"I know what you meant," Anna replied.
    Surprisingly, the expression on Fang's face turned instantly contrite when he saw the change in Price. Even if he couldn't quite identify that change and didn't realize what it meant, he wasn't so dense that he didn't recognize that the guy looked waaaaay too upset for a simple dirty joke. "Sorry, man. We will take care of her. Like, really."
    Nona waved her hand at Price in what might have been a salute. "Believe me, after the night we've had, if a mouse farts, I'm calling Gift." She thought about that, and seemed to come to conclusion that Gift would not appreciate such a call, so she amended, "If that mouse happens to sound threatening. Please, Mr. Kee. I do know how to do my job."
    She didn't bother to point out that protecting his girlfriend actually wasn't part of her job. She supposed it was, now.

    "The blender is a tough one," Gamble agreed, straight-faced.
    "The oven and I have a long-standin' and lovin' arangement," he continued, although now their was a twinkle in his eyes. "Now scat, out of my kitchen. I'll bring you some cookies when they're done." He made a shooing motion. "If you've resorted to conjurin' and the dark arts in order to turn on my oven, I don't want to see how you'll try to crack half a dozen eggs."

    "Or so you would have everyone believe," Ai replied fondly. "You sly old dog. I almost do believe it. They are /awfully/ pretty."
    Of course, the intelligent and occasionally ruthless mind behind them probably had more to do with it.

    "Once," Darshan said gravely. "On the advice of some highly dubious frogs. If that was an improvement, then I have no idea how the beverage has remained popular for so man thousands of years."
    He hiccuped. The counter above him burst into crackling black flames. They lit the kitchen in a cold light before going out a moment later, leaving the smell of scorched formica in their wake.

    The lolling of C.J.'s head made Sahar a little dizzy, so she leaned on the counter a little bit more heavily. That helped. With her quest to stay upright, not with the dizziness, but the spinning of the room was actually remarkably pleasant if she just sat back and enjoyed it.
    "I do like a man who takes his time," she slurred lazily. "Go get 'im, tiger."

    "Vodka tonic," Irene told the bartender, after an inperceptable pause while she considered what the character she was playing would be stuck drinking for the rest of her stay. Few people varied their drinks as much as she did, being, as they were, creatures of habit.

    When Galen mentioned room service, for just a moment, Keller felt a wave of weariness shoot through her. At this very minute, she really just wanted to curl up on the big bed and go to sleep. But she was practical also, and perhaps picking up on her soulmate's thoughts, because she nodded slowly. "Yes, let's get some food up here." It was another one of those instances when she just knew she'd better eat while she had the chance. Food was not high on the priority list when things got dirty.

    Price didn't reply to Anna and just gave Fang's rewording a short nod. Another one to Nona, and he had nothing else to say. His eyes lingered on Anna as he leaned back, then gently closed the door behind her. He continued watching the limo as it pulled back into traffic. All the way until it disappeared. Then he turned and went back into the building.

    "But not the toughest," Julianna said in a sing-song voice, eyes skipping over his kitchen, as if she knew the toughest one was hiding somewhere.
    The cracking of the eggs made her giggle helplessly and she reached over to kiss the corner of his mouth. "Fine, I know when I'm not wanted," she said dramatically. "No denting the walls with chocolate chips for me! Come on Cujo."
    The dog whuffed and was only all too pleased to follow her out of the kitchen.

    Patrick laughed again and admitted, "They do come in handy." He turned just slightly, giving her the full piercing attention of his baby blues. His voice lowered, becoming hypnotic, with that rough edge of seduction. "It's amazing what people will do when I talk to them like this."

    For a minute, Gift stared at Darshan. Then she burst into laughter, soggy and gasping. "You...drank a...Budwieser!? From watching those stupid commercials??"
    Christian was chortling but at least /he/ noticed when the flames started. Gift was too far gone, laughing like the hyena who owned the house they were slowly, rather, destroying. "That smells," the vampire grumbled, waving a hand in front of his face.

    The tattooist looked at Sahar and snorted. "We'll see if we get to you."
    "Maybe ya'd better g'headwith her cuz I'mnotsureIcan move," C.J. slurred, her words starting to sound rather undistinct. Her head lolled a little more.
    "Pussy!" Queenie yelled in a taunting voice. "You're just using this as an excuse 'cause you're scaredy!"
    "'Scuseme, I never!" C.J. yelled back, and somehow managed to...kind of...surge to her feet. The man reached out, catching her arm to keep her from tumbling back down. He was grinning. He was having fun.
    "Okay, let's go," he said, half tugging and half leading the tiger back.
    She was humming the Batman theme again when he closed the curtain.
    Queenie looked over at Sahar. "How ya doin', lil cub??"

    The bartender whipped up their drinks and handed them over. Blaise took a dainty, appreciative sip and sighed. Her eyes were speculative as she twirled the speared olives around in the liquid. "Do you think it's a wise idea, to keep these humans??" she asked idly.

    "You go ahead and relax," Galen said, perhaps picking up on her weariness a little. "I'll order and deal with the delivery. Do you want anything in particular, or should I just go with healthy and energy boosting?" Which meant meat, with an emphasis on things like liver and sausage, both of which contained the more internal parts of an animal.

    When Christian had left her, Sonya had every intetion of remaining safely and quietly indoors for the rest of the evening. She would watch some TV, clean her weapons, snoop around Christian's house, whatever. She had forgotten just how freaking boring it could be to sit around when not in the mood to do so. After the activity of earlier that evening, she was in no mood to remain quiet and contained.
    So she had gone hunting. She had tracked her prey through half the city, until the trill of the chase and the scent of their fear had filled her head and her heart with their song. When she was done, she had gotten rid of the evidence, hidden it so methodically and completely that neither human authorities nor Daybreak busybodies would realize anything was amiss.
    As if that thought had summoned him, she /recognized/ the young vampire walking back into the building she was passing. Black hair and gray eyes, a scent just familiar enough to catch her attention. It still took her a moment to place him, past her fight with Jayden, her defection, and the moment that she had almost drawn down on Christian. One little boy vampire just wasn't that important, compared to all that, but...
    Something to do with... his phone.
    She caught the door before it could swing closed completely, spurred on by the fact that she really didn't have anything else to do until Christian returned from... whatever he was doing. "You look like someone ate your dog, Mr. Kee." Ah, yes, that was his name.

    The corner of Gamble's mouth that Julianna had kissed curved upwards without any conscious thought or effort on his part. "That's right, woman. It's time that you learn your place. In this house, the menfolk do the cookin' and the cleanin', and the women sit on the couch and watch sports and guzzle beer. Scat."
    She left the kitchen with her new companion at her heels, and he turned his attention to the very important, manly business of baking cookies.

    Ai was over a hundred years old. She had been a whore for some of that time, and a glorified courtesan for much of the rest of it. Patrick acting the seducer still made her heart rate pick up just a touch, and it also made her laugh, which was more than most men managed to do in an entire evening, much less in the space of a minute. "Patrick, you could probably get /me/ to crawl into your lap if you talked like that," she told him blandly, "I daren't think what happens to a poor, innocent civilian when you pull out all your tricks. You're a public menace, love. You should come with a warning label stamped across your very attractive posterior."
    She had no problem giving the man his due. That was what friends were for.

    "Doesn't smell as much as the Budweiser did," was all Darshan had to say, slow and considering.
    Then, in a softer voice, "Stupid frogs."

    "Mmmgood," Sahar mumbled to the tattooist, when he expressed his doubts about getting to her. Since she seemed to have lost the ability to properly ennunciate her words, 'good' might have been a slight exaggeration.
    She sort of rolled her eyes towards Queenie at the other woman's question, since it made the room spin less if she didn't move her entire head. "Vertical," she said. At least, she was pretty sure that was the case. She didn't want to move her head in order to check.
    "How's you?" she asked as an afterthough.

    Irene took a sip of her drink as she considered Blaise's question. Dangerous ground, that. An answer of 'yes' could burn her in the future, but an answer of 'no' might help to seal the human's fate in a less than pleasant way. She wasn't ready to do that, yet -- although she would, if she had to.
    "It's not a bad idea," she said, with a shrug. "I suppose that only time will tell if it's a wise one."

    Keller took another slow breath then gave a short nod. "Healthy and energy boosting. Probably nothing too heavy though, since we'll likely be going to bed right after." And even shifters going to bed on full stomachs could lead to painful, if short, stomach aches.

    Price was so very focused on his inner thoughts that he didn't even sense the person behind him. Which, in retrospect, was not a good thing at all, considering what had recently happened and what he was thinking of doing.
    The words caused him to pause for a moment, in the midst of pushing the elevator button, before he finished the motion. Then he turned his head, looking over his shoulder at the woman in the doorway. He recognized her but hell if he could place her. "Not my dog. And what business is it of yours, ma'am??"

    "Oh goody, I get to the be the one with a beer gut in this house," Julianna crowed with unabashed glee. She actually did like some sports too. Maybe this was a good idea after all.
    Even though, she bypassed the television when she got into the living room. Cujo stayed on her heels as she went to the window, gazing out into the still-raining night. The glass felt shockingly cold against her palm when she touched it; she'd almost forgotten it was actually winter here. Weather was weird in Las Vegas.
    Her hand dropped then and she started scratching Cujo's head, gazing absently out into the darkness.

    Patrick laughed, a loud rumble in the dim setting. "Now now, luv, dun ya be tryin' tae butter me up. Yer still gettin' yer fussin' all in good time." Blue eyes twinkled at her. "An' if the label was jus' on ma posterior, no' ever'body would see it. Better tae 'ave it right 'ere." He ran one thumb enticingly over his bottom lip, eyes now smoldering just faintly.

