I grabbed a glass of champagne from one of the giant waiters and headed toward the back of the ballroom. The grand staircase was shaped like a T, and two hallways ran underneath either side of it and connected the ballroom to the other wings of the mansion. I strolled down the left hallway, peering into the rooms I passed. I couldn't very well kill Tobias Dawson on the ballroom floor, so I needed to find a more secluded spot I could lure the dwarf to before I stabbed him to death.
But the hallway wasn't as deserted as I'd hoped. I passed several couples standing against the walls or inside the interior rooms, just out of sight of the ballroom. Some talked softly. Others stared into each other's eyes and sipped champagne. A few necked. But at least one person in every couple wore a heart-and-arrow rune that marked him or her as a hooker from Northern Aggression.
One man wearing the rune necklace grimaced as his vampire paramour sank her fangs deep into his exposed throat. Her eager, sucking sounds reminded me of a kitten mewling. Another man, a dwarf, stood upright, his head tucked up underneath the dress and his face buried in the crotch of a giant woman wearing the rune necklace.
I didn't have to guess what he was doing with his tongue.
The giant had a decidedly bored look on her face. She cooed false encouragement to the dwarf, even as she examined her nails as if debating whether or not she needed a fresh manicure. The giant saw me staring. Her brown eyes landed on the rune necklace around my throat, and she shrugged as if to say, What can you do? I returned her shrug and walked on.
One thing I didn't see back here were any giant guards.
Mab Monroe probably didn't want her more amorous guests to feel like they were being watched. Having a giant loom over you would give just about anyone performance anxiety.
I came to a cross corridor and paused. To my left, another set of doors led out onto the terrace. Another hallway stretched out in front of me, while another one veered right, snaking back underneath the staircase. I turned right and walked deeper into the mansion. The partygoers hadn't gotten too serious about their sexual gymnastics just yet, so this area was deserted. I passed a couple of rooms, none concealed enough for my liking. It wouldn't do any good for me to kill Tobias Dawson and have someone find his body a minute later. I was going to need longer than that to slip out of the mansion after I'd done the job.
So I strolled through the rooms, sipped my champagne, and pretended to admire Mab Monroe's tasteful furnishings while I looked for a spot to stiff Dawson.
One thing actually did catch my interest - a series of rune paintings, not unlike the drawings I had propped up on the mantel in Fletcher Lane's den.
My eyes flicked over the runes mounted on the wall opposite the back of the staircase. A sunburst. A lit match. A teardrop-shaped flame licking at the paper it was on. The framed pieces all had to do with fire or heat in some way, and all were done in burnt siennas, bloody oranges, fiery yellows. It seemed Mab and I shared the same taste in something besides killing people. Weird. And disturbing.
As I stared at the paintings, an uneasy shiver tickled my spine like a cold finger. Something about the artwork resonated on a primal level with me. Here, something old and knowing whispered in the back of my mind. Here is your enemy.
Not an unusual thought for a Stone elemental to have while in the house of a Fire, or vice versa. Opposing elements just didn't mesh - and neither did their human counterparts. Air against Ice, Fire against Stone. An old, predictable story. I'd heard that voice, felt this unease, before in other places with other elementals. But never this intense.
Again, I wondered about Mab Monroe's name being in Fletcher's folder. I'd been blindfolded so I hadn't seen the bitch's face back then, only heard her cackling laughter as she tortured me. But it could have been Mab. Rumor put her current age at about forty-five. She would have had enough power, even seventeen years ago, to do all the horrible things that had taken place that night. But why?
Why had she murdered my mother, Eira, and my older sister, Annabella? Why had she wanted to kill me? Why had she demanded to know where my baby sister Bria was above all else? I just didn't understand why -
Footsteps whispered on the carpet off to my right, and a large, beefy hand clamped onto my ass and squeezed - hard.
"Hello there, sweetness," a male voice said. "If your front looks as tight as your ass, I'm in for a real good time tonight."
He put his other hand on my opposite shoulder and turned me around. I let him and plastered a smile on my face, my lips ready to form an excuse to get rid of the ogling bastard.
I found myself looking up at Jake McAllister. The Fire elemental had traded in his rock-star jeans and vintage T-shirt for a tuxedo. It didn't improve his looks. His body was still too beefy, his face still puffed out with baby fat.
He looked like an oversize kid playing dress-up in his daddy's clothes. But the important thing was that he was here and staring at me.
Of all the people I could have run into here tonight, the possibility one of them would be Jake McAllister had never crossed my mind. So much had been going on the past few days I'd relegated Jake and his threat to kill me to the back burner. But luck, that capricious bitch, had decided to f**k me over once again.
Jake frowned, as though he knew me from somewhere but just couldn't place me. Then, recognition dawned on his beefy face.
"You!" he hissed.
Jake McAllister stared at me. A cruel smile spread across his face, making his cheeks puff out that much more. "You shouldn't have come here tonight, bitch. Because we're on my side of town now, and I'm going to kill you." His brown eyes landed on the heart-and-arrow rune around my neck. "After I f**k you a couple of times."
I raised an eyebrow. "You want me? Come and get me, you bastard."
I slammed my fist into his windpipe. Jake's face went beet-red, and he struggled for air. While he was gasping for breath, I drove my other fist into his stomach.
First one, then the other. Thwack-thwack. Like kneading dough. He bent over, and I hurried away, moving deeper into the mansion.
My desire to find a quiet area to kill someone had just turned into a necessity. I had to finish Jake McAllister now. He was right. This was his turf, or at least Mab Monroe's turf, and I had no doubt the Fire elemental would let Jake do whatever he wanted to with me - if I didn't take care of him first before he could sound the alarm. My eyes swept back and forth over the open doors and rooms I passed. There. That would do.
I looked over my shoulder. Jake McAllister had struggled to his feet. I blew him a kiss. His face reddened, and he lumbered down the hallway in my direction. I stepped inside the room, found the spot I wanted, palmed one of my silverstone knives, and waited. Ten... twenty... thirty... I counted off the seconds in my head.