The golden eyes flared as his wolf prowled close to the surface.
“I’m also your king. I could make joining us an order.”
Her smile widened, edged with a warning that made the large predator pale.
“And I could tell Harley about those nymph triplets that you—”
“Fine,” he abruptly interrupted, headed toward the door. “Be careful.”
“What danger could I be in here?”
“Trust me, evil can lurk anywhere.” Salvatore paused on the wide veranda to glance toward the distant homes surrounded by their perfectly manicured grounds. “Even suburbia.”
Sophia managed to hide her tiny shiver.
“Concentrate on finding Cassandra,” she said. “If I need you, I’ll call.”
“Take care of yourself... .” Salvatore tossed her a mocking grin. “Granny.”
Sophia narrowed her gaze.
Okay, she might be tickled pink that Harley was pregnant, but there was no way in hell she was putting up with “granny.”
“Call me that again and the litter Harley is carrying will be the last babies you’re capable of producing.”
With a chuckle, Salvatore headed toward his BMW, which was parked next to her low-slung Lamborghini.
Sophia watched his departure with a faint frown.
She hadn’t expected Salvatore to concede defeat so easily.
Which could only mean one thing.
This particular battle wasn’t over.
Sophia’s Menagerie was a two-story brick building that discreetly blended in with the more conservative businesses that lined the quiet Chicago street.
Once inside, however, there was nothing discreet about the crimson carpet and shimmering gold wallpaper. Or the Venetian chandeliers that spilled light over the padded booths that were arranged to face the low stage.
There was an atmosphere of indulgent luxury that lifted her club above all others.
Well, that and the insanely gorgeous male strippers who could send an entire audience of women into a frenzy of screaming excitement.
Entering through the back door, Sophia made her way past the dressing rooms to the main floor, a satisfied smile curling her lips as her employees scurried about, preparing for the upcoming flood of customers.
This place might be just another strip club to some people, but for her it was her tangible display of independence.
She halted a moment to appreciate the sight of Dmitri and Dominic practicing their dance routine. The twin Weres had recently immigrated from Russian and were so exquisitely handsome it was a wonder they hadn’t melted Siberia.
Tall and slender with short, spiky blond hair and ice-blue eyes, they moved with the liquid grace of all pure-bloods. Combine that with the tiny fur G-strings that were the only thing covering their pale, perfect bodies ... yummy.
Then her smile twisted as she caught sight of the man standing near the edge of the stage, his hand reaching toward Dmitri. Or was it Dominic?
Troy, prince of imps, was a large, muscular man with the build of a professional wrestler and the fashion taste of a drag queen. At the moment he was attired in silver spandex pants and a see-through jade shirt that gave a nice glimpse of his broad chest.
His long, brilliant red hair flowed down his back like a river of fire and his emerald eyes danced with a wicked sense of humor that was contagious.
He was like an exotic butterfly that oozed a blatant sensuality.
“Mmm ...” he drawled as Sophia halted next to him, his gaze never wavering from the nearby dancers. “Delectable as always, my love.”
Reaching out she slapped his hand. “No touching the merchandise, Troy.”
The imp pouted, but, dropping his arm, he turned to face her. “But you know how I love them tall, blond, and furry.”
“You love them any way you can get them.”
“True.” Troy ran his hands down his shirt, licking his lips. “A wise imp swims with the tide.”
She snorted. Troy did a lot of swimming with the tide. Which, of course, meant that he had connections throughout the demon world.
And that was precisely why Sophia had contacted him a few days before.
“Did you bring what I asked?”
With a chuckle that should have given her ample warning, he gave a lift of his hand, motioning toward a nearby doorway.
“Don’t I always deliver?”
Her lips parted, but her words were forgotten as a man stepped from the shadows.
No, not a man ... a pure-blooded Were, she quickly corrected, catching the feral scent of his wolf. And so sinfully gorgeous that he made her heart slam against her ribs.
She covertly clenched her hands as he strolled forward. What the hell was wrong with her?
Her entire life had been filled with handsome, powerful men. All of them anxious for the opportunity to impress her. Whether it was to earn the right to breed with her. Or just to enjoy a few wicked nights of pleasure.
But she couldn’t recall ever feeling as if she’d just stepped off the edge of a cliff and was plummeting through thin air.
Was that why she couldn’t breathe?
More than a little disturbed by her unwelcome reaction, she warily studied the stranger.
He was handsome, but it wasn’t the polished elegance of her dancers.
The blue-black hair was cut short, as if he couldn’t be bothered to mess with it, but the severe style only emphasized the stark male beauty of his face. His skin was the rich bronze that came from Latin heat and his eyes more black than brown.
He was taller than her, perhaps six foot, but he was thick with muscles that rippled beneath the skintight black T-shirt that was matched with a pair of black combat pants.
Ruthless.
The word whispered through her mind at the same moment his potent heat wrapped around her, inflaming her blood with a pulsing awareness she hadn’t felt in decades.
“Good ... God,” she muttered.
Troy cleared his throat, doing a piss-poor job of hiding his amusement.
Jackass.
“Sophia, this is Luc. Luc, Sophia.” The imp waved a languid hand toward the massive Were. “Isn’t he just to die for?”
Sophia’s gaze clashed with the burning black gaze, her skin suddenly feeling too tight for her body.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
This Were was trouble with a capital T and the very last thing she needed.
Tilting her chin, she allowed her gaze to slowly skim over the body that begged to be licked from head to toe, deliberately allowing her lips to curl into a sneer.
Neanderthals like this were always hyperarrogant. An insult to his pride and he’d be out the door right quick and in a hurry.
“I asked for a bodyguard, not a stripper wannabe,” she mocked.