    Gift was still laughing, almost cackling, almost slapping her hand on the burnt floor, so Christian rolled his eyes at Darshan again. "You can't base modern beers on Budwieser. Or Miller. Or Coors. You have to try real beer. I'll get you some tomorrow."
    "Frogs," Gift chortled, a lone tear escaping the corner of her eye.

    Queenie squinted a little at the other lioness. The pain of having a needle jabbed through her skin had gone a little way to sobering her up, and considering she didn't think she'd gone as far as her fellow cats anyway, she was feeling pretty good about herself. "Honey-cat, I don't think you're vertical."
    Her head drooped, long blond hair almost touching the bottom of her dress where it was still rolled up. Oops. Forgot about that. Eyes studied her navel, which was a disturbed red looking color and just slightly swollen. But the diamond did twinkle quite fetchingly. "I think Wes is gonna like this," she said, with happy satisfaction.

    Blaise made a speculative sound before lifting the speared olives and taking one from the stick with her teeth. "It seems a little like poking a lion with a stick. Granted, the lion is rather slow and lazy and perhaps inept right now, but it seems a little ridiculous to get it riled up over something so small." She shrugged lightly and took another olive.

    Galen nodded quickly, and crossed the room to the phone once again, picking up the now-familiar device. Dialing room service didn't require that much effort; just the pushing of a couple buttons and a few moments of waiting while he was connected. He flipped through the menu sitting on the bedside table while he waited, and by the time that someone picked up, he was ready to order.
    "Food is on its way," he said, hanging up the phone.

    "It's not my business, I suppose. Can't a passerby show concern for one of her fellow non-human beings?" Sonya asked. She didn't really sound concerned, though. At best, her voice held the faintest trace of idle curiosity, like some bored onlooker craning their neck to take a better look at the car wreck on the side of the road. "I thought you Daybreakers were all about that."
    She leaned forward a little, her nostrils flaring ever so slightly to catch the faint blood scent on him. "You're right, though. Something is dead, but it's not your dog."

    A wry snort was Gamble's only response to that; with their physiology, it was unlikely that any amount of food or drink would result in a gut.
    He moved efficiently around the kitchen, with economy and grace that would have been more at home on the battlefield. It wasn't long before he had the batter mixed and two sheets filled with globs of dough deposited safely in the oven, where they probably wouldn't explode. He set the timer and went to join Julianna in the living room.
    "Still comin' down out there?"

    "Now, now. You can't accuse me of trying to butter you up if the flattery is sincerely meant," Ai said lightly. A spark of easy enjoyment flared and settled in her gaze, and she tilted her head in mock contemplation, one pale finger reaching out to follow the path of his thumb across his lower lip.
    "I don't know. It seems a shame to put anything as loud and distracting as a sign on your face." She let her hand drop so that her palm was resting on his chest. "Maybe somewhere in between? It's about eye level for most people."

    "Real beer," Darshan mumbled. "Alright. I will probably be able to use some... what is it... hair of the dog that bit me." Momentary confusion showed on his face. "Although I can't imagine why a dog would be so unwise as to bite me. I would bite it back."
    As if to prove his point, Darshan's jaw suddenly protruded as it shifted to accomodate a few dozen razor sharp teeth. He frowned (an interesting sight to see, with what amounted to a muzzle where his mouth ought to be), and protruding jaw and teeth both disappeared back into his face.
    Then he belched, and the clock on the wall gave a piteous whine before it started to run backwards.

    Sahar finally summoned up the courage to look down. It wasn't as bad as she thought it would be. Instead of spinning, the floor tilted back and forth, like a sea-saw. Elbows on the counter... check. Feet on the ground... check. Butt above the ground... check. "I am too," she protested. "Kind of."
    She sighed and pouted a little at Queenie's words. "Wes will like it, so you two will have noisy sex while I'm all sad and lonely and... sexless. Being an indoor kitty sucks." Maybe it wasn't too late to go back and get that stripper kitty... but Mace probably wouldn't accept 'he followed me home!' as an excuse for why she wanted to keep him.
    The pout deepened.

    Another shrug, another lazy sip of her vodka tonic. "I see neither the point nor the harm," Irene said. "If you're planning to shoot the lion, there's really no problem with giving it a good poke beforehand... but at the same time, why poke it when you're planning to shoot it, anyway? That being the case, it will probably keep the more... distractable... members of our merry party occupied in a fairly innocuous manner." She cast the other woman a sideways glance. "You could always raise an objection if it concerns you, though."

    By the time Galen had hung up the phone, Keller had slid between the cool sheets of their bed, letting her semi-dry head rest on the blissfully poofed pillow. His report made her smile faintly, as she'd only realized how tired she was when she laid down. It was hard sometimes, this growing old business. Used to be, she could go all night with only a few energy drinks along the way. Now she felt like she could barely keep her eyes open.
    "I will try to be awake when it gets here," she said with complete honesty.

    Price's shoulders tensed again, spine stiffening, and his eyes narrowed just slightly. "How did you know I'm a Daybreaker??" His mind was trying to throw pictures at him, past the scene permanently burned just behind his eyeballs. Something from earlier that day, when he'd first seen two dragons fighting.
    He didn't consciously lean back when she leaned forward, but there it was. The elevator dinged behind him as she spoke but he didn't notice. That insurmountable rage flared through his black eyes again, nearly overwhelming everything he thought of himself. "No, it's not my dog. And /that/ is so seriously not your business. I don't believe you belong in this building. What are you doing here??"

    Cujo looked back over his shoulder when Gamble came into the room, the look on his expressive face not entirely approving. He was clearly getting very possessive of his new mistress.
    The look on Julianna's face was much more warm and welcoming when she looked back as well. "Yeah. It hasn't gotten worse but it isn't letting up either. I wonder if it's going to give us some snow tonight."

    "Well, in tha' case, continue," Patrick said with a careless wave of his hand. His eyes were still sparkling and he topped up their glasses again. Wine sure did make everything better.
    Lashes swept down and stayed at half-mast when Ai's finger traced his mouth. Women were so great, each and every one of them. "Though with it on ma face, maybe I would get more attention too," he pointed out, lips quirking into another smile.
    The touch of her hand on his chest made the smile widen a bit, and he rested his hand atop hers, lowering it just enough so her heel lightly brushed the beginning of his stomach. "I've 'eard good things about ma abs," he said quite modestly. "If an'where, maybe there??"

    "I think the dog that bit you was actually, uh," Christian tried to find the vast array of bottles that had gotten all three of them on the floor, "what was it, whiskey?? Or rum. It could've been rum."
    Almost choking on another giggle, Gift shook her head at Darshan. "You wouldn't bite the dog, you would eat it," she said, voice a little gaspy. "You'd maybe mean to bite it, but your mouth is too big." She watched the transformation of his face with fascinated eyes, lips slightly parted. Then she waved a hand in a "see what I mean" gesture. "Like so."
    Christian had to nod his head in agreement, though the whine made his eyes turn to the clock. Expression turning to one of abject dismay, he watched the hands starting to rewind. "Noooooo. Stop it Darshan. I'm not going through that day again."
    Gift, in perfect agreement, threw something at the clock. It almost reached it, but instead smashed into the wall. Wonder what it was.

    Queenie blinked, then giggled a little when she realized her head was resting on her shoulder. "Oh." With only a little effort, she straightened her head and cleared her throat. "Oh. Yeah, you are, aren't you. Congrats."
    Gold eyes swept into a slow, lazy blink as Queenie stared at the other cat. "An indoor kitty with no sex. That's sad. Oh wait. Mace is also sexless! You should just go climb into his bed. It's not like he'd kick you out. He'd be dumb too." She nodded, quite wisely, and glanced sideways when a muffled whine came from behind a curtain.

    Blaise considered that for a moment, then ate her last olive with a shrug. "You have a point. I think some of our comrades need the distraction more than anything else." Like her poor drunken cousin. If a human ballet dancer could keep Ash off the bottle for a while, all the better.
    Giving another slight shrug, she took a sweet sip from her glass.

    Galen's usually gentle expression softened even further when he looked at his soulmate, some of his own exhaustion fading. "Close your eyes," he said, reaching out to touch her damp hair where it rested on the hotel's finely woven pillow case. "I'll wake you when it gets here. You've had a longer day than I have."
    He probably wouldn't even have to wake her. He knew his Keller; with her instincts, the slightest hint of movement, much less room service knocking, would probably pull her from sleep.

    "Is anyone in this city /not/ a Daybreaker?" Sonya muttered, with the slightest hint of distaste. Las Vegas was hot, bright, gaudy, and filled with Daybreakers. None of these things particularly endeared it to her.
    She watched as the rage flooded his eyes, her own expression impassive. "Careful, boy," she murmured. "I'm not your enemy... anymore... and you don't want to make one of me."
    Another half-remembered fact wormed its way into his head. The little vampire was one of Gift's, wasn't he? She had been there, at least, when Sonya had last seen him. Pushing him past his obviously tenuous endurance probably wouldn't please the assassin. And Christian probably wouldn't be pleased if Gift wasn't pleased.
    Having friends was hard.
    But still... wasn't this interesting? It might bear further looking into.
    "As it so happens, you're right. I don't belong here." She cast a glance around the building's lobby, jerked her thumb towards the elevator to show him that it had arrived, and stepped back towards the door. She kept her face to him as she left. He was just a puppy, but he was angry, and she wasn't stupid.

    Damn, but Gamble couldn't remember that dog ever being so possessive of him. Obviously, Cujo had been the right choice for Julianna. He still standing next to her, stiff and attentive, even though the rest of the dogs were lazing about the living room after their meal, the great dane's rumbling snores accompanied by the whispy sighs of a particularly ugly mutt.
    "We don't usually get snow 'round here," he told her, "although it's been known to happen. Usually you have to go further up north for that. Around Tahoe. It's awful cold, though. We might have a white Solstice yet."

