“The atmosphere is always aggressive, but in the past few weeks it’s been explosive. We’ve had more fights lately than we’ve had in the past two years.”

“Haven’t you heard the news? We’re celebrating the defeat of the Dark Lord,” he tried to bluster. “A new beginning . . . blah, blah, blah.”

Like a dog with a bone, Tonya refused to let it go. “Does that look like celebrating?” Once again she stabbed her finger toward the seething crowd. “Your frustration is contaminating everyone.”

Santiago couldn’t argue. The club wasn’t Disneyland, but it wasn’t usually a bloodbath.

At least not unless you were stupid enough to join in the cage matches.

“So what are you suggesting?”

“You have two options.” Tonya offered a tight smile. “Go kill something, or fuck it. Hell, do both.”

He snorted. “Are you offering?”

“I would if I thought it would do any good,” she admitted bluntly. “As it is . . .” Her words trailed away as she gave a lift of her hand, gesturing toward a distant corner.

“What?”

“I have something more suitable to your current taste in females.”

Santiago wasn’t sure what he expected. Maybe twin imps. He’d always had a weakness for matched sets. Twinning . . .

Or maybe a Harpy in heat.

Nothing was more certain to distract a man than a week of incessant, no-holds-barred, balls-aching sex.

Instead a female vampire stepped from the shadows.

“Mierda,” he hissed in shock.

Not because the woman was stunning. That was a given. All vampire females were drop-dead gorgeous.

But this one had an eerie familiarity with her long black hair and dark eyes, which contrasted so sharply with her pale skin.

Nefri.

No, not Nefri, a voice whispered in the back of his mind. Her face was more angular and the approaching female was lacking the regal aloofness that shrouded the real Nefri.

Not to mention a lack of kick-ass power that would have all of them reeling beneath the impact of her presence.

But she was close enough to make his gut twist into painful knots.

“Will she do?” Tonya murmured.

“Get rid of her,” he commanded, his voice thick.

Tonya frowned in confusion. “What?”

“Get rid of her. Now!”

Spinning on his heel, he headed toward the stairs leading out of the lower levels.

He had to get out.

“Santiago,” Tonya called behind him. “Goddammit.”

The crowd parted beneath the force of his icy power, most of them scrambling out of his way with a gratifying haste as he climbed the stairs and entered the lobby.

Not that he noticed.

He was way too busy convincing himself that his retreat was nothing more than anger at Tonya’s interference.

As if he needed the fey prying into his sex life. She was supposed to be his assistant, not his pimp. If he wanted a damned female he could get one himself. Hell, he could get a dozen.

And not one of them would be some pitiful substitute for the aggravating, infuriating, impossible female who had simply abandoned him to return behind the Veil....

“Trouble in paradise, mi amigo?”

It was a testament to just how distracted he was that he was nearly across the marble floor of the lobby and he hadn’t noticed the vampire standing near the door to his office.

Dios.

If he could miss the current Anasso (the ultimate King of All Vampires), then his head was truly up his ass.

Styx was a six-foot-five Aztec warrior dressed in black leather with a sword strapped to his back big enough to carve through a full-blooded troll. And of course, there was his massive power that pulsed through the air like sonic waves.

It would be easier, and certainly less dangerous, to overlook an erupting volcano.

“Perfect,” he muttered, regarding his unexpected guest’s bronzed face. His visage had been carved on lean, arrogant lines emphasized by his dark hair, which was pulled into a tight braid that fell nearly to the back of his knees. He didn’t look like he was there to party. Which meant he wanted something from Santiago. Never a good thing. “Could this night get any better?” he muttered.

Styx arched a dark brow. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Share the fact he was no better than a eunuch with his Anasso? He’d rather be gutted.

And, speaking as someone who actually had been gutted, that was saying something.

“I most emphatically do not,” he rasped, shoving open the door to his office and leading his companion inside.

