"What you need is to get back to the hotel and wash that powder from your arm—otherwise the rash may well get worse and scar."
"Damn." I took another slow, deep breath, then carefully pushed away from the wall. The room only did a minor dance before it steadied.
Despite stating that I needed to take a shower, Azriel righted the chair, then sat me down. "I did not catch the Rakshasa."
"I gathered that." I ran a hand through my sweaty hair. "And unfortunately, it now knows we're here waiting for it."
"Yes." He squatted in front of me, taking my left hand in his and rubbing it gently. Up until that moment, I hadn't realized just how cold it was. "But I do not think that will stop it from coming. Its hunger is great."
I frowned. "Why wouldn't it just seek out a safer hunting ground?"
"Because, as I said, it is drawn by great anger and despair. There is much of those emotions in this place."
My fingertips were beginning to tingle with heat, a sharp sensation that wasn't exactly pleasant. And while part of me wondered why he didn't just flush heat and healing through me like he usually did, the sensation of his hands rubbing mine felt too good to complain. "But there are other dark clubs—why wouldn't it just choose one of those?"
"I suspect because of the ghosts. It is their need, their anguish, that is the draw here."
"Does that mean the other places don't have ghosts?"
He shrugged. "They undoubtedly do, but for whatever reason, they are not as vocal or as angry."
"But why? I mean, they're all in the same situation—why would these ghosts be more vocal than the others?"
"Perhaps they aren't. Perhaps the Rakshasa—for reasons we cannot understand—simply chose this club over the others."
"So now that it knows we're here, it may hunt in the other clubs?"
"Possibly."