A/N: Heh. Some of you are probably saying to yourselves... wait a minute! Is this update early? The answer is yes. My schedule actually allowed me to get this edited a day earlier than planned, so I figured I'd put it up now. As always, reviews are wonderful and keep the world turning. Or something to that effect.

Disclaimer: I'm not Lili St. Crow. Nothing here belongs to me. I just like taking them out of the sandbox on occasion.

Chapter Ten

I shoved the heavy door open with my shoulder, revealing… an empty warehouse. The room was pitch dark, and—had either of us been a normal person—impossible to see in. As it was, I had to give my newly sharpened senses a period of adjustment.

My heart sank. We were standing in what looked to be a now-defunct manufacturing plant, with an abandoned production line cutting across the ground floor. A rickety staircase let to a small office above us, most likely once serving as the supervisor's office. Across the room looked to be an ancient elevator, its rusted gate firmly shut.

Shanks exhaled slowly. "Well, Dru-girl, I think this is the end of the line. No pun intended."

My gaze fell on the elevator, and I squinted. "Not quite." I broke into a slow jog, with Shanks hurrying after me.

We skidded to a stop. Inside the elevator sat a tall, thin man, legs awkwardly crammed underneath the folding chair on which he sat. He was hunched over a magazine spread across his lap, and didn't look up.

I grabbed the gate, eager to get his attention. "Hey. Excuse me. Um, we're looking for somebody."

No response. I rattled it this time, feeling my irritation grow. "Hey. Hey! Listen to me." I took a deep breath, and decided to risk it. What the hell. In for a penny, in for a pound, right? "My name is Dru Anderson, and I work for the Order. I need to speak with Nikolas."

That got the guy's attention. He looked up from his magazine, and I saw that his eyes were red. Not like the bad-allergies kind of red, but literally red. His irises were the color of blood, and next to me, I felt Shanks bristle. Great.

Silently, he reached up to yank the gate open, and we stepped inside. Shanks cleared his throat as the elevator began to creak and grind to life. I inhaled deeply, feeling the man's scent curl around the back of my throat. He smelled oddly citrusy, almost like wet grass. He definitely didn't smell human, but I wasn't sure what he was. Still, the taste of waxed oranges remained noticeably absent from my mouth, and I figured that had to count for something, right?

Don't let me die in this godforsaken elevator, I prayed silently. Somewhere in the back of my head, Graves gave a snort.

The elevator screeched to a halt, and the man stepped in front of us in a single, fluid motion. "Follow me." He spoke quietly, voice hoarse, and Shanks and I exchanged glances.

We followed him through a narrow hallway, feeling the low, vibrating sensation of bass pulse through the walls. He pushed open a second door—this one shabby and black—and as we emerged into what was clearly a nightclub, I clapped my hands over both ears. The music was loud and rhythmic, crashing through my already overly sensitive eardrums and making the room reel around me. My stomach rolled. Shit.

Shanks glanced at me curiously, but I shook my head. We threaded through the surprisingly crowded tables, though nobody bothered to pay us any attention. Most of them were slouched back in their chairs, attention riveted to the large, L-shaped stage in the center of the floor. I grimaced, trying to concentrate on our mysterious guide's back. Shanks, however, was not quite as focused, and stopped dead, mouth hanging open slightly.

I heaved a sigh, grabbing him by the arm and hauling him forward. "Focus, wulf-boy."

It's hard to say whether or not he could hear me over the music, but my message must've been conveyed since he rolled his eyes, muttering something that was likely unflattering. As we reached the edge of the room, our guide came to a sudden halt, and Shanks and I nearly collided.

Our guide turned on his heel, pointing one long, white finger directly in my face, and I fought the urge to reach up and break it. "Wait here."

We both watched as he pushed open a fairly nondescript, unlabeled side door. Shanks leaned closer, smirking. "You're a fun date."

"This is so not a date."

He grinned widely then, though it was more like a baring of teeth. I noticed then that his shoulders were tense, as if he was getting ready to spring, and I wondered if he was nervous. Well, I could hardly blame him. "Yeah, I like to save the strip clubs for the second date too."

"Whatever." I stuffed my hands into my jeans pockets, exhaling slowly. "Just let me do the talking, okay?"

He held up both hands in an I'm-innocent gesture just as the black-clad figure reemerged from the door, holding it open. He didn't speak, but the message was pretty clear. Shanks and I shared a Meaningful Look, and I stepped forward first.

I'd been halfway expecting some sort of dingy meeting room, poorly lit with a few crappy folding chairs or something. Instead, it looked like we'd wandered into—well, somebody's living room. Two fat, squashy coaches sat in the lower level of a split-level room, facing each other. Against one wall was a massive TV, flanked by two DVD towers. On the upper level rested a dark, glossy bar, bottles dangling from the ceiling and gleaming in the low lighting. Behind the bar was a second door, this one closed.

The door clicked shut behind us, followed by the telltale snick of a lock. Shanks made a face and I pivoted slowly, reaching for the gun resting underneath my jacket.

"I hardly think now is the time for weapons, milady. I just had new carpeting put in."

We both spun around at the sound of a male voice, vaguely accented, as I drew the handgun.

The man held up both hands, smiling gently. His teeth were very white against his tan skin, and he wore a black silk button-down with pressed gray pants, both of which looked tailored and very expensive. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with honey-blonde hair that glistened in the light. In fact, were in not for his eyes, he could have easily been Teen Vogue's next cover model.

His eyes were completely black, void of any whiteness whatsoever. They were limpid dark pools, bleeding seemingly right through to the back of his skull. I shuddered, and my grip on the .22 tightened. "Are you Nikolas?"

