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might’ve been better if the community hadn’t released Mürk back when they’d had the Om Rău in their custody. But Mürk was Tonĩ and Ãlex’s half-brother, and that had clearly colored the decision.
    Mürk moved to loom over Arc. “Time to duff you up now, vamp. Figure bouncin’ you off every wall in this room will be a good place to begin.” He ripped Arc’s gag out of his mouth. “You think?”
    “Yeah, sounds good.” Arc smiled. His fangs weren’t fully elongated, but still nice and pointy. “Unshackle me, little man, and we’ll get our game on.”
    Mürk chuckled, a dark noise deep in his chest that—
    The hotel door swung open and a woman strode inside with a couple of Laurel and Hardy lowlifes: one tall and skinny, the other short and fat.
    Thomal’s attention snapped into extra-sharp focus. Something was…very wrong about her.
    She was dressed raunchy as a two-dollar crack whore, her body squeezed into a short leather skirt so tight it hugged the mound of her mons, and her tits were hiked nearly to her chin by a bright red satin snap-up lingerie-thing resembling an old-timey corset. And, of course, no sleazy outfit would be complete without a pair of red stiletto fuck-me pumps. But more than the sleaze-factor, the weird thing was that she didn’t look entirely real.
    Thomal had spent his whole life around stunning women, but this chick went so far beyond striking that there wasn’t even a word for her. Thick golden hair fell in a gleaming cascade down her back, her face was artful perfection with its thin nose, flawlessly molded cheekbones, and erotically lush mouth, and she had the most killer body he’d ever seen on a female, athletic and muscular along her set shoulders, tight abs, and long legs, yet also soft and rounded in womanly places, her hips slightly flared and her breasts full. The most wrong part about her, though, were her eyes. They were exceptionally black, even for an Om Rău, and very flat, as if the woman was dead inside.
    Thomal fought back an involuntary tightening in his throat. Can you say “bad to worse,” anyone ?
    “Bloody buggers,” Mürk ground out. “How did you find me, Pändra?”
    “Having a bit of a razzle here, are you, Mürk?” The slut called Pändra slicked a cigarette out of her purse. “Very unsporting of you, love, not to invite me along.” She set the cigarette between her lips and gave Mürk a hard stare.
    “I’ve got shite I’m wantin’ to work out with this bloke.” Mürk cut a gesture at Arc. “So bog off.”
    Pändra lit her cigarette, squinting at Mürk through the coil of rising smoke. “I can help you with your endeavors, brother dear.”
    “I don’t want your soddin’ help.”
    Pändra tutted . “How cheeky. I let you come out to play with me when you wanted to, and this is the bleeding thanks I get? But no bother. I’m in the mood to fight you for him, so we’re brill.”
    Mürk’s black eyes held Pändra’s for a long moment.
    The taller of Pändra’s two lowlifes sniggered.
    Pändra sniffed. “I owe you a good pasting, after all.”
    Thomal exchanged a quick glance with Arc. What the hell is going on ?
    With a low, hissed curse, Mürk shook his head. “You’re a prize hatstand these days, you know that? Would you just talk to Raymond, for fucksake, and save us all the rest of your spleen. It’s been two weeks.”
    Pändra jetted out a lungful of smoke. “Raymond doesn’t fancy talking to me, and I can’t say I care for it either.” She gestured at Arc, her cigarette trailing a ghostly tail of smoke. “So are you going to let me help with this bloke or will you and I be having arms?”
    Mürk sneered. “Well, I don’t know, ducky. I suppose that depends on what you plan on doing to the chap.”
    “Why, I plan on fucking him, Mürk.”
    Mürk froze.
    Thomal froze, too.
    In fact, every man in the room had gone extremely motionless.
    “That’s shite,” Mürk accused, his tone suspicious. “You’re havin’