The Sleeper's Harp (The Arcane Artifacts, #1)

Chapter 3 - Stalking

Bastian watched from the shadows, keeping his arms crossed. Few of the patrons on the balcony noticed him, and when they did, they gave him a wide-eyed look and scurried away. He'd managed to stay out of sight of Eaden's people—thank fuck for that. His eyes tracked the head of cotton candy pink hair, the color of spun sugar, as it bobbed through the crowd, gold top glinting in the mass of darkness. In the crowd of bodies, her pert little ass was no longer visible, but he'd certainly gotten a distracting eyeful while she was dancing.

He didn't mix work and play, but fuck, he was starting to rethink that rule, considering the exceptions that might be made.

She reached the far end of the club, disappearing through a security door. He held his position a few minutes longer, waiting for her to reemerge. Her shift was meant to last another two hours. He hadn't expected to see her in the cage, dancing. That had been an unforeseen surprise. An inconvenient one, since he'd hoped to intercept her while she was serving drinks on the floor.

He inhaled, letting his chest rise and fall, remaining alert. Eleanor Rose Kennedy. She'd been a complete wild card. He hadn't expected a bold female with intelligent eyes and pink hair. Pink, fucking cotton candy hair. And yet, the longer he'd watched her, the more it grew on him.

The alias she used, Candy, amused the shit out of him. In hindsight, it was so...predictable. He'd rolled his eyes when he first heard it, but then he'd seen her in the coffee shop. It all made sense.

It also created more questions. Most of the females in Vortex used their real names. Not Eleanor. He'd struggled to track her down, which meant she didn't want to be found, for one reason or another. Using an alias further reinforced that theory. Why? What was she hiding?

He shifted, running a hand over the shaved side of his scalp, angling his body to better see the club. The minutes ticked by. No head of pink hair emerged.

Closing his eyes, he burrowed into his magic, letting his sense of metals take over. He'd already attuned himself to hers earlier. It was simply a matter of locating the gold at her neck, which had been a lucky fucking find. A flare of recognition kissed him. She was still in the room behind the door, but moving around, almost erratically, and then moving towards the back of the club. He frowned.

She'd appeared agitated earlier. He glanced over at the other balcony box where the human had been. He had caught the male watching her earlier. Had noticed the way she'd seen him and blanched. He hadn't missed the signs, though she'd covered them well enough. Something about the male had set her off, raised her hackles. In a way it concerned him, but mostly, it left him...curious.

His eyes tracked over the balcony box. It was nearly empty. The male was gone.

His senses tingled. Not good. The glint of gold around her neck stopped moving. Tunneling deeper, becoming one with the metal, he focused on its surroundings. He felt the brush of skin against it—her skin. Fighting the urge, he ignored the warmth of it, the distracting softness of her chest where the pendent rested. Then he felt something else, something kissing the other side of the necklace. Cool, night air.

"Fuck," he muttered.

He was moving before he realized, descending the stairs, striding through the club, through the front door. He was out onto the street in seconds. A quick wave of his hand and his street bike appeared. There were people gathered in small clusters along the curb, chatting, laughing, waiting for ride shares. Not a single one noticed his presence, the appearance of his bike. Most were supernaturals, but a few were humans. Goblin glamor was some of the best in the supernatural world. With it, eyes had a way of...sliding right past him.

It'd been a surprise when Eleanor's gaze had pinned him into place, earlier in that coffee shop. She'd stared him down with a boldness he wasn't used to, a heat that made the goblin side of him rage to the surface. Purr with smugness. She wanted him, and that did something to his insides. But it was her defiant eyes he couldn't stop thinking about, the way she'd blatantly studied every inch of him without restraint.