Those questioning blue eyes held a trace of disdain. It was the same edge of couched contempt she felt radiating off him from the moment he first walked into Asylum tonight and spotted Cruz and the rest of them at the back of the tavern.
Maybe she wasn’t the only one with something to hide.
“Feeling better?” His deep voice rolled over her senses like a caress. “You still look a little green, if you ask me.”
The uninvited observation drew the attention of Cruz and the others. They all stared at her now. Expectant, waiting to see how she would respond.
Alarm shot into her veins. For one jolting heartbeat, she worried that the Breed male could see through her. That he might be able to tell she wasn’t quite what she seemed.
But a surreptitious flick of her tongue along the edge of her teeth assured her that her fangs had receded completely. And her vision held no trace of amber anymore.
To him and the other men looking at her, there was nothing to give her away.
“I didn’t ask you,” she muttered tightly. “And how I feel is no concern of yours.”
She gave him her back for a moment and finished the shot of whisky she’d been nursing most of the night. Being a daywalker, her uncommon genetics allowed her to consume human food and drink. Right now, with the heat of his eyes still boring into her from behind, she was eager to look as commonly human as possible.
What she really wanted was to get the hell out of Asylum and as far away from this male as she could.
From her peripheral, she watched with a growing sense of concern as the exchange between the men continued, becoming chummier and more relaxed by the minute. It wasn’t good. Passing herself off as human with Cruz and his gang took some effort, but it would be nearly impossible to hide what she was for long from another member of the Breed.
The fact that he’d been trained as an Order warrior only made her dread—and her suspicion—intensify.
The last thing she needed was him hanging around the group any more than he already had tonight. She wanted him gone, and the sooner the better.
Setting the glass down on the table, she folded her arms over her breasts and eyed the Breed male with a mistrust she hoped would be picked up by her comrades. “Healing seems like an ironic skill for one of your kind.”
Her comment halted the conversation as effectively as another round of gunfire.
“One of my kind?” he asked, those sharp eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. “You mean Breed?”
She arched a brow. “I meant an Order warrior, but now that you mention it . . .”
He stared at her. “Well, newsflash in case you missed it, sweetheart. I’m not a warrior anymore. As for my genetics, I take it you don’t approve.”
She lifted her shoulder. “Your words, not mine.”
“Sure.” A smile tugged at the edge of his beautiful mouth. “Don’t knock what you haven’t tried.”
The men chuckled. Devony’s face burned, and for an instant she wanted nothing more than to give them all a flash of her fangs—right before she leapt on the Breed male to take his arrogant ass down a peg or ten.
Fish guffawed and clapped his new best friend on the shoulder. “Hey, man, word to the wise. Don’t piss off Brinks here, or next thing you know she’ll be serving your balls to you on the end of her dagger.”
Brinks was the nickname they’d given her, the one she’d had to work damn hard to earn in order to be part of them. And now here was this smirking vampire—this former Order warrior—making jokes at her expense and ingratiating himself with the gang in a matter of minutes.
She didn’t like it.
And she damn well did not like him.
Ignoring their amusement, she caught Cruz’s gaze. “I thought we had somewhere to be tonight. We going, or what?”
He nodded. “She’s right. Let’s pack it up and get out of here.”
Devony zipped her leather jacket, giving the interloper a satisfied, sidelong glance as she stepped past him and the pool of blood that was coagulating nearby. “I’ll be waiting outside.”
The cool autumn air and wide open night sky of the parking lot was a welcome reprieve from the humid, blood-tainted confines of the tavern. She walked over to her motorcycle and swung her leg over the black Triumph’s seat. For a moment, she simply sat there, taking in deep, cleansing breaths with her head tipped up to the moon and stars.
As she reached for her helmet that hung from the handlebar, she heard Cruz and the others exit the back door of Asylum.
And dammit, they weren’t alone.
Rafe strode out with them. Fish clapped the former warrior’s bicep before following Ocho to his red Ferrari and climbing into the passenger seat.
“Meet you there,” Cruz called to Devony as he and Axel walked to the gang leader’s brand-new gunmetal gray Lamborghini and revved it up. The two vehicles rolled out of the parking lot and headed up the street.
Devony always preferred to ride alone, but she deeply regretted that choice as the Breed male walked over to a sleek monster of a BMW bike parked in the space next to hers.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
“Same place you are.” He climbed onto the motorcycle and heeled the kickstand up with his boot. “Cruz invited me to come hang for a while. Guess that means I’ll follow you.”
Not if she had anything to say about that.
Without answering him, she slammed her helmet down onto her head and started the engine.
Then she opened the throttle and tore out of the parking lot, leaving him in the dust behind her.
CHAPTER 3
Rafe had spent many nights chasing from one Boston rooftop or another while on patrol with the Order, whether in pursuit of Breed vampires gone Rogue or other bad guys who’d run afoul of the law and thought they could elude capture on the city’s maze of zig-zagging streets and twisting alleyways.
But he’d never seen the city from the perspective of the multimillion-dollar, sixtieth-floor penthouse where he stood now.
He wasn’t told the name of the rich fuck who owned the place. He didn’t know any of the hundred-plus people partying and dancing inside or spilling out to the open air rooftop terrace with him. Near as Rafe could tell, he was the only member of the Breed there. The crush of humanity—inebriated, sweaty, and loud—had driven him outside not long after he arrived.
As for his newfound companions, Cruz was in a meeting behind closed doors with a few other men from the party, while Fish and his two buddies were busy continuing the celebration they’d started at Asylum. All three were well on their way to shit-faced and surrounded by a group of similarly impaired, attractive women.
Ocho lifted his right hand, the one that had likely earned him his nickname on account of the fact it was missing the last two digits. He gestured for Rafe to come in and join them, but the invitation held little interest or value. Despite the need to fortify the men’s trust and friendship, Rafe’s attention would be better spent elsewhere right now.
He flicked his glance away as if he’d missed Ocho’s signal, then walked farther out onto the terrace.
There was still another member of Cruz’s gang he needed to win over.
Back at Asylum, the brunette called Brinks had eyed him with suspicion from across the tavern even before he’d healed Fish. Afterward, her animosity toward him only seemed to increase. He was used to raising a few hackles in people on the wrong side of the law as a member of the Order, but this woman seemed to hate him on sight.