"That I am." He lowered his hands slowly, gesturing grandly to the bar. "And you must be the Lady Dru. Do you mind if I make myself a drink?"

I swallowed and nodded, not daring to take my eyes off Nikolas. Even across the room, I could tell he smelled wrong. He smelled coppery and sort of—well, meaty. Just standing in the same room as him conjured images of blood and raw meat in my head, and I shuddered. I could feel the back of my throat begin to clog with the thick taste of waxed oranges.

He poured himself a small glass of scotch, smiling sympathetically. "Yes, I'd heard you were a particularly strong one. Psychics can't stand being around me for very long, I'm afraid." He tipped the glass back, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "Affects their delicate sensibilities." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "If I'm not mistaken, milady, you have a war to lead. What could possibly bring you all the way out here?"

Unlike when the djamphir said it, Nikolas pronounced milady with a slight lilting quality, as if he were laughing at a joke only he understood. I suppressed the urge to shudder again, and forced myself to look directly into those dark, fathomless eyes.

"I'm here for information. I need to find someone."

"Ah, yes." He surveyed the glass in his hand intently, as if looking for something. "But I cannot help you for nothing, I'm afraid." He looked up again, setting the glass on the bar with a thunk. "And you are so very far out of your jurisdiction."

Okay, I was officially creeped out. Next to me, Shanks was wound so tight he was practically vibrating, and I had the sneaking suspicion that if Nikolas did decide to attack either of us, I wouldn't be able to get a shot off fast enough to stop him. When I spoke, I fought to keep my voice calm. "I'm trying to find a loup-garou. He was taken from the Order a few weeks ago."

"I'm aware of the rumors." Nikolas regarded me for a moment, both hands pressed flat against the bar. "They say he was taken due to an ephialtes, a traitor. A svetocha, even." He licked his lips. "But I'm unclear what that has to do with me. Milady."

"We think the other svetocha knows where he is." I took a deep breath, trying to inhale through my mouth so I wouldn't have to smell him any more than was strictly necessary. "She's been working with—"

"I know the person of whom you speak," Nikolas interrupted sharply. "His name isn't spoken here."

I swallowed again, and waited. I could feel the seconds tick by as Nikolas examined me, expression unreadable. "If I have information about your ephialtes, what will I receive in return?"

Well, it had to come up eventually, right? "Well." I coughed, feeling my heart thud against my rib cage. "What, er, would you consider a fair trade?"

He smiled then, a slow, steady smile. It was a smile that said he knew how desperate I was, and he had me right where he wanted me. Dammit.

He leaned back, tucking his hands loosely into the pockets of his trousers. "This loup-garou must mean a great deal to you, milady, to come all the way to me."

I shifted uncomfortably, feeling the gun slide in my sweaty grip, and waited. After a moment, Nikolas continued.

"Fortunately, I'm nothing if not a fool for sentimentality. I will do your favor for you, if—" he held one hand as if to silence me, though nobody had said spoken a word, "—you're willing to do the same for me."

"You want me to do you a favor," I repeated, just to make sure we were on the same page. "What exactly did you have in mind?"

He ran one finger along the edge of the glass, eyeing it thoughtfully. "Milady," he began. "I showed a great deal of faith tonight by allowing you entrance to my establishment. I only ask that, in return, you show me the same amount of trust."

Graves had always been particularly good at reading in between the lines, I thought desperately, trying to stall for time. Unfortunately, I've always been the barge-in-guns-blaring-ask-questions-later kind of girl. "You want me to trust you," I echoed, struggling to piece this together, "but you won't actually tell me what the favor is."

His hand stilled as he looked up at me. It was kind of hard to tell, but I thought he looked surprised, almost as he'd expected me to refuse outright. "Yes, milady. Those would be the terms of our agreement."

I didn't need to be a genius at reading people to figure out that it was a dangerous deal. Graves would probably have a fit if ever found out about it. For that matter, so would Christophe.

Of course, neither of them was here at the moment, and I had a decision to make. If and when the time came that Nikolas wanted to call on that favor, well, I could deal with it then. "Fine," I blurted out, before I could change my mind. "I'll agree to your terms. Where's the other svetocha?"

Nikolas nodded slowly, as if to himself. "Return tomorrow morning and I'll have your information." He pushed himself away from the bar, heading for the door. "Oh, and milady?" He glanced at me over his shoulder, smiling that same calm, almost tender smile. I grimaced. "Please do try to blend in a bit more next time. I'd rather my patrons not be aware of our—arrangement."

I gave a short nod of acknowledgment, finally lowering the gun with a sigh as the door closed behind him.

"Well." Shanks's voice broke the heavy silence, and I looked over at him. "You sure know how to show a guy a good time."

TBC

A/N: Phew! Hard to believe that we're already up to Chapter Eleven, but it's true. A lot of action is going to start taking place, so it's all downhill from here. Keep an eye out for the next chapter over the weekend. Also, don't forget to leave a review if you have the time, as they are muchly appreciated!

Carly: I'm glad you noticed that! It's one of my favorite lines from the books, and it's such a Dru thing to say. ;) Glad you liked the chapter!

Paigeeykins: Thank you! The majority of this is already written (well, I keep rewriting the ending, since I can't seem to settle on one!), so as long as there aren't any more unforeseen events, the updates should continue as planned.

ivashkov'sgirl: I know, right? I think she's more desperate than anything, really. The club details won't be too specific, I just wanted a profession that sounded sort of shady. ;)

razzle1606: Glad to see that you returned! RL can be a pain sometimes. If it helps, you can have a virtual cookie. *passes out the virtual cookies* And thanks!