    "A sign on your face attracts the wrong kind of attention," Ai remarked, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "I think you'd rather be noticed for your bright blue eyes than a bright orange hazard sign."
    When he guided her hand down to the top of his stomach, she tilted her head back, not really looking at him, but considering. She slid her hand out from under his, sure fingers tracing the well-defined lines of his abs beneath his shirt, from top to bottom and then back again. "Well, the things you've heard seem to be accurate. But usually your abs are all covered up. The average person might not understand what we're warning them about."

    Rum or whiskey? "I think it was both," Darshan said, a little blankly. "As well as a fair amount of tequila. Maybe some vodka."
    He reached a hand up to touch his now-human mouth, and nodded a vague agreement. "Poor dog," he said, but not like he really meant it. More like he had already decided that the dog would be a tasty treat, but wasn't going to bother because the hair would get caught between his teeth.
    Gift's failed attempt at killing the clock made him blink. "I think there was still liquor in that bottle," he protested. He very pointedly reached for the bottle beside him, and flung it at the unruly clock. He was proud to note that his aim was much better. Unfortunately, the bottle was accompanied by a bolt of dark power that blew a hole in the wall where the clock had once been and left the pipes inside exposed and... sizzling... slightly.

    "Thank you," Sahar said, and beamed, obviously proud of the fact that she was still upright.
    She tilted her head and wiggled her hips a little, obviously trying out the thought of climbing into Mace's bed. Hmm, maybe. He was kind of a sexy bastard, in his own little grumpy megalomaniac king-of-the-castle sort of way.
    Then she got distracted by the rest of what Queenie had said. "He'd be dumb to kick me out of bed?" She sniffed. "Aww. That's so sweet of you to say."
    'Say' sounded remarkably like 'shhhay,' but it got her point across just fine.

    "Yes, that was basically the entirety of my point," Irene agreed, a tough dryly. She swirled around the dregs of her drink in her glass, and eyed them dubiously. "On that note, I believe that I will retire. My drink is gone and the morning will no doubt come abhorrently early."

    Keller chuckled softly, eyes already dipping closed. "I don't think it was that much longer than yours," she felt compelled to point out. Just thinking tomorrow was going to be even longer made her sigh deeply, but her muscles started relaxing. Either because of or in spite of her cat nature, sleep was sounding a lot nicer than food.

    "Actually, yes," Price said, his voice coldly remote. He could name quite a few people who weren't Daybreakers, and one more, though he had been a Daybreaker until recently.
    A wealth of grief flashed through his eyes before the rage overtook everything. It sizzled his nerves, made everything sharper and clearer. He could hear the furious pounding of his heart and almost didn't hear the soft words from the woman. She wasn't his enemy...anymore??
    Hands balled into tight fists at his side, relaxed, tensed, relaxed, tensed. He watched as she started to back out the door and didn't put out a hand when the elevator started closing behind him. "You were there earlier," he finally said, recalling where he'd recognized her from. "Gift knew you. Why are you not my enemy 'anymore'??"

    "That would be nice," Julianna had to admit with a smile. It had been a while since she'd had Christmas in her hometown, and it was /always/ white up there. "Though with the weather like it is, and not likely to get any better, it's not like the snow would stay anyway."
    She scritched Cujo's ears one more time before turning fully to face Gamble. A teasing light lit up her eyes as her hands went to her hips. "And where are my cookies, exactly?? How long does it take to get some service around here??"

    "Blue an' orange dun clash as much as some colors," Patrick pointed out reasonably, smiling. "Especially wit' ma pale skin, it might look quite fetchin'." Or...not.
    Eyes went heavy-lidded again, unabashed pleasure curling his mouth at the feel of dainty fingers through his shirt. "Glad ya think so, luv. But yer right as well. If I put a sign right there, people are obviously gonna take it the wrong way and imagine it's there fer somethin' lower." Sexuality had sure gotten a few boosts in the last couple of centuries.

    "Gin," Gift added with a knowing nod. They were not picky when it came to liquor, it would seem.
    "Depends what dog," Christian pointed out to the dragon. "A nice big Rottweiler or Great Dane, yes, poor dog. A little Shit Zoo or Yorkie, not so much. Eat away."
    "I bet those things taste stringy," Gift murmured, flexing her hands against the scorched floor. Just preparing for the hurling of the bottle, and she gave a disgruntled look to Darshan when he mentioned the possibility of more liquor in that particular bottle. "It's not like you will be consuming anymore liquor tonight, anyway, my fine dragon friend. You've still got to make it all the way upstairs and I don't think more liquor is going to help that journey."
    Christian let out a laughing groan, as he was reminded he still had a much longer journey until he got to lay down somewhere. His brows rose as he looked at the newly acquired hole in the wall. "Didn't they just finish patching up holes in this house??"

    Queenie nodded knowingly, absently tapping her fingertips over her swollen belly. "Mace hasn't gotten the sex in far too long; he's usually so much not so up-tight. I think it'll be good for both of you." And funny afterwards. Probably loud during too. Hmmm.
    Another muffled yelp came from behind a curtain and Queenie giggled.

    Blaise took another sip from her martini and nodded casually at Irene. "That I don't doubt. Goodnight." Clearly with no intention of leaving herself anytime soon, she gestured for another drink.

    "Not much," Galen agreed, "But enough. Sleep." He brushed a hand over her hair, then retreated to the desk in one corner of the room. Since the trip to the hotel hadn't been planned, there was nothing in the room to occupy his mind, no work to do or books to read. For lack of something better, he unearthed the ubiquitous copy of Gideon's Bible, and began to thumb through it.
    He avoided Revelations. It brought back too many bad memories.

    "And I know Gift," Sonya said, bored, and not bothering to hide it. He was sort of adorable in his anger, like a yapping puppy trying to convince a bigger dog that he was fearsome but, like the puppy, he wasn't very bright, and her interest was waning. "I'm not your enemy anymore because I decided not to be." It was beneath her dignity to say 'duh,' so the word hung there between them, unspoken but obvious.
    She paused by the door, leaning her elbows against it but not stepping outside yet.

    "Maybe get one of 'em covens to blow up a storm," Gamble said gamely, but not seriously, because no witch worth her mettle would do something like conjure a storm without so much as a halfway decent reason. Of course, he thought that 'for Julianna's entertainment and contentment' was a pretty damn compelling reason, but he didn't think that either Circle Daybreak or their few, darker sisters would see it the same way.
    "Do I look like a maid, darlin'?" he asked, grinning. "Although I do think I would look fetchin' with a feather duster. Your cookies will be ready soon; hold your horses."

    "Or it might make you look like a particularly tacky Broncos fan," Ai remarked.
    "Lower?" she said, letting her hand slide down to rest on Patrick's thigh. She wasn't about to cop a feel in public, or at least not more of one than she already had. There had been a time when such things were her daily bread and butter -- literally -- but times had changed, and harmless flirting with a longtime friend was a lot less demanding and a lot more entertaining. "Patrick, if we put a warning sign there, it would have to be accompanied by flashing neon lights and possibly a siren. It would begin to irritate you after the novelty wore off, and people /still/ wouldn't pay it any mind. Besides, Las Vegas has enough glitz and glitter without us attaching a billboard to the front of your trousers. No, I think we're back where we started. The general public will just have to remain unwarned about what a hazard you are."

    "Why does Mace have so much variety in his liquor cabinet?" Darshan asked, with the ponderous air of someone posing a great philosophical question.
    "A Rottweiler or a Great Dane would be more expedient, though," he protested. "I might actually get a full meal out of it. Those little barking poodle... things... are barely a mouthful. Generally, though," he said, watching as the linoleum floor slid around most ominously beneath him, "I prefer game to domestic animals. Tastier, and no one starts to wonder why Snookums and Poochy have gone missing." He nodded, pleased with how well he had thought things through, and was annoyed to note that the floor's motions worsened when his head moved. The floor did not seem impressed with his displeasure, and he began to ponder what kind of Dire Consequences he could unleash upon it for its disobedience.
    Then he realized that he was contemplating smiting the floor, and paused.
    "I may be a bit inebriated," he said.
    At Gift's reminder that he still needed to make it upstairs, he just grunted, and refrained from pointing out that both she and Christian had a much further distance to travel than he did.
    "There's still a hole," he muttered, one of his hands jerking upwards in a halfhearted attempt to point to the hole above them, where the roof of the house had been patched, but roof of the kitchen had not. "We're just keeping Mace's contractors employed a while longer."

    "Exshac...Ehsha...Eshatily..."
    Sahar gave up, and rephrased her question. "How long is too long?" Long-enough-that-things-are-all-pent-up-and-sexy was fine by her book, but shortly following that came so-long-that-the-mad-skilz-have-gotten-rusty, too-long-to-last-long and, even worse, very-very-very-long-and-soppily-grateful-that-he-finally-got-laid. The last three options were just not appealing, even if sex did get Mace to unbend a bit.
    Mmm. Mace unbent. Mace bent. Mace bending her over the...
    Sahar's train of thought, already on rickety tracks to begin with, careened off into the abyss of the gutter, and showed no sign of returning.

    Keller smiled when Galen touched her hair, eyes dipping closed again. She took a slow breath and turned on her side, watching as her soulmate sat and pulled out a book to read. It was with that sight in her eyes that she drifted off to sleep, and it was with a smile curving the corners of her mouth.

