Soul Surrender by Katana Collins

attention. “I need to talk to you about what Kayce and I found last night.”
    â€œI know. Kayce filled me in earlier.” He barely glanced at me, pulling a ten-dollar bill from his leather billfold.
    â€œLucien—I really think I should tell you exactly what I heard myself.” I stared at him pointedly and he finally looked up, catching my eye.
    He nodded, understanding flashing over his deep brown gaze. “Of course.” He kept his voice casual, but there was a new tension in his forehead. “After the show?”
    Once we were all adequately caffeinated, Lucien and Kayce teleported to the Wynn. I, on the other hand, rode with Damien in his truck, as he was our lone group member who couldn’t just appear anywhere he wanted.
    â€œHow’s Baxter?” I asked. I never imagined myself a maternal kind of girl, but something about that damn yellow lab pulled on my heartstrings. Damien had adopted him when his owners tragically died and got blamed for a string of murders in Salt Lake City.
    â€œBaxter’s great,” Damien answered, flashing me his stunning, pearly-white grin. “Misses his mommy.”
    I groaned. “Oh, Hell . . . do not call me that.”
    His grin widened. “Will he be seeing you after the show tonight?”
    I nodded, my own smile quirking my lips. “If he’ll have me.”
    â€œBaxter would never turn you away.” Damien pulled into a parking spot off The Strip. “He’s been keeping your side of the bed warm for ya.”
    We made our way into the Wynn. The area outside the theater was mostly white marble with red accents. Butterflies affixed to the walls and flew above us, and the entire hotel had a very Asian feel to it.
    An usher showed us to our seats. Lucien hung back until the only person left not in the row was Kayce—at which point, he slid in between her and me. He and I had to have a chat about the art of subtlety soon. We all settled into our seats, getting comfortable, and I reached into my bag, pulling out a sack of chocolate-covered almonds.
    â€œWhat are you, five?” Lucien sneered.
    One aisle seat was empty and the lights blinked a few times, signaling to the crowd that we only had a few moments until show time. Kayce strained her neck to the door, completely oblivious to Lucien as he lowered his nose to her hair, inhaling. His eyes fluttered closed.
    â€œHey, Casanova,” I whispered, tapping his knee. His neck swiveled to face me. “Go easy.”
    He sank deeper into his seat as the house lights dimmed. Spotlights zoomed about the audience in various colors. The curtain parted, showing a single spotlight center stage with no one in it. The music droned on in an eerie hum. A drum pounded and Buckley—or should I say Raul—appeared center stage with a crack. Within moments, he disappeared and teleported to the balcony, sitting on the edge. The spotlight followed him as he continued to appear and disappear in various areas of the theater.
    His “angels,” who appeared to actually be fallen angels—or demons as most of us know them—wore costumes sluttier than most things I wore onstage at Hell’s Lair: white rhinestone pasties and a matching thong. There were only four of them, but one by one in a line, they teleported onto the stage in various sexual positions.
    Buckley finally landed center stage with his arms to the ceiling, and the music crescendoed.
    â€œWelcome!” The greeting was a demand—not a request.
    Kayce leaned across Lucien to me, whispering, “Doesn’t this go against every code of ethics sorcerers have?”
    I rolled my eyes. “Buckley lives by his own code.”
    â€œHe’s gonna piss off the other sorcerers living quiet lives,” Lucien said to no one in particular, hard eyes directed at the stage.
    Lines etched across his face with the grimace, and though his eyes were still aimed at the stage, his attention seemed