“Do you truly believe they can keep me out?”

The need to touch her was getting worse. The fascination she held for him was growing deeper.

A single hand’s width wasn’t enough contact. He leaned in and touched his cheek to hers as his arm went around her waist.

A groan escaped when he pulled her flush against him, and for a moment he couldn’t speak. Sensation bombarded him. Lust burned through his veins like the molten rock the Djinn had risen from.

“Do you think I can’t pass for human?” he whispered, kissing her ear, letting her feel the strength of his desire in the form of his erection.

Aisling wrapped her arms around his waist. She shouldn’t feel such relief and comfort in being with him. It had to be wrong to lust for a demon. But she couldn’t seem to stop herself from wanting him, from yielding a little bit more of herself each time he touched her. “We need to leave,” she whispered, almost grateful to be going somewhere she wouldn’t be alone with Zurael.

His hand left her neck and swept down her spine. She moaned softly as he cupped her hips and ground himself against her clit. He made her ache in a way she’d never ached before. He made her fantasize about things that shouldn’t be allowed to happen.

She turned her head and kissed his neck. His hips jerked in response.

“Aisling,” he said, and the sound of him saying her name made her labia swell and part in readiness for him.

Her hands moved up his sides and around to find his nipples. They were hard points against her palms. She rubbed over them and thrilled at the way he panted lightly and cupped her buttocks so he could pull her more tightly against his hardened penis.

“Tell me, Aisling. Can I can pass for human?” There was a dark amusement in his voice that made her shiver.

“Yes.”

He laughed softly then set her aside. For an instant she felt bereft, rejected. But when her eyes met his, she encountered molten gold and a hunger to match her own. He lifted his hand but let it drop to his side before he touched her. This time it was Zurael who said, “We need to leave if we intend to take the bus.”

IT was a short ride. If they’d had more time before sunset, they could have walked it.

Aisling tugged at the unfamiliar clothing. She felt self-conscious in the expensive blouse and pants, like a field hand dressed up to impersonate a wealthy landowner.

Zurael took her hand in his. All along the street, chauffeured cars stopped to discharge their passengers before driving away.

Aisling’s emotions ran the gamut from anger to sadness as she looked at the beautifully restored Victorians, housing clubs with names like Lust, Greed and Envy. She found it ironic that the powerful and privileged, the people who lived comfortably and without concern for what life was like for anyone outside their class, would gather here for their entertainment.

The Last War had been started by religious zealots, by people determined to cleanse mankind of sin. There were those who believed the plague finally ending the war was god-created and not war-born-apocalypse averted because mankind was forced to concentrate on survival instead of the afterlife.

Aisling knew only that the ghostlands were full of cast-aside gods, and human souls lingered or passed through at the will of something unknowable, that the spiritlands could be a place of heaven or hell.

She shivered and spared a glance at the demon by her side, became acutely conscious of the fiery heat of his palm against hers as they approached the club named for those who might one day find themselves in his domain.

Sinners was in the middle of the block. Despite its name, it was painted in cheerful yellow tones. Its windows were unmarred by bars, though Aisling didn’t doubt some type of elaborate security was in place. Colorful curtains were pulled back. Well-dressed patrons lingered behind the glass and viewed the activity on the street.

Aisling rubbed her palm against her pants as they approached the bouncers on either side of the doorway. They were heavyset men with bulging muscles and hard, emotionless eyes.

“Hand,” the one on the right said.

She offered her hand and felt nothing but callused skin against callused skin.

The bouncer’s eyes narrowed slightly. He dropped her hand and turned his head toward his partner. “Gifted.”

The second bouncer took her hand. “What are you?”

“A shamaness,” Aisling said, feeling afraid and exhilarated at the same time at being able to acknowledge a gift she’d rarely admitted openly before.

“You can go in.” The bouncer’s attention returned to Zurael. Zurael’s hand was already lifting. The contact was brief. “You’re clear.”

Aisling pulled out the bills Elena had given her and paid. The bouncer to the right opened the door.

A party was already in progress inside the house. People gathered in small groups. Most held crystal glasses full of colorful liquid. More than one of the women paused in their conversation to give Zurael a hungry, inviting look while men stripped Aisling with their eyes.

Zurael took her hand again and led her to a bay window. Outside, the night was arriving rapidly.

Nervousness and curiosity warred inside Aisling. Everything around her was so different from anything she’d ever known.

Zurael pulled her back against his front, then settled his muscular arms around her waist. The image of the two of them captured in the window glass filled Aisling with a longing that went beyond the physical.

A man and woman joined them at the window, their predatory expression captured in the glass before they turned and in a perfectly choreographed move lifted their hands, hers toward Zurael’s bare arm, his reaching for Aisling’s.

“No,” Zurael said with such deadly menace both hands dropped immediately.

“Not many people turn us down,” the man said, leaning against the edge of the bay window, the woman next to him in matching red.

“You’re new here,” the woman said. “We can help you get into the swing of things. In fact, there’s nobody better. Everybody follows our lead, especially when it comes to the voting.”

The man met Aisling’s eyes. “Come play with us. Alone, if your companion can’t be persuaded. You’ll enjoy it. I promise.”

“No.”

“Suit yourselves, though I think you’ll find you’ve made a mistake in turning us down.” He pushed off from the window bay, but not before Aisling saw the flash of anger at being rejected. The woman slipped her arm through his and they walked away.

Aisling’s attention lingered on them. She wondered what the woman meant about the others following their lead when it came to the voting, but then her focus shifted to a man scurrying into the red zone from the direction of the bus stop just outside of it.

The people in the room migrated to the front windows. The conversation grew hushed, the atmosphere heavy with anticipatory excitement, like a collective beast getting ready to pounce.

Aisling’s arms settled over Zurael’s. Her fingers slipped through his.

The windows of the Victorians across the street were free of bars, too, and crowded with watchers. One by one the bouncers guarding the entrance to those clubs went inside before the hurrying man reached the sidewalks leading to their doors.

“He’s not going to make it,” someone whispered in the hushed silence of the room.

“He will,” someone else said, a hint of regret in his voice. “Sinners is always the last to close.”

As the man reached the bay window, excitement slid through Aisling. It wasn’t the man who’d sold Ghost to Elena, but the cross on his cheek marked him as one of the regular dealers.

A deflated sigh went through the gathered crowd as the door to Sinners opened and the man darted inside. The bouncers followed.