    Eyes clenched again into fists at his sides, so tight his knuckles were white and his nails were digging into his palms, Price watched the woman pause by the door. She knew Gift and had stopped him from getting involved in a dragon fight earlier that day. She might know something about what he wanted.
    But that was a problem. He didn’t know who he was looking for. A man. A man capable of doing horrible, horrible things to people who didn’t deserve them. Those were a dime a dozen in Vegas.
    A man who was also planning to attack those close to him. Which meant he could either stick to the sides of his friends and Anna, waiting for the next attack, or he could get Gift to issue bodyguards.
    Or…he could use one of them as bait.
    Something tightened in his face, something despairing and perhaps just a tad crazy flashing through his eyes. In the few seconds it had taken those thoughts to chase through his mind, his nails had pierced the skin of his palms, and a drop of blood dripped to the floor beside him.
    “Is there anything else I can do for you??” he asked the woman, whose name he could not recall, as she hung by the door watching him. By the look in her eye, he figured he could probably use a few things from her, but he could likely get them more easily from Gift.

    Julianna laughed at Gamble’s suggestion, imagining what Rye would say if she asked for a snow storm. Rye wasn’t much into the weather scene, but she knew the witch probably knew those who could do it. She just wasn’t entirely sure which expression would be on her face when Julianna asked.
    “I think I’ll be okay with the rain,” she assured her boyfriend with another giggle. “Poor rain is underrated.”
    Her eyes ran contemplatively over him, another giggle trying to escape from her at the picture of him with a feather duster. “Oh honey, you would look quite fetchin’ with a duster. And a French maid’s hat. Not the whole outfit, just the hat.” She smiled sweetly, then snapped her finger with mock-emergency. “I demand a cookie /now/, my dear.” And she promptly held out her hand with a twinkle in her eye.

    A little twitch of distaste touched Patrick’s mouth, though laughter still simmered in his eyes. “And we mus’ not’ let tha gen’ral public believe /tha’/.”
    The idea of neon lights, a siren, and a warning sign where none of those things should be made Patrick chuckle deeply. And the feel of Ai’s hand on his thigh made him feel content, as only females could. “I think ye might be right,” he finally had to agree. “Some things should jus’ be a surprise fer those lucky enough tae experience it.” With a fully modest smile again, of course.

    “You’ve seen what other kinds of variety Mace likes, why do you think he would accept anything else in his liquor??” Gift inquired idly, because it was well known that Mace couldn’t live without variety. Of every kind.
    His minor speech on game versus domestic pets caused both Gift and Christian to look at him. Christian didn’t really have anything to add, since he preferred his prey to be of the two-legged form, but Gift nodded slowly. “Plus there’s more of a chase involved in game,” she agreed, licking numb lips.
    Christian grinned at Darshan’s observation. “Darshan, I think you’re way beyond ‘a bit” inebriated. You fell on the floor.”
    “Now that’s the pot calling the kettle black,” Gift felt inclined to point out, and Christian nodded agreeably.
    Gift continued to look at the hole she’d caused in Mace’s wall, just a little dismayed at it. Christian frowned mildly at the hole in the ceiling. “Wasn’t that someone’s bedroom??”

    Queenie looked at Sahar for a second, as if waiting for the question to fully sink in. Then she grinned. “Oh come on sugar bun, ‘long’ for usssss and ‘long’ for Mace are completely diff-ir-ent things.” Some words seemed to take longer than others to say, huh. “Like a month?? Month and a half, tops. He’d die without s-e-x if it’s longer than that.” She put a finger over her mouth in a “sssshhhh” motion and winked at the little lion.
    And then the curtain parted and C.J. stumbled out, a little pout on her mouth and her eyes opened just the tiniest possible slit to allow her to walk. “Ow,” she said sulkily, shamelessly reaching up to rub her boobs where they clearly tingled a little bit.
    Queenie giggled and the tattooist came out after the tiger, raising brows at Sahar. “Next??”

    "Anything else?" Sonya wondered, tracking the descent of the droplet of blood as it slid from his hand to the floor. "I don't recall you doing anything for me in the first place." Unless she was going to count him barely restraining his temper as a favor to her, which she wasn't.
    She watched him with closed, dark eyes, not yet leaving her post beside the door. The careful neutrality in her voice was almost gentle, for her, without its usual sharp edges. "Perhaps I can do something for you, though. What has you so jumpy, Kee? Why is a peace-loving Daybreaker suddenly so stupidly willing to pick fights with strangers? You people have a lot of bottled up righteousness, I know, but usually it's a bit more focused."
    It was unclear, even to Sonya, what had prompted the offer. Perhaps it was boredom. Now that she had slipped Blaire's leash, she had nothing to do but keep herself and Christian alive and, while that could potentially be challenging, it would grow old quickly. She needed somewhere to direct her own focus. A job.

    "Poor rain in underrated 'cause snow is much more fun. I mean, snowball fights, sledding, snow angels. Y'know what you get if you try to do all that in the rain? Mud right up your..." Gamble glanced quickly at her. "...nose."
    "Maybe the apron, too?" he asked, with a grin. He was secure enough in his manhood that he didn't mind suggesting to his girl that they get him some nice frills, if that was what pleased her. Although he had never gotten the whole French Maid thing. Not his cup of tea. He did have a few fantasies about Julianna and the Emma Peel bodysuit, most likely stemming from when it had first dawned on him that he was dating a super spy.
    He placed a kiss on her nose, and retreated to the kitchen.
    "Demandin' girl."

    "You paragon of modesty," Ai said, with a flashing smile. She didn't really mean it, since he was pretty great, and she didn't see the point of encouraging false modesty.
    She glanced at her watch, and grimaced. "I should get going. I have an early morning, and I still haven't eaten."

    "Just because he's appreciative of variety in some places," such as the bedroom, "doesn't mean he enjoys it in others," such as the kitchen. Darshan felt the need to point this out, until he really thought about it. "Actually, he probably has variety in the kitchen, too," he muttered to himself. "But not the liquor cabinet. You can't do that sort of thing inside a cabinet. Wouldn't fit."
    That seemed logical.
    He let his head roll back so he could contemplate the hole in the ceiling. "Mm-hmm. If you squint, you can see what's left of headboard for the bed." He pointed.
    Sawdust rained down on them as the headboard vaporized. Darshan sneezed.

    "A month?" Sahar said. She looked horrified -- it seemed that a month was long for Sahar, too. "That's so sad. You're right. I'll have to find some way to fix that."
    When C.J. came stumbling out, Sahar pushed herself upright. "I'll go next!" she said, and managed to stumble across the parlor and remain vertical long enough to end up in the chair.
    There were a few moments of quiet conference behind the curtain before the whir of the tattoo machine started.
    "Mother fuck!" Sahar yelped.
    She was mostly silent for the rest of it, although the occasional growl or whimper would rise above the sound of the machine. When she finally emerged, she looked a bit more sober, there was the lump of a bandage beneath her dress, and a distinct pout on her lips.
    "So," she said, "apparently booze makes you bleed more."
    Not that it really mattered. The needle hadn't contained silver, so she would be healed by the time they arrived home, the tattoo as neat and clean as if she had gotten it weeks ago, not minutes. It still hurt /now/, even if the endorphins were making her pleasantly woozy, and Sahar was all about living in the present.

    The corner of Price's eye twitched at the woman's words and he gave a movement of his shoulders that was too slight to be termed a shrug, before turning to the elevator. He had to think.
    His finger was reaching to truly stab the elevator button when her voice rang behind him again. Interfering woman. He didn't think it was any of her business and he felt another flash of intense rage. Unable to think of anything except what he was going to do to this guy once he found him, for what he'd done to Jon, for what he'd threatened to do to his other friends, to Anna...
    Price inhaled slowly, releasing a shaky breath. He needed all of the help he could get right now, just to fucking FIND this man. So, start with what he had.
    Turning, he regarded the woman with dead eyes. "Someone killed one of my Daybreaker friends. Mutilated him. And made it seem like my friend enjoyed it while it happened." Hand clenched again, and a few more drops of blood dripped to the floor. "Do you have ANY idea of who could possibly do that?? I don't care if it's far-fetched or just a tiny little idea; I want names."

    An explosion of laughter rocked Julianna's body when Gamble glanced at her and quickly changed what he was going to say. "You're so sweet," she giggled, having to wipe away a tear or two. "But yes, rain is underappreciated. Though I've gotta tell you, I think I'd rather dance in the rain than the snow."
    Her eyes ran contemplatively over him again, a smile still twitching her mouth. "No, I think the apron would be too much again. Just the hat, and the duster. And you have to stand like so when you go dusting." She put one hand on her hip, cocked it out a little and another angled up with the duster and proceeded to prance around a bit. In true French maid fashion. A smile teasing her lips, she glanced playfully over her shoulder at him. "See how that's done??"
    Then he kissed her nose and turned and she immediately followed. "Hey, I may be demandin'," she agreed with a grin, "but I make up for it. Right??"

    Patrick chuckled at her description of him, not even needing to name it false for them to both know it was. He wasn't arrogant, but he was confident.
    Casting a brief glance at his watch, he reluctantly agreed, "It is gettin' late, luv. D'ya want me tae escort ye an'where??" His blue eyes were inquisitive as he pulled out his wallet. The tab had been discreetly placed at his elbow and he put some sort of gold card on it, and it was just as discreetly swept away.

    Christian let out a soft burp as Gift smirked. "Mace would find ways to make it fit," she said very precisely, surprised but pleased that no helpful image came to mind with those words. Good.
    "I'm going to have to meet Mace in a more social way, what with all of these words about him," Christian felt compelled to mentioned, more in a contemplative way he'd forget about the following morning.
    Both of them watched Darshan point, and watched the fall of sawdust like brown snow. Neither of them knew what to say for a moment, blinking slowly, then Darshan sneezed and Gift let out a single shot of laughter. "Okay, okay," she said, very slowly beginning to make her way upright. "I'm going to leave now, before we demolish anymore of Mace's house. That way I won't have to take any credit for anything else that might happen." She eyed Darshan with a little grin as she finally found herself on her feet. Just a little unsteady, but there.
    Christian glanced at the clock, saw it was still going backwards, and groaned. "I'll be going too, I think. And hoping Sonya won't laugh too hard at me."

