his side and hit a floor identical to the one he’d left behind. The music was different, however, as was the scent of the body spray worn by the dancer who helped him up.
“Oh my God,” she said. “Are you all right?”
When Cole grabbed onto the hand being offered to him, he nearly pulled the slender dancer down on top of him. She had the ethereal beauty of a nymph and smelled like heaven drizzled in vanilla. As he struggled to get his bearings, he spotted another woman standing with her back pressed against the wall. Her arms were crossed and she glared at him in a way that said she either didn’t like ferrying Skinners through the club or just didn’t like him messing up her floor. Then the beads rattled again and a large boot thumped solidly against his back.
“What the hell?” Rico grunted.
“He tripped when he came out,” the dancer against the wall explained. The imperfections around her eyes were subtle, but marked her as human. “Was he drinking?”
The big man pulled Cole to his feet and shoved him toward the door. “You got a car we can use?”
“Wha …?”
“Not you, Cole.”
Cole’s feet were moving but the voices and queasiness still filled his head.
The human woman fell into step behind them, keeping her arms crossed and her eyes locked on the Skinners. “There’s a blue Civic parked out back. Here are the keys. Just because I was told to let you borrow it doesn’t mean you get to trash it. Bring it back by tomorrow, or else.”
Rico took the keys and rattled them as if purposely trying to jangle whatever was left of Cole’s brains. “We’re taking it to Denver and may need it for a few days. That okay?”
“Sure,” the nymph replied. Seeing the increased unhappi-ness on the other one’s face, she added, “There’s a few out there given to us by the same customer. He’s a real nice guy. Very generous.”
“Generous to you, maybe,” the stern woman scoffed. “The rest of us gotta earn the hard way.”
“Gary paid two months of your rent over the summer. What are you complaining about?”
The banter between the dancers went on for the duration of the walk through the back rooms of the club. It was decidedly smaller and quieter than Pinups, but Cole’s head was pounding and he still felt as if he’d been dragged a noisy mile before he could walk on his own.
“Blue Civic. Gotchya.” Judging by the sharp tone in Rico’s voice, he wasn’t enjoying the chatter either.
“So you guys are friends of Tristan’s?” the nymph asked. She slipped a key into the alarm bar of a steel exit door and turned it so she could push it open. “What are your names?”
“Never mind that,” the other dancer snapped while propping open the door with the side of her foot. “The car’s right there. You guys need anything else before you go? Some water? Something to eat? Tristan told us to ask.”
“No thanks, girls,” Rico said. “You’ve been perfect hostesses. We’ll be on our way.”