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He followed his toy at a distance out the building, via a side door, and into a small parking lot next door. A woman stood near a town car with tinted windows, waiting. Voldemort narrowed his gaze as his prey went to her, grabbing and kissing her. His gut clenched and Voldemort reached down, pulling a small knife from his left boot. He crept closer, head down. At least the place was practically empty and the parking lot dimly lit. That allowed him to get close enough to see that the woman was the same one his toy whipped earlier. He bit his tongue as he watched. The man kissed her hard, but didn't make a sound. She made enough for them both, loud whimpers. Voldemort squeezed the knife in his palm. Would she make the same sounds if he gutted her with the knife?

He catalogued every sound she made to memory, hating her for having what he wanted. That roughness. The pain from earlier. His kisses, because he kissed her, his new toy. He kissed her hungrily, briefly silencing her cries. He wondered at his toy, the way he smelled. His skin. The more he wondered the more he ached to know, the more he had to, and the more he hated the bitch who clutched his toy's back as she came with a low keening sound.

Voldemort's new toy pulled away from the woman, and got into the dark sedan parked next to the town car. Soon as he pulled off, Voldemort jumped from his hiding place. He caught her as she was about to get into the driver's side of the car and grabbed a fistful of her hair. She gasped and he jerked her head back, knife at her throat pushing into her skin.

Her eyes were blue and wide, full of fear and lingering arousal. He dipped his head, pressing his nose to her shoulder as she whimpered. He took a breath then lifted his head to stare down at her.

"The man who was just here, what's his name?"

She hiccupped, bottom lip trembling. Voldemort smiled and pressed the knife deeper into her skin. A bead of blood welled up then slid down into her cleavage. He trailed it hungrily with his eyes.

"His name. Tell me."

Her pebbled nipple poked against his arm. Musky arousal swamped him. Damn. Voldemort gritted his teeth. She was like him, getting high on danger. Turned on by her own fear.

"Tell me and I'll give you want you want."

He could give it to her, but what he wanted, only his toy would suffice. The woman's pupils dilated and she bit her bottom lip, pressing closer against him. The knife at her throat poked deeper into her skin. She whispered, voice husky, hopeful,

"Mr. Potter. That's all I know."

Damn it,

"Is he your Dom? You two play together often?"

She moved her head side to side to say no,

"We come here once a month. Every other time we meet at my place."

That was weird, but he would puzzle it out later. Lowering the knife, he bent his head and licked her neck, near the area he'd seen his toy bite her. He inhaled again, trying to find the smell of his toy under the woman's own arousal. Her head was thrown back, lashes brushing her flushed cheeks as she panted. Voldemort wanted to snap her neck, but he shook her instead, pressing his thumb into the indent at her throat. Her lashes flew open. He whispered as he stroked the spot where his knife had penetrated her skin,

"You should tell him this. Tell him I nearly killed you."

He stepped away from her. She stared at him with wide eyes and parted lips. Her voice shook.

"I…. My name…"

He clamped a hand over her mouth and snarled in her ear,

"I don't give a damn about your name. This isn't about you. Go."

He waved at her car,

"Don't forget to tell him what I did."

She stumbled into the car and drove away after two attempts to start it. Voldemort made sure to get a good look at her license plate, committing it to memory. His new toy was playing hard to get. Obviously, he'd never met anyone like Voldemort. They'd see each other again. Yes. The hunt was on.

Harry let the meditative music flow through him as he got into position—hands and knees—on his yoga mat. Outside on his balcony, the sun hadn't yet risen and a cool breeze swept over his skin in a welcomed touch. He breathed deeply then dipped his head, resting his forehead on the mat between his spread hands. After rolling his head forward, he extended first his left then right hand down his body, bending them so his elbows pressed into his abdomen, right at his navel.

He used his elbows to hold his body weight as he stretched his legs out and lifted his head, finding his balance, centering himself on his arms as he levered himself off the ground. He rocked back and forth a little, the force of supporting his entire body mass making his hands tremble. Focusing was difficult, but he gritted his teeth and did his damndest. The muscles in his abdomen burned. It was a good sensation, keeping him grounded and centered. He wobbled, but held the position until he absolutely couldn't anymore.

Finally, he lowered himself back onto the mat, sitting with his legs folded under him, palms up in his lap. Silence was needed. To get his mind right. He hadn't been right since last night. Everything had gone sideways in an instant. He'd lost his cool. His calm. Ginny. He needed to call her, explain himself. He'd just attacked the woman in the parking lot of the club. Lucky for him, he and Ginny knew each other. They weren't strangers. They'd been playing for years. He had been the one to set the 'no interaction other than BDSM' rule and that included kissing, groping and biting. He had done all that to her in that parking lot last night.

Brown eyes kept interrupting his sleep last night. The reason he'd gotten up so damn early, trying to meditate. The music, breathing, and yoga poses weren't working. Damn that man. How in the hell had he even gained entry to the club? Why was he so adamant that he treat him as he'd treated Ginny? If he was the paranoid sort, he would've thought Lord Voldemort knew his true identity. That he knew Harry was the man behind The Order of the Phoenix. But he quickly discarded that thought. No one knew except Sirius and he trusted his godfather more than anything else.

Voldemort had looked hungry. On edge. Out of control. Demanding, too. His lips twisted. Voldemort looked young, a kind of rebel. But he knew that Voldemort wasn't that young. And to be put in control of the drug trade in the city, there had to be more to Voldemort than what he'd seen. He was an impulsive bastard and the way he saw things, he'd be doing the guy a favour by taking control of the city from him. Weirdly, too, Voldemort had smelt like caramel. As if he'd been sucking on sweets just before accosting him.

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