    Queenie made a sympathizing sound for Mace and seemed to fall asleep on her feet as Sahar went to get poked. C.J. sprawled on the couch she'd previously occupied and was snoring just a little before Sahar returned.
    Both woman blinked open blood-shot eyes and observed their sulking friend. C.J. was the one who felt inclined to point out, "Duh."
    "What did you get??" Queenie asked, unable to recall what she'd even been considering getting. And though her words were for the little lioness, her eyes were on the tiger, who was attempting to get back to her feet. This took a lot longer than the first time, and Queenie decided it was time they started...trying...to get home.

    Sonya didn't so much as twitch beneath his regard, her expression stonily serene. "Stop," she said. "Think. If you would stop letting your anger rule you and actual contemplate what you just said, you would be able to figure out part of the answer yourself. Who is capable of doing what you just described? No shapeshifter can control someone's mind; even a dragon's control over other 'shifters is more limited than that. A witch can enthrall a man to the point where he'll do anything for her, and be pleased to do it, but that's not something that happens overnight -- it's a process. You would have noticed something amiss with your friend long before this.
    “That leaves a vampire, but mind control of that kind is beyond the reach of most vampires. You kind, for instance, and the lamia. You can blank a memory or calm the mind of your prey, but actual suggestions are beyond you. There's a third kind, though, older, rarer, and more powerful than Maya's children. The strong among them can change their form, call the weather, or twist a person's mind to do their bidding. In exchange, they are more sensitive to sunlight, restricted by running water, and unable to enter a dwelling without invitation."
    She failed to mention that she was one of these. Nor did she tell him that she had an idea who might have been responsible because, as powerful as her breed was, there were very few that could command someone to injure themselves, and make them like it. The amount of Power it required, as well as the fact that most of those she knew were in the city didn't actually enjoy playing with their food like that... well, it left her with a very limited list. Perhaps even a list of one.
    "That should narrow it down for you," she told him. "Such vampires are rare, compared to the Redferns and their sort. I'm sure Daybreak has some kind of watch on who's coming and going from the city, when, and what they are."
    That should keep you busy, she didn't say. He was too stupid, too unstable, and too weak for her to consider sending him after Peter. Besides, she would rather hunt the old one herself, with her boy, not some Daybreak child.

    "Darlin', the French maid pose alone makes up for your demandin' nature," Gamble drawled, laughing as she followed him into the kitchen. He grabbed an oven mitt and slid it over his hand, looking curiously domestic as he removed the hot cookies from the oven and placed the cookie sheet on top of the stove to cool. He took off the mitt and peeled one of the cookies from the sheet, juggling it from hand to hand to cool it down before offering it to Julianna.
    "Have your sweet, and then I'm sendin' you off to bed," he said, with a grin. "We're wakin' up early in the mornin', and you're goin' to help me to muck out some stables." He repeated the cooling process with his own cookie, a devilish light in his eyes, showing that maybe, just maybe he wasn't joking when it came to shovelling poop the next morning.

    Ai didn't protest when Patrick footed the bill for their wine; it didn't hurt to allow him to be the gentleman, once in a while, just like it didn't hurt to let him fuss. "I think I can make it back to where I'm staying on my own; I've already sent my bags ahead. You're welcome to walk me back out to the street, though, if you so choose." She was sure she could make it back to the company apartment on wings quicker than she could in the Las Vegas traffic, in any case. Besides, she really did need to stop for a bite.

    "You should," Darshan told Christian, then looked mildly surprised -- and disgusted -- at the fact that he had just endorsed Mace.
    That's probably for the best," he agreed, when Gift mentioned leaving. "I think it would also be best if none of use took credit for this. Luckily, I doubt that we will be the most likely suspects." He climbed to his feet, slowly, using the counter for support, and was proud to find that he could remain upright. Now he just had to figure out how to proceed through the house in a dignified manner that wouldn't arouse the suspicion of the gang.
    He shot Christian a disbelieving look. "Sonya laughs?"
    He kept his eyes focused straight ahead as he approached the kitchen door, and managed a measured stride that might be considered dignified if the person watching didn't know he was drunk off his ass. He couldn't look to either side, though, since that made his vision blur and tilt and would probably result with him ending up back on his ass.
    "The other door leads outside," he reminded the other two, and carefully peeled back the wards he had set on the kitchen at the start of the evening. The power sliding back into him made his stomach lurch unpleasantly, and he made a small, alarmed sound.

    "A tattoo," Sahar said, with a blank look in Queenie's direction. It seemed that she hadn't entirely sobered up, and the adrenaline rush from someone poking her had made up for what liquor she had burned off.
    "Isn't it your turn?" she asked the other lioness.

    Price wasn’t sure what he would’ve said to anything the woman rattled off because he got rather caught in what she was saying. Because she was right. There was only one species who could do that. Those special kind of vampires.
    And he knew only one vampire like that. The vampire who had come into Starbucks for Darshan earlier that day.
    The vampire Gift knew.
    What was his name again??
    “Christian,” he muttered under his breath then. And the woman was right, Daybreak might know of the major players moving into Vegas now. His mother could find out.
    But why involve her when he could just call Gift??
    “Right,” he muttered again, absently turning back around to punch the elevator button. Having apparently forgotten the woman by that point.

    Julianna smiled sweetly as she trailed her boyfriend into the kitchen. “Well, why didn’t you say so. What kind of treats would a stewardess pose get me??” Her eyebrows wiggled playfully as she leaned against the counter.
    Graciously accepting the properly cooled cookie, she bit into it and barely withheld a moan. Then decided what the heck when she took another bite, and a little groan of appreciation rumbled past her lips. Well, if Gamble ever quit the weapon-making business, he could be a pastry chef hands down.
    Observing the light in his eyes, Julianna hmmed thoughtfully. “You say that like it should scare me,” she said, nibbling a bit on her cookie, her own eyes dancing, “but I can guarantee that I’ve done far worse.” She popped the last bit of cookie in her mouth and brushed the crumbs from her fingertips, where faithful Cujo at her side quickly licked them from the floor. “Okay, I’m up to your challenge. Unless I get called away for work.” Lashes bat innocently at him. “I can’t help it if work calls me away.”

    Patrick nodded in agreement, signing the receipt with a flourish and replacing his card. That taken care of, he slid from the booth and offered his arm. “Then away we go.”
    The remaining staff all smiled or nodded at him as he walked Ai out, which Patrick returned easily. The air was brisk and just below cool when they stepped out and he smiled warmly down at his companion. “Ai, always a pleasure. Ya be sure tae look me up again b’fore ye be gettin’ on yer way.”

    Gift smirked at Darshan’s endorsement and took a few tentative steps, just to be sure the floor was going to stay where it was. It did, though it was a little shaky around the edges. It was going to be an interesting ride home. Perhaps it would be a smarter idea to Shift and go on foot, or wings, but she didn’t like the idea of leaving her bike here. If it was going to be trashed, it was going to be by her, not Mace’s nosy gang.
    Christian seemed to be having the most difficulty. One hand was on the floor and he kept trying to push himself up, but his wrist wouldn’t lock and he kept flopping back. The most amusing part, Gift decided, was the slightly puzzled look on the Original’s face, as if he couldn’t figure out what was possibly hampering his progress.
    “Sonya laughs loudly, but you never heard it from me,” Christian said with utmost dignity, as he put both hands to the floor and did some clever maneuvering to get himself upright. Success! “And aren’t we going to be blamed anyway, since everyone in the house knows we’ve been in here all night??” Damned if he could stand up completely straight but doubled damned if he couldn’t /sound/ like he wasn’t drunk.
    A long blink later, Christian’s words sunk in. “The kitchen will be open all night,” Gift said slowly, as if this should be completely obvious. “And this kitchen belongs to a house full of shifters. Many people will be in here after we leave.”
    With that, she headed to the newly fixed back door. Time to see just how long it was going to take her to get home.

    Queenie gave the littler lioness a puzzled look. “But what tattoo??”
    C.J. was starting to snore a little and the tattooist was eyeing her with amused interest. Queenie hiccupped and maybe just a little pout, poking her somewhat sore belly. “I already got mine. He poked me. Hard.”
    “Do you think you’ll be okay getting home??” the tattooist asked, pretty much of anyone who could answer legibly.

    For a moment when Price muttered Christian's name, Sonya's eyes flashed, furious and viciously cold. In that moment, she contemplated how long it would take her to divest the pleasant young man of his vital organs and then use them to strangle him, and whether or not it would be better to just shoot him.
    Then, cool reason reasserted itself, and she pushed open the door behind her, letting a rush of cool air into the lobby. This was just one more reason for her and Christian to get started on her new project as soon as possible, the better to clear him of all suspicion. In the meantime, well, the day that her old friend was unable to outmaneuver a bunch of Daybreakers was the day that she lost any and all respect for him.
    "Good hunting," she murmured, and stepped out the door, letting it swing shut behind her.

    "Is there a particular difference between the maid pose and the stewardess? D'you mime fluffin' a pillow, or somthin' like that?" Gamble wondered, his expression mild and puzzled. The puzzlement turned to satisfaction as she groaned with delight after tasting his cookies. There weren't many things that he could cook, but he did the things he did do /well/. His chili was to die for, if you didn't value the skin on the roof of your mouth.
    "There ain't much that's worse than horseshit first thing in the mornin'," he said, but cheerfully. In her line of work, he was sure that Juli was used to shoveling horseshit from dawn 'til dusk and back again, albeit metaphorical horseshit was a lot less pungent than the stuff littering his stables.
    "Well," he said, pretending to consider it when she talked about work. "I s'ppose. As long as work doesn't call you away tonight." That said, he scooped her up and tossed her over his shoulder, arms wrapping firmly around her knees to keep her balanced there.
    You could take the man out of the cave, but sometimes, you couldn't take the cave out of the man.

