Michael snaked through the crowd, watching Damon, the protégé of the city's head vampire, towering over the figure of a frail young girl in some Goth getup against the far wall. He could smell her fear, even across the room. It mixed with the scent of warming female flesh and made his teeth ache.

He shook his head, trying to swallow down his hunger. In spite of the thumping music, he could hear her pulse hammering under her thin veil of skin. The monster inside him trained on the sound, and his mouth watered.

Her thoughts came to him in swift flashes. She'd lied, used the fake ID, and now she wished she hadn't. The pale guy with dark eyes and hair wouldn't leave her alone. She couldn't make herself walk away, or even turn her eyes away from him.

Michael forced the thoughts away, and then watched Damon lean down toward the girl's neck. His hand spread wide on her shoulder. The fool wouldn't bite her in the club, would he? He couldn't. He knew the rules.

He walked faster. If the humans weren't so close, he could stop Damon in an instant. But they were, and their safety mattered above all else. Plus, the Alleanza called for the death of any who revealed their true nature to humans. The girl was important, but stopping Damon from feeding in public wasn't exactly worth being hunted and drained.

The warm metallic scent of blood sprayed through the air. Pale faces in the crowd turned toward the couple. Michael's own blood pounded in his ears, his face began to burn, and his teeth lengthened. He breathed in, forced the hunger back, fired up the anger within him, and then threw it at the man's back like a dagger. He saw Damon stumble forward, and rushed toward them as fast as he could without spooking the humans.

Damon glared over his shoulder. "Back off."

Michael's voice came out as a growl, but he managed to keep it low. "Leave the girl and go back to Castillo. You've broken the Alleanza more than once tonight."

He released the girl so fast that she stumbled against the wall. Locks of red and black hair quickly fell in front of the two neat holes in her neck, hiding them from the humans.

When he turned to face Michael, they were almost eye-to-eye, although Damon's bodybuilder physique made him appear much larger. "Are you threatening me, boy?"

There was a push of his dark power, and Michael answered it with a bigger push. "I'll make it a fucking promise if you don't get out of my face."

"Castillo would have your head."

"You won't live long enough to tell him."

The man blinked and Michael felt a quick flash of his fear.

"You can be replaced, Michael. He relies on my word, and my word says that you're nothing more than a hired gun."

"But he depends on my power."

Damon smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Let me have this one and all is forgiven."

Michael leaned forward, bumping the man's chest. "Leave now and I'll pretend that you didn't just try to bribe the Garante."

The man's eyes searched his. Michael could feel the press of power that searched for a crack in his resolve. He wouldn't find one. It had been years since he'd had a sense of self-preservation. Now, no one threatened him without backing it up. So far, no one had actually managed to live up to their threat, except for Castillo.

"Boys." Christine, that brown haired angel in a red dress, crooned and hooked her slender arms through theirs. "The night is young. Don't deny the ladies the feel of your teeth on their throats tonight."

Damon's shoulders relaxed only a little. Michael gave him one last glare. "Take him, but make sure he stays away from the humans."

She nodded and kissed Michael on the cheek. "As you wish, my padrone."

He watched her escort the idiot toward the private rooms, while he slid the dizzy human into a seat. He'd kill that leggero one day. One day when Castillo wasn't the ruler of this city.

Tori gripped the steering wheel of her Jeep and fought the urge to throw the phone out the window onto the damp pavement. Instead, she listened to the sound of Chief Ives' breath coming in long draws and watched as her headlights illuminated one street sign after another.

"Have you seen the papers today? They're calling for my resignation. You know that if this doesn't work, you're off the lead. We're up to eight bodies, Tyler, and I'm getting pretty fucking tired of having my ass bit off for you."

"I know, Chief. I'll handle it. I'm close. I'm going to meet with another contact this evening." She steered into the parking lot between an abandoned warehouse and Michael's club, which looked like any other old warehouse from the outside, except for the red neon sign on the building that simply said The Fallen.

"Make this work. You've got one week."

"I will. Gotta go." She clicked the phone shut and tossed it into the passenger's seat.

Her heart thumped in her throat until it became a knot that threatened to choke her. Nobody needed to remind her what was at stake. That's why she'd come to this hellhole of a club in the first place. Sam, her vampire informant, made it very clear that Michael was the only one who would and could help her. Damn him.

She stepped out, slammed the door, and clicked the remote over her shoulder, locking the doors with a honk that reverberated off the block walls around her. She straightened her black skirt and black halter-top, and hoped she didn't look like a prostitute. That was another reason not to be here. She didn't dress in a skirt for anyone she didn't want to sleep with. Still, here she was, headed to see that jerk, and in a damned skirt no less. God, there'd better be a promotion in all this.

She went for the sidewalk, hung a left at the corner of the building, and then weaved through the crowd that waited to enter near the door. Strange bodies brushed hers. Perfumes mingled with the smell of sweat and marijuana in the air, creating a sickening sweet smell that made her wrinkle her nose.

