Shadow Bound Page 0,96

them off himself.

“Breathe, Adam,” Zoe laughed. “And put on the jacket before we all grow old.”

He shrugged into the tuxedo jacket as Talia drew the other glove up her left arm.

He didn’t have time for this. He needed to talk to Talia alone, and then be on his way—

“It’s a little snug, but you’ll do,” Zoe said. “Now stop ogling each other and come on.”

Zoe led them down a narrow hallway on the first floor and around to a paint-peeling door that ostensibly led into the heart of the club.

“Wait ten seconds, then follow me in,” Zoe directed. She cracked the door and slipped inside.

Alone with Talia.

The vial of pills was heavy in his pocket, separating them forever.

Adam waited a beat, choosing from the million things he wanted, needed, to say to her, but settled for the one loudest in his mind.

“I hope we’re getting married,” he said.

Talia let out a strangled squeak. Her expression was priceless—and here he’d thought anything could be bought for the right amount.

Her wide eyes tensed with incredulity. And then a touch of hurt. “Don’t make bad jokes,” she answered back.

“I’m not joking, Talia. The club’s got a psychic in residence. It’s got to be pretty obvious to Abigail what I want for my future.” If I were to have a future, that is.

“It’s not a wedding. They just want me to make a grand appearance.” Her gorgeous eyes filled. She bit her bottom lip to cherry red.

So, of course, he had to kiss her.

He brushed his mouth softly over hers once, because he wanted the touch to be romantic, but his blood ignited as soon as her mouth parted and he drowned himself in her. His hands slid up the bones of the corset, holding on to her for dear life as she fisted her own hands in his hair to keep him close to her. The kiss fell apart, her lips grazing his chin as his skimmed her forehead, as they gripped each other, straining to be closer.

Dimly, he became aware that she was shaking. No, that was him.

He straightened for a little manly composure. “Shall we go in, my lady?” He offered his elbow.

Her eyes were a mess of tears. She dabbed at them with her gloved fingers and took his arm.

She raised her chin regally and answered, “Let’s.”

Talia took Adam’s lifted elbow and he opened the scarred door to the club’s main room.

They entered a court of the underworld.

The club was a concrete hole, just under street level. The low ceiling enhanced the impression of being buried underground.

As the door settled shut behind them, the gathering hushed and parted, revealing a wide, amaranth-red floor runner that glowed against the three-dimensional black on black of the interior. The symbolism was not lost on Talia, who’d been submerged in near-death research for half her life: amaranth signified immortality.

The runner terminated at a raised dais, the club’s stage, where an ornately carved black Oriental chair waited. To one side sat Abigail, in a wheelchair, her body more shrunken than ever, her eyes a roil of shadow. To the other side stood Zoe, puffed up with importance.

Talia’s stomach knotted and she froze on the threshold of the room.

Oh, please, no. The chair waited for her.

Adam started forward, and she had no choice but to follow. Either that or bolt back out the door, and since she wasn’t letting the secretive man out of her sight again, she forced herself to move up the aisle.

The murmuring assembly to either side of her was in their funereal best, fashions ranging from modern Victorian to urban vampire. The women radiated powerful sexuality in corsets of leather and vinyl, some baring midriffs, fishnets, tattoos twisting with wicked thorns, beautiful and severe. Among them, one wore black tulle fashioned in a punky tutu, others in skintight leather pants, or peep show–short skirts. The men wore black pants, jeans, or combat fatigues, and some in elegant long leather coats that grazed the black floor to the effect of the wearer rising out of shadow. The coifs were black or electric with color, the styles varying from jagged-chic to glossy sheets. Makeup accentuated man and woman alike, some effeminate while others were fatalistically disturbing.

As soon as Talia reached the dais and turned, Zoe spoke. “For some time now we’ve all been aware of a growing threat. A demon has escaped into our world. He calls himself the Death Collector, because that is what he does, collect deaths. In so doing, he creates