    Ai accepted the offered arm, resting her hand lightly on the bend of his elbow. She released it only once they were outside and he was saying his goodbyes.
    She smiled warmly at him, twitching her dark hair out of her face so that she could look up. "Of course," she agreed. "You promised me fussing, and I intend to make to heartily sick of me by the time I leave."
    More likely, she wouldn't have time to see him more than once or twice, unless the situation was much easier to resolve than she anticipated. It was a nice though, though.

    The thudding noise that Christian made every time he flopped back onto the floor was making Darshan intensely curious about what was going on behind his back, but he didn't want to turn around, because if he stopped staring straight ahead, he was fairly sure he would do a bit of thudding himself.
    "She's right. And even if they know we were in here, I doubt anyone knows how long. They've had a long day, and it's closer to morning than night, at this point. Most of them retired some time ago." Now that his wards were gone, he could feel them in the corners of his mind, sense where they were and what they were doing as easily as breathing. As soon as he had slept off most of the alcohol, he would once again be able to ignore them, ignore everything but the most overt signs of distress and pain, but for now they were disturbingly present.
    It did help to know, however, that most of them were asleep, and that none of those burning the midnight oil were between here and the bedroom that he shared with C.J.
    The thought of C.J. prompted another thought. Something was missing, not in its proper place. The thought slipped away before he could grasp it, into the hazy sea of consumed liquor. He was pathetically grateful, since he had recognized it as a distressing thought, even if he wasn't quite sure what it had been, and he was in no state to be distressed.
    "Hmm."
    Content with not thinking about anything except how to get up the stairs without disgracing himself, he toddled out of the kitchen, leaving the other two to find their own way home.

    "You got yours already?" Sahar wondered. She seemed to have no better luck remembering how she had chosen to permanently mark her skin, since she continued to stare blankly at her friend. After all, that had been hours and hours ago, and this had been a night filled with booze, sexy men, and lots and lots of horrible pain.
    She turned her gaze slowly towards the tattoo artist, since she was standing closest to him. Then she sighed, and let her head flop against his shoulder. "Can you call us a caaaab?" Because the sexy men had taken Queenie's keys. Apparently, hormones were an instant memory aid for Sahar, because she remembered that even through the liquor and endorphins cocktail rattling around in her head.

    Perhaps, if Price had taken notice or even seen the look in Sonya’s eyes, he would’ve gotten the shock he needed to knock him back into his usual mind-frame. Because that look would’ve forced sense into the stupidest or angriest person alive.
    But he wasn’t even looking at her when that look was on her face, and the only reason he even looked back at her was because he felt the cold air of her departure. Price stared at the door for a second, as if unsure why it should suddenly be opening and closing, then he recalled the woman who’d been there. Who’d given him the name of the bastard who’d most likely done this to his friend, and who’d threatened…
    Rage twisted his gut until he was almost physically ill. Eyes closed tightly and he focused on breathing until the elevators dinged. Keeping his eyes closed, he stepped into the little room and breathed evenly with each floor he rose. He really needed to think.
    His eyes only opened when he reached the right floor and he walked calmly down towards Jon’s apartment. Now that he was alone, he had more opportunity to go through it. He would have to talk to the cleaners, because they would’ve noted anything that seemed strange or out of place, but he wanted to see if there was any little thing that helped him find this guy.
    Price stopped still when he reached the door that was open, when he was certain he’d closed it before. Muscles tightened, hands clenching, he eased into the room, senses hyperaware as he looked quickly around. Taking in any scent or hint of movement that would lead him to---
    “Calm down, Kee.” The voice was dispassionate, just bordering on indifferent, as Ethan Hawke ambled out of the kitchen. His hands were pushed comfortably into the pockets of his brown leather jacket and his eyes were assessing as they passed over Price’s frozen face. “You’re wound just a little too tight right now. Consider yourself lucky you didn’t push Sonya too far. She would’ve ripped your head off, and damned if we could’ve done anything about it.”
    Swallowing hard, looking like it hurt, Price asked huskily, “What are you doing here??”
    Ethan looked around the apartment again. “Juli asked me to drop by and see how you’re doing. And the reports I got from the guys who were here didn’t encourage me to wait a while on doing that.” Black eyes fixed back on Price with a penetrating look that was almost worse than his mother’s. “What’s going on??”
    Price took a millisecond to consider this. He had been fully prepared to call Gift as soon as he’d gotten into the apartment; he’d forgotten that he’d been forward to Ethan’s phone earlier. So this was just as well.
    So, for what felt like the millionth time that day, he told Ethan what he’d found here. The vampire listened without asking, merely watching his face closely, and Price almost felt like he’d heard this before. But he put as much detail as he could into his retelling and when he finished, he looked at Ethan very seriously and said flatly, “The woman downstairs, Sonya, gave me an idea. No usual person could use this; I don’t think even you or Gift could. But there’s someone I met today that could. He’s a friend of Darshan’s, a weird vampire, named Christian.”
    Just a moment passed before one side of Ethan’s mouth rose in a slight smile. “Kee, Christian didn’t do this. He doesn’t torture Daybreakers for fun.”
    Hands clenched tighter, marking already healed skin. “But it’s the /only/ one that makes sense, Hawke.”
    Ethan shook his head. “Think about it. You met Christian earlier, and you said you spoke to the guy who did this on the phone. Were their voices the same??”
    A slightly arrested look came to Price’s face, then his shoulders slumped. “No, actually, they weren’t. But he could’ve changed it. He could’ve masked it on the phone…”
    Ethan was shaking his head. “You know we’ve had an influx of questionable people coming into town lately. Your culprit is going to lie among them. Though why,” and here his face became thoughtful, “they would target you and your people is a puzzler.”
    “Then let’s go find them!” Price burst out. “I told you what he said about Anna and if he has the chance---”
    “You also said Anna is with the band, and no one’s going to get through all of them and the security they have right now,” Ethan said calmly, walking towards Price and the door. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

    “Well,” Julianna said, eyes twinkling wickedly, “I could mime fluffin’ somethin’ for ya.” Tee hee, it was so fun being naughty with Gamble. “Though I guess it’s more the actual outfit than the poses.” That made more sense.
    She had to grin at the look on his face and nibbled a little more on her cookie. “You are right,” she agreed. “Horse crap in the morning is pretty bad. And you do that /every/ morning??” She leaned closer and sniffed delicately at him, a smile teasing her mouth. “Well, at least you never smell like you do.”
    Suddenly finding herself not on her feet and then slung over a shoulder, Julianna let out a little shriek of laughter. Cujo instantly jumped to his feet and bounced around the pair, barking, raising a few protesting grunts and whines from the dogs who were trying to sleep. Julianna put a hand over her mouth to control the laughter and wiggled a finger at Cujo, who paused in mid-step, ears alert, stub tail wagging experimentally.
    “Gamble,” she said, quite calmly now, “I don’t think this qualifies as any kind of pose.”

    “Tha’s right, ye ‘ave a good deal o’ untold fussin’ comin’ yer way afore ya leave,” Patrick drawled with a fond smile, leaning down to drop a kiss on her cheek. “An’ dun forget tae look Gift up too, or she’ll yell at me when I ‘ave tae tell her ya were in town but didna ‘ave time fer her.” One eye closed in a wink as Patrick’s car pulled up the curb and the driver got out to hurry around and open the door for him. “Be safe on yer way ‘ome too; there are a lot of bad people come tae town lately.”

    Darshan’s reminder of what time it was made both Christian and Gift sigh before the dragon tottered off. Gift reached the door as Christian finally started making his way back. Pulling it open, she peeked her head out and looked around. The coast was clear!
    “How long of a walk is it to the front??” Christian asked carefully from behind her.
    Gift sighed again. “A long one.”
    With that said, the two assassins started making their way around Mace’s house to their respective vehicles.

    “Yes,” Queenie said, rather defensively, in case Sahar suggested she get another one just to be sure. No /way/ was she ever doing that again. Period. At least for a month or two.
    The tattooist grinned and patted Sahar’s drooped head, before gently setting her on one of the stools lining the counter. “Sure thing, sweetheart. You three just rest a second.”
    Queenie grunted as the man disappeared, then gave a sour look at the still snoring C.J. That brat could just sleep wherever she wanted, and not even care. Unfair!
    Her eyes started to droop then as well, and the next thing she knew, the tattoo piercer was putting her, Sahar, and helping a very groggy C.J. into cab with an equally amused driver. This had been a long night, and with Sahar squashed in the middle, she let her head lean against the cool window and proceeded to drift off herself this time.

    "A shower gen'rally does follow the shovelin' of the crap," Gamble said, lifting his arm and taking an experimental sniff. Gun oil, deodorant, rain water, the faint smell of sweat and the horse he had been riding earlier. It wasn't necessarily the most pleasant combination by end of day, but Juli never seemed to mind, and he certainly didn't smell like shit.
    He waited patiently while Julianna silenced her new found bestest friend, and grinned at her calm comment. "I could suggest a few poses it might qualify as, darlin', but it'd make my delicate ears burn with shame. My dear departed mother would turn over in her grave, to hear me say such things to a lady." He gave her legs a squeeze, and started up the stairs, with her still slung over his shoulder. "Come along, now. It's past time for all good lil spies to be asleep in bed."

    "I'll make sure to give her a call," Ai promised, and marked the promise down in her mental itinerary, wondering as she did so what the chances were that she and Gift would have the free time to meet while she was in town. "I wouldn't want you to get yelled at."
    She smiled at his final piece of fussing, and touched his hand lightly before she stepped off the curb. "I'll guard myself. Don't worry too much about me." Her fighting skills weren't up to par, at least not by the standards of some of her friends, but Ai knew how to survive. She'd had plenty of practice.
    She glanced both ways, and darted across the street, disappearing into the maze of Las Vegas streets.