"Hey, don't shove, bitch."

She jerked her head around to see an awkward, pimpled boy decorated in black, wiry tattoos and silver piercings. He looked like a nerd trying to reverse his position as the football team's whipping boy by going Goth. Figures.

His eyes widened, but he threw out his chest and stood a little straighter, as if the height made a difference.

She moved toward him. "What did you say to me?"

The kid's mouth gaped open.

His friend elbowed him. "Dude, she's hot."

She shot the shorter guy a warning look and moved closer. "Did you call me a bitch?"

"Uh. Yeah." He lifted his chin so that it topped her head. "Yeah, I did."

He was too tall for a clear punch, so she drew back a foot and landed the blunt tip of her shoe in his nuts. "Fuck you."

His short friend howled in laughter as the lanky kid crumpled onto the concrete.

Tori turned and moved toward the door again. She pushed a few more people out of the way and finally stood in front of two burly men in black shades and T-shirts that had logos matching the sign and SECURITY written on the sleeves. The shades, though--she'd never quite figured out why nocturnal monsters would wear sunglasses. Go figure.

Gregory was the one with bleached blond spikes and a silver hoop in his ear. Blaine's dark hair had fluorescent green tips that glistened in the moonlight. Together, they looked more like bodybuilders than real fighters, but they made a nice wall of muscle.

"Detective Tyler." Gregory smiled, and she caught a flash of white fang. "What brings you here?"

"I need to talk with Michael."

Blaine laughed. "Man, I knew you'd be back. You can't li--"

Tori threw up a hand. "Don't start. I'm here on official business."

He pulled his shades down his nose with one finger and looked at her over the top. "Well, if that's the new uniform, daddy likey?"

She shook her head and groaned. "Just let me in, Blaine."

Gregory shook his head. "I don't know. I think we'd better check with the boss. Last time you caused a shitstorm."

"If you don't let me in, I'll bring the whole force down here to investigate the two underage kids I just saw go in." She hadn't really seen any go in, but Blaine had a habit of letting in the girls he planned to hit on later. They were usually blond, clean, and right out of Catholic school.

They glanced at each other.

Gregory said, "Alright. We'll let him know you're here."

"Try not to kill anyone tonight." Blaine shook his head and pulled one of the heavy steel doors open. Metal music poured onto the sidewalk.

Tori nodded and stepped inside. The door slammed behind her. She stood still, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Michael probably already knew she was here. With all that telepathy floating around, who could tell what they did and didn't know?

"Miss Tyler."

She turned to see a statuesque woman in a black latex French maid costume smiling down at her from behind the coat check window. "Your gun."

Shit. She'd really hoped to sneak in with it, but they always knew. Did they see it? Of course not. Maybe it was that she always had a gun. She slipped the gun out of the back of her skirt, and handed it to the girl grip first. "Just don't scratch it up, Susan."

"Thank you." The girl winked her dark shadowed eye and slid the gun under the counter. "I'll keep it warm and cozy just for you."

Something in the way that she said it made Tori shiver. When another leather-laden couple approached, she slipped away toward the double doors. A tiny girl in red leather pushed through ahead of her and sent a rush of heavy rhythms through the room. With the deafening sound came the sweet smells of sex, alcohol, and smoke of various kinds. Bleach faintly lingered with it, followed by something metallic. Blood?

Tori stepped through to the edge of a small ocean of bodies that writhed in time under flashing lights, like a leather orgy. She weaved toward a table in the darkest back corner. She needed the darkness, especially in here. The less people saw of her, when half of the city wanted her head on a stake, the better.

When she slid onto the smooth leather stool at the high table, she felt eyes on her, the eyes of people that probably could read her mind--and probably were. Shit. This was a bad idea. She should've come after hours when the humans were gone and there was no pretending, but even that was risky. Why did the vampiro always make her feel more like the vegetable of the day on the menu at Bruno's Diner than a cop?

"Ya want a drink, honey?" Jude, a gum-smacking waitress with short magenta hair, came forward and leaned her arms on the table as she bent toward Tori's face. Her breasts were full and threatened to spill out over the rim of the black corset she was wearing.

Even to a straight girl like Tori, it was distracting. She pulled her hand away from the girl's to give it a little distance. "Hey, Jude. Margarita--and tell Jack I said no funny business, okay? Just a plain margarita."

"Well, you're no fun tonight."

"I had a little too much fun last time."

A wicked grin spread across the girl's dark lips. "You did, didn't you?"

"Yeah, let's just keep it simple tonight."

"Suit yourself." The girl shrugged and walked away.

Tori wiped a pearl of sweat off her brow and leaned back against the chair. She was warm, but her core felt cool, almost chilled. Something about this place always made her feel hot and cold at the same time. Maybe it was another vampire trucchi.