Chapter Seven

They got to the garage and Shamira's heart and mind took another shock. The garage was an attached building, and inside was every kind of vehicular toy you could imagine. Truck, cars, motorcycles . . . hell, there were even golf carts.

"Damn, now all I need is a golf course," she murmured.

Clara smiled. "Shane has a nine-hole course on the property. He turns on the night lights and plays to unwind sometimes. You play?"

"A bit. I'm not great."

"Shane would be thrilled to have someone to play with," Clara replied. "The only other person who plays is Banshee and well, she's a sore loser. Love her to death, but don't ever get competitive with her."

"I'll keep that in mind." Normally, Shamira wasn't a car person, but she couldn't help but drool over the selection she was looking at. "Which one are we taking? Oh my God, he has a Prius?!"

Clara laughed out loud. "No, that's Lillian's. She's kind of a tree hugger. Got Shane to get an acre of solar panels to help offset the energy this place requires."

"I thought she was submissive?"

"No, she's a switch. And being a sexual submissive doesn't mean pushover." Clara looked around. "So, which one do you want to take?"

"How about the Hummer? I mean, I've just never been in one before."

Henry grabbed some keys off a rack on the wall and tossed them to her. "You're driving."

"Me?! I don't even know where I'm going and --"

"Every car has GPS," Clara said. "This is just one of the perks you'll have if you work here. Shane shares his wealth."

Renata arrived with a leather trench in tow. "The height is right for me, but it's a little big. I think it'll fit your shoulders perfectly."

Shamira looked at it and thought she was going to look like some kind of flasher. But when she slid her arms in and let that leather tighten around her, she almost purred. It fit like a glove and actually made her look kind of cool. Except for the flip-flops.

"Need new shoes for you," the Brazilian said. She had such an adorable accent.

"I wish I could get my lucky hat back," Shamira muttered.

Clara heard her and figured she would do something about it when she had a chance. Hopefully as a housewarming gift. "Let's roll."

Driving a Hummer was apparently like driving a pregnant whale strapped to a really big skateboard. If she hadn't taken a number of courses in defensive driving, then Shamira probably would have committed manslaughter a number of times. And driving something the size of a tank made one a lot more cocky, she decided. She managed to do something that she did not think possible.

She scared the hell out of two vampires and a werejaguar just because she cut across four lanes of traffic to catch the exit. She wondered if any of them really drove inside the perimeter often enough to think that SHE was a scary driver. Luckily, the club in question had a parking space dedicated to Shane and his entourage big enough to house a limo, so she was able to squeeze the Hummer in without much problem.

"She's just having problems adjusting to vamp reflexes," Renata said, holding on to the door handle for a moment with a trembling hand.

"I've ridden bulls that were gentler." Henry was smiling though.

Shamira had never been here before. She didn't even know it existed. Down an alley between two buildings that looked abandoned, there was a purple neon sign that just read "Prometheus." Just like the old speakeasies, one member of the party knocked, then a little window slid open. She thought she heard chanting, then a bluish glow peeked out from that slot.

The window slid shut and the door opened. Inside was an intimidating large bald man in a custom-made suit, sunglasses, and obligatory earpiece for radio communication. He motioned them inside. The four of them went down a long corridor with a metal door at the other end, and this swung open to --

"Holy shit," Shamira muttered. This place looked more like a massive study than a dungeon. There were leather sofas everywhere, bookshelves, ebony coffee tables, and gorgeous glass lamps. Through an opening was what looked like a fancy restaurant with a full bar.

There were people everywhere, chatting over snacks and coffee or some other beverage, and all of them were dressed like Shamira's companions. For every man or woman sitting comfortably, there was a leather, PVC, or scantily clad sub at their feet. "I'm not in Kansas anymore."

"I've got to talk to Travis," Renata said. "If you guys wanted to mingle, I could take Shamira to the security booth and show her a little of the operation."

"You okay with that?" Clara asked.

Shamira nodded. She was feeling oddly warm where she was and wanted to go elsewhere. She followed Renata into the bar area and then through a black door that Shamira couldn't even see.

Beyond that door was a medium-sized room with banks and banks of video screens and some pretty sophisticated-looking surveillance gear. In the middle of the room in a swiveling computer chair was a very, very large man.

Travis McNeil, head of security for the club, was a werebear, and he looked the part. He was six feet four inches tall of pure beef, massive through the chest and arms that could probably use steel beams as toothpicks. He had short white hair and a neatly-trimmed goatee, but he otherwise looked like a wall of darkness in his suit.

"Renata," the big man grumbled, not taking his eyes off the monitors. "How can I help you?"

"First, let me introduce you to Shamira Carswell, the newest vamp in Shane's family."

He looked up. "You're the cop who got iced over at the Casa de Sade?" When Shamira nodded, he continued with, "Welcome to the big show. That place was a dive. Nothing like that would've happened here." He went back to looking at his screens.

"What'cha looking for?" the Brazilian asked, looking over his shoulder.

"Got word that someone was looking to trade some morning star here, and it was supposed to be tonight."

Renata laughed. "Who would be dumb enough to try and make a deal like that here?"

"Folks looking to make ten grand a vial."

"Uhm, what's morning star?" Shamira asked.