“Thank the gods.” Styx crossed the slate gray carpet, perching on the corner of Santiago’s heavy walnut desk. “When I took the gig of Anasso I didn’t know I had to become the Vampire Whisperer. I just wanted to poke things with my big sword.”

Santiago veered past the wooden shelves that held the sort of high-tech surveillance equipment that only Homeland Security was supposed to know about, unlocking the door of the sidebar that was set beneath the French Impressionist paintings hung on the paneled walls.

“I hope you didn’t come here to poke anything with your sword,” he said, pulling out a bottle of Comisario tequila.

“Actually, I need your help.”

“Again?” Santiago poured two healthy shots of the expensive liquor. The last time Styx had said those words the Dark Lord had been threatening to destroy the world and he’d been teamed up with Nefri in an attempt to find the missing prophet. “I thought we’d gone beyond the sky-is-falling to yippee ki yay, everyone back to their neutral corners so we could pretend that we didn’t nearly become dog food for the hordes of hell?”

Styx hadn’t become king just because he was baddest of all bad-asses. He was also frighteningly perceptive. Narrowing his eyes, he studied Santiago’s bitter expression with a disturbing intensity.

“Does this have something to do with Nefri and her return to her clan?”

Nope. Not discussing it.

Santiago jerkily moved to shove one of the glasses into Styx’s hand. “Here.”

Briefly distracted, the ancient vampire took a sip of the potent spirit, a faint smile curving his lips. “From Viper’s cellars?”

“Of course.”

Styx’s smile widened. Despite being predatory alphas, Styx and Viper, the clan chief of Chicago, had become trusted friends. It was almost as shocking as the fact that vampires and Weres had become allies. At least temporarily.

Which only proved the point that doomsday truly did make for strange bedfellows.

“Does he know you’re enjoying his private stash?”

“What he doesn’t know . . .” Santiago lifted his glass in a mocking toast before draining the tequila in one swallow. “Salud.”

“You know,” Styx murmured, setting aside his glass, “maybe I should try my hand at Dr. Phil.”

Santiago poured himself another shot. “You said you needed my help.”

“That was the plan, but you’re in a dangerous mood, amigo. The kind of mood that gets good vampires dead.”

“I’m fine.” Santiago drained the tequila, savoring the exquisite burn. “Tell me what you want from me.”

There was a long pause before the king at last reached to pull out a dagger that had been sheathed at his hip. “Do you recognize this?”

“Dios.” Santiago dropped his glass as he stared in shock at the ornamental silver blade that was shaped like a leaf with a leather pommel inset with tiny rubies. “A pugio,” he breathed.

“Do you recognize it?”

His short burst of humorless laughter filled the room. Hell yeah, he recognized it. He should. It belonged to his sire, Gaius, who had once been a Roman general.

Centuries ago he’d watched in awe as Gaius had displayed the proper method of killing his prey with the dagger. What a fool he’d been.

Of course, he wasn’t entirely to blame. Like all foundlings, Santiago had awoken as a vampire without memory of his past and only a primitive instinct to survive. But unlike others, he hadn’t been left to fend for himself. Oh no. Gaius had been there. Treating him like a son and training him to become his most trusted warrior.

But all that came to an end the night their clan was attacked. Santiago had been away from the lair, but he knew that Gaius had been forced to watch his beloved mate, Dara, burned at the stake. And lost in his grief, Gaius had retreated behind the Veil where he sought the peace it supposedly offered.

Of course, it had all been a load of horseshit.

Gaius had allowed himself to be swayed by the promise of the Dark Lord to return Dara, and he’d gone behind the Veil to betray them all.

And as for Santiago . . .

He’d been left behind to endure hell.

Realizing that Styx was studying him with an all too knowing gaze, Santiago slammed the door on his little walk down memory lane.

“Gaius,” he said, his voice flat.

“That’s what I suspected.”

“Where was it found?” Santiago frowned as the Anasso hesitated. “Styx?”

Styx tossed the dagger on the desk. “A witch by the name of Sally brought it to me,” he at last revealed. “She claimed that she worked for Gaius.”