    One step.
    Two step.
    Red step.
    Blue step.
    Wait, no, that wasn't right. Darshan frowned to himself, and wondered where he had gotten that insipid little rhyme from. Probably plucked from the mind of one of the gang. Oh, he was looking forward to being able to block their noise again in the morning. Well...later in the morning.
    With an effort, he dragged himself up the last of the stairs, and tottered down the hallway to the room that he and C.J. had been given.
    Door open. Door closed. Fall down on bed. Close eyes. Try to ignore room spinning.
    Darshan sighed. Not that sighing achieved much, since his nose and mouth were currently pressed firmly into the blankets. Another successful "planning session" with Gift and Christian. Sooner or later, someone would probably figure out what it was that they actually did during these hours-long meetings.
    Probably later, knowing this group.

    Sahar's eyelids drooped as the tattoo artist set her down in the seat, momentarily very aware of his hands on her waist. Mmm. Sex really would be a puuuurrfect end to the evening...
    He was gone before she could voice the thought, thought, calling them a cab, and she was left to solitary contemplation of the matter while C.J. and Queenie snoozed away.
    Before she knew it, she was being wedged into a cab between her two best girls (not an entirely unpleasant place to be, given her current train of thought). She gave the driver directions, and cheerily began chattering away with him. His Arabic was better than his English, but that was okay, because the language of home didn't bother her nearly as much when she was drunk.
    She fished into Queenie's purse when they arrived at Mace's house, and tipped him extravagantly. Then she dug unrelentingly sharp elbows into the ribcages to either side of her, a not-so-subtle sign that it was time to go.

    Irene made some quiet calls when she returned to her room, and a few minutes later, a wonderfully compact fax machine was removed from her bag and arranged on the desk. She waited patiently as her home office faxed her certain files, these more complete than the ones she had gotten only hours before. Then she packed it all away, and went to recline on her bed, flipping idly through the pages she had received.
    When she got to a certain page, she paused. Her head tipped, and her mouth quirked into a wry smile.
    "Of all the twinkie-fed, limp-brained, drunken frat boys," she murmured to herself, content. Yes, this was a good place to start.
    But not until tomorrow.

    Julianna’s light laugh rang down the stairs as she was carried up them, Cujo following watchfully at their heels. “Honey, you ain’t a spy,” she felt the need to point out, the giggle in her voice if not free itself.
    Cujo’s head tilted sideways and she put her finger to her lips. His stub tailed wagged a little and he only let out one little huff of protest as they went into the bedroom, closing the door on him.

    Patrick watched Ai fondly as she disappeared into the darkness, before he slipped into the car. It pulled neatly from the curb and melted into the Vegas night as the vampire looked contemplatively out of the pitch-dark windows. The time with Ai had been a welcome relief from the trouble heading straight towards Vegas and he already felt that tension returning, tightening his shoulders and his lower spine.
    Fingers tapped lightly against his knee before his driver glanced over the seat, offering a cell phone. “Mr. Redwood, there’s a call.”
    A rueful smile touching his lips, he took the phone. Business never ended.

    It was an unsteady pair that made their way around the house, sometimes reaching out to either steady the other or themselves by touching a shoulder or elbow. Gift ran her hand over the sleek tank on her bike and gave a deep sigh.
    “You going to be okay??” Christian asked carefully as he pulled keys from his pocket.
    Gift smiled, picking up her helmet. “I’m somewhat scared to admit I’ve driven home much more inebriated than this.”
    Christian laughed, unlocking his doors with a beep. “You’re right, that’s scary.” He leaned a hip against his car, watching Gift with half-closed eyes that no less made out every detail in the dark. “Did we actually learn anything tonight?? Or get anything solved, Gift??”
    The woman smiled, letting the helmet rest lightly on top of her head. “Yeah, Chris, we did. You’ll remember it better tomorrow.” The smile stretched into a rare grin. “After the hangover.”
    With a groan, Christian slipped into his car as Gift slung a leg over her bike. No matter how drunk or how much they just wanted to pass out, the pair nonetheless made it safely onto the road and their separate directions. Christian didn’t much remember the trip, until he was stumbling across his very own living room to collapse on his couch. There, remembrance ended.
    Gift was barely more aware of her own trip, aside from the fact she couldn’t seem to get her key fob to enter the door. This way…no. That way…no. Maybe…yes! Slipping in the door, closing it with her foot, she shuffled into the living room. Bleary eyes gave the cushy couch a yearning look but the amount of electronics in the room and the continual buzz they gave off would give her an even worse headache in the morning, so she headed for the bedroom. Five more yards wouldn’t kill her. Probably.
    Ethan was not in residence when she entered the room, which was a small blessing. He’d never had a bad thing to say about her outings with Darshan and Christian, but his amusement over her drunken state after such outings was unbearable in that state. Thankful for being able to skip that this time, she kicked off her shoes and flopped onto the bed. Two seconds later, she was out cold.
    What felt like two seconds after that, a hand was shaking her shoulder. A familiar hand, which didn’t know how close it was to being bitten off. “No Ethan.”
    “You need to look at this.” His voice was calm but firm and his hand didn’t leave her shoulder. “Gift, now.”
    With just a soft groan, she rolled onto her side and lifted her head. He was holding a folder, which he promptly handed to her. Looking over the small print on blindingly white paper, Gift rubbed her eyes then tried to read it again. It looked like transcripts of phone conversations, a few suspicious money transfers, some photos tucked into the back. She knew there was something important here, something her mind was already filing away, but it wasn’t holding her attention at the moment. “Ethan, is this life and death right this second??”
    “It might be.” She looked up at that, a brow lifting, and his expression softened slightly when he saw her face. “Fine, you can wait until morning. But there’s going to be a very serious talk in the morning, and I don’t want to hear you complaining about a headache.”
    Already having put the folder on the night table, Gift rolled back on her belly. “I never complain,” she muttered into the comforter, letting her eyes close again.
    Ethan chuckled above her, and she felt his hand brushing her hair back. “Am I to assume Darshan and Christian are just as bad??”
    A grunt was the only reply, and Ethan chuckled again as he turned to the door. Gift was asleep before he’d even closed it behind him.

    Yelps erupted from both C.J. and Queenie when sharp elbows dug into their tender, drunken ribs, and they came to with complaints and whines. Until Queenie saw that they were home, and she let out the weakest, most pathetic whoop of her life.
    The driver looked on with amusement as the lioness opened the door, and fell out of the car. Having forgotten she was leaning against it. The curb bit into her arm and she let out a sound somewhere between a yelp and a growl, and C.J. giggled madly as she climbed over both of the girls and began tottering to the house.
    At the front window, encased in darkness, with hands held behind his back, Mace watched this midnight debacle with more resigned amusement than anything. He’d only realized after the “meeting” had ended and Darshan had gone upstairs that C.J. wasn’t in residence. Therefore, Queenie and Sahar also had to be missing. Wes had seemed unabashed in admitting that the girls had gone out for a night on the town, and Mace was too tired and drained to punish an obvious disregard for house rules. As long as they returned before sunrise in acceptable condition, he was willing to let it go. Just this once.
    And watching the trio make their way across the yard was worth it. Really.
    Wes appeared at his side, peeking through the window and grinning at his woman. “Think she’ll still be up for it tonight??”
    “If the gods have mercy on us, no,” Mace said wryly, even as he heard Queenie’s puzzled question through the door, “Where’smakeys??”
    At least he thought it was some kind of question.
    Wes wiggled his brows and opened the door, immediately catching his toppling lioness. Queenie squealed in surprise and swatted him, and he smothered her with a kiss that left her sighing happily.
    Mace rolled his eyes. So high he almost didn’t see C.J. trying to slink inside. The drunk tiger obviously realized they were thoroughly and completely caught. “C.J.---” Big, innocent, glazed eyes turned to him, mouth open into an endearing O, and the eyes rolled higher. “Go.”
    The tiger scurried upstairs. Giggling when she tripped on a few steps, and causing Queenie to giggle. Mace’s eyes rolled yet again and he turned to the one he was pretty sure was the perpetrator. “Do I want to know what you did tonight??” he asked, eyeing Sahar maybe just a little warily.

    Sonya had been reading in one of the upstairs rooms, her skin still cool and her hair tumbled from her flight, when she heard the front door open. Even from there, she could identify Christian, so she didn't bother herself to move. Until she heard the rather conspicuous thump of a body hitting the couch.
    Curious but unconcerned, she put her book down and went downstairs.
    She looked at Christian. And smirked.
    Mercilessly, she prodded him with her foot. "We have something to do. I'll tell you tomorrow." Then she went back upstairs.

    Sahar waited until the other girls had climbed out before sliding over to the car door. She actually felt pretty good, considering...
    She frowned when her shoe got caught in the seat belt. It took a few moments of struggling and cursing to liberate her footwear, but eventually she was free, and she climbed out of the taxi with a triumphant smile. Only to land on her butt in Mace's yard a moment later.
    How had that happened?
    And ew, had it rained earlier?
    The shoes obviously had to go. She jerked them off, and chucked them across the yard, not really concerned that she would have to hunt for them in the morning. Then she climbed to her feet, and squished across the yard, enjoying the feel of wet grass between her toes. Very good idea, she decided. Much easier to walk.
    The last one in the door, she was a bit startled to find that her co-conspirators were nowhere in sight, and Mace was waiting for her.
    Well, shit.
    In spite of that, a dreamy smile drifted across her face at his question. "We had fuuuuun." The pleasantly drunken smile faded, although the slur to her words did not, and she eyed him, equally wary. "Am I in trouble?”

    Christian groaned when he felt the foot, feeling an urge to kick in return but knowing it was Sonya. And he couldn’t do that.
    Her words neatly went in one ear and out the other and he sighed into his couch pillow when she left him. Upon which he promptly turned his head and passed out.

    Wes helped his lady up the stairs, already crooning in her ear, and a smile twitched at Mace’s lips. Which he forcibly held back as Sahar appeared in the doorway.
    He considered tormenting her, threatening and demanding and giving an ultimatum, but instead, he just shrugged. “Not tonight. Go to bed, Sahar.” Again, they were home and safe before sunrise, so it was all good. Just for tonight.
    Tomorrow, they might have a talking to.

    Sahar watched Mace through unfocused eyes. Her head was tilted, and it looked like it was taking her a while to process what he was saying. Really, she was carefully and contemplatively compiling a list of things that were suddenly Very Important.
    1. She was horny.
    2. Everyone said that Mace was horny, too.
    3. They were now alone downstairs.
    When he said that she wasn't in trouble tonight, she mentally added another item to the list.
    4. Maybe if she kept him busy until tomorrow, she wouldn't be in trouble then, either.
    Really, it was a very good list. Well reasoned, she thought, especially considering her current state of mind. Only one thing made her hesitate, and that was this: after having Terra all over him, she wasn't sure that any man, even Mace, would want another woman pawing him. She had already put her foot in it once today, when it came to Terra. She didn't want to do it again.
    Thinking was hard.
    Screw it, she decided, after another moment. For one thing, if she stood here silently any longer, it would start to seem strange. She slanted a glance at him through her eyelashes, tilted her mouth into a faint smile, and asked, "Which bed am I supposed to go to?"
    Not her best work, she reflected, but she couldn't quite manage subtle right now. Rarely bothered, even when she could. As a come on, it would do.

    Mace’s brows jacked up at that. And for one startling moment, he wasn’t entirely sure what to say.
    It had been a very long day.
    It had been an even longer time since he’d had sex.
    And it had already been proven earlier that he found Sahar very doable.
    Then again, she was drunk. And everyone would know it tomorrow. And Terra was still out there…
    Possibly, that decided him more than anything. He needed a stress reliever, and Sahar seemed willing. Even if she was, well, plastered. He doubt she’d regret it.
    A smirk quirked his lips and his brows rose just a little higher. “Find one. I can follow.” He wasn’t going to be accused of seducing her when she was drunk, at least.
    God, he was getting really pathetic in his old age.

    The rain was still coming down lightly, just enough to give a bit more cover as Ry stalked up on the ranch. The horses was dozing in the barn, the dogs were sleeping more heavily inside, and he felt the presence of two vampires. Come morning, one would be missing.
    The smile was brief and grim. He felt no pleasure at the thought of what he intended to do to Julianna, but it was merely a means to an end. He wouldn’t do more than necessary, because he /did/ like her. Even if she was apparently close to Hawke, it was really hard to dislike her.
    Moving with silent stealth, he eased onto the porch and went to the backdoor. Pulling a small pouch from his inner pocket, he began picking his way inside.

    Sahar's smile relaxed a degree at Mace's expression. She had been worried, but she didn't see annoyance or refusal on his face, (it would have been quite a blow to her ego, if she had) but surprise.
    And, just maybe, interest.
    His words only confirmed that, and her smiled warmed a little in response, lazy and satisfied with herself, and yes, still a little dreamy with the warmth of the liquor she and the girls had consumed earlier.
    "Funny. I always figured you'd be really, really bad at following," Sahar said lightly. All the same, she turned and went up the staircase, needing no light to see through the dark, but kind of wondering if the steps had always looked that blurry.
    Oh, well.

    Gamble had lived on his ranch for years. He knew every patch of dusty soil, every night noise. What most people didn't know -- could never have guessed -- was that he kept track of these things even as he dozed lightly, his arm tossed loosely across Julianna's waist.
    The soft hiss of the rain. The gurgle of water as it passed through his gutters. The dogs snoring downstairs. The horses as they shifted restlessly in the stables, and the rustle of a spider hiding itself beneath the creosote bush by his front porch. The hum of his refrigerator, soft and drowsy.
    The scrape of metal against his back lock.
    That little sound was enough to wake him, although he kept perfectly still, his hazel eyes staring into the darkness. For a moment or two, he listened.
    That boy was damn good, he had to admit. Most people didn't get as far as the porch without him noticing that they were there.
    Damn persistent, too.
    He would have to do something to discourage that persistence, he thought, not without regret. He didn't like that; hated to think of what kind of talkin' to it would take to discourage a man like Ry. No doubting that was who it was, after what had happened that afternoon.
    He hated it... but this was Juli, after all.
    Cat quiet in his own right, he slipped out of bed and pulled on jeans over his boxers. Down the stairs, and into the living room, where he silently disarmed the alarm system -- no point in waking up the house and half the surrounding desert when Ry got in.
    That accomplished, he retrieved one more thing from his work room, and waited in the shadows by the door for his midnight visitor to enter.

    Mace made a mmming sound at Sahar’s words, though his eyes were much more interested in watching her ass twitch as she started up the stairs. And that incredible little twitching bubble made something else twitch too. Badly.
    “Oh, I can follow,” he murmured, already starting after her. He was recalling how she’d almost climbed up him earlier to get his pizza, and if he could get her to actually do it. “When there’s something worth following.”
    Sahar’s ass was, understandably, at the top of that list at the moment.
    Seeing how she was eyeing the stairs and starting to feel that hot flush of impatience, he placed his hands oh so lightly on her slender shoulders and glided them down her back, feeling every sinewy muscle hidden under that skimpy dress. Across her hips and finally resting lightly on her hips and he was so close to her, he felt her heat.
    And hot damn, it felt /good/.
    So good in fact, well, she was just going far too slow for him, so he used his hands on her hips to help her more steadily up the staircase. Only slowing a few times to press his lips to the side and nape of her neck, since her being on a stair in front of him put her on just the right level.

    Ry wasn’t a fool. He had fully expected Gamble’s place to have a top-notch security system, even if it was only for all of the artwork said to cover his house. Which was why, once he was a flick of his wrist away from breaking in, he pulled a gizmo from his pocket. A very interesting gizmo, found in one particularly slum area of downtown Tokyo, that had proven itself time and time again to be invaluable. Because, with one press of a button, it had never failed to deactivate an alarm system. Something to do with interfering with wire signals and beams and all very complicated.
    He didn’t much care about the technicalities, so long as it worked.
    So he pushed the button before the lock actually opened, and no alarm sounded. The door whispered open and he stayed stock still for a moment, not even breathing, as he waited to hear the sounds of approaching hounds.
    But nothing. Just the snoring of careless animals. Maybe they weren’t as good as he’d thought.
    Replacing his lock pick pouch, he moved inside and closed the door behind him, holding the knob turned so it wouldn’t make a sound. He felt his quarry upstairs, sleeping solidly. Gamble…he actually didn’t feel as well, just knew he was somewhere in the house. He didn’t like that, at all, and felt justified in taking the pistol from its holster. It was held expertly in two hands as he began easing into the house, using his senses and the feel of the house to find the easiest way upstairs.

    Having Mace's eyes on her as she started to climb the stairs did interesting things to Sahar's libido, made heat coil somewhere deep in the pit of her stomach. Made her wonder what he could do with his hands, if he had accomplished that much with a look.
    Soon enough, she found out. His hands on her hips made it harder, rather than easier, to climb the stairs. Having him touch her made her want to touch back, but that was near impossible with her back to him, and she didn't think it would be a good idea to turn around. If she turned around, she would end up fucking him on the stairs, and that would... cause a stir.
    Every time he kissed her neck, her self control frayed a little more. Stubble scraped against her skin, and she couldn't quite help the breathy little noise that she made.
    She grabbed the doorknob of the first empty room at the top of the stairs, barely stopping to make sure that it /was/ empty before turning around, snagging two of her fingers under the waistband of Mace's pants, and pulling him in after her.

    As the lock clicked home, Gamble settled his mind over the dogs, pulling them deeper into slumber. No use having them wake the house, now or later, and they were tuckered out enough that keeping them asleep required hardly any Power at all. He waited as Ry stepped inside.
    One step further. Two. The pistol came out, which didn't surprise Gamble terribly.
    There.
    Softer than a sigh, he eased out of his hiding spot, and brought his fists down hard enough to bruise on Ry's wrists, sending the gun off into the darkness. Good. He had the feeling that he wouldn't have gotten more than one chance at disarming Ry. Distantly, he approved; it was a good man -- good at his job, at least -- who held on to his weapon like that.
    He followed up with a swift, brutal elbow to the sternum, his pulse already beating with the thrill of violence. Even after all these years, even after giving that way of life up, it still had the power to excite him.

    Ry didn’t feel the presence coming towards him until it was already there, and the shock and self-disgust that cascaded through him was more painful than the blow that took his gun away. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so thoroughly surprised, and it was quite a blow to his self-esteem.
    Basically because he should’ve known better. Gamble had a reputation and there always had to be facts behind it, even if it was slightly exaggerated. And the man had warned him earlier about what would happen if he kept after Julianna.
    Well, risks were always there.
    The next blow made his lungs collapse, or at least what it felt like. A silent gasp wheezed between his lips but it didn’t stop him from instantly stepping forward, grabbing the elbow before it completely retracted. Using that short burst of momentum, he twisted and stuck out his hip and tossed Gamble to the floor a few yards away. His mind was rapidly clicking through possibilities at the moment, and he didn’t like what he came up with.
    But his heart was beating hard with exhilaration and he’d already lost one opportunity. He wasn’t ready to lose this one. So before Gamble had even really hit the ground, Ry was sprinting for the staircase that led upstairs.