There was nothing to celebrate beyond the meeting ending and yet, did he detect a shift in the air? They had a plan, it was a start. A something. The heavy chains of leadership that kept him awake wondering what 'he could have done' and ' should be doing' seemed to lighten. He rolled his shoulders as if to release the tension.

The anxious mood had lifted as the wolves nodded their respects out the door, ambling toward the fight ring to catch the tail end of the matches. He offered a polite 'no thanks' when invited, eager for a shower and sleep. Hector excused himself as well, heading home to his family.

Family. A pretty picture, but his face would never make it in the frame. No holiday cards with silly sweaters and the smiling faces of a lovely wife and children. With his position, his demanding and dangerous lifestyle, he couldn't afford it. A dream too rich for a man swimming in blood.

Once, he suspected, his parents had been happy. But the memories were vapors, diffused in time, too hard to grasp and this clan was as close to the feeling of family as he'd get and he couldn't lose another one... He couldn't fail them again.

Vincent made his way back toward the club, deciding to call Ryan in the morning to fill him in. Knowing his brother, he'd either crashed at his desk or run off to another bar, entertaining the first woman to flash him a pretty smile.

"Hey sugar." An eyeful of sparkly blue nipple tassels, attached to perky breasts, blocked his path and his way home. "Haven't seen you around here lately. Where have you been?"

"Midnight," he sidestepped the dancer, ignoring her questions and barely there blue thong, as the feline fell into step beside him. Her long black hair pulled into a high pony that brushed his arm as it swayed to the clack of her heels. Dark almond eyes sparkled predatory as she appraised him with interest.

"You stay'n for my performance?" She blew a bubble in her gum, snapping it with a wink.

"Another time maybe." He let his eyes linger on the lethe feline shifter for a moment longer before opening the door, her huff of disappointment following him out.

On another night he might have entertained the silent offer for a romp, but it had been a long day and his patience for things that separated him from his bed was thinning. He wondered if the Hooman Heiress was still upstairs. He smirked, walking into the thrum of the underground club, no doubt running up a tab with the bartender. He could still smell her odd scent, like it was-

A splash of red caught his attention seated in the booth with the gaggle of Vixens.

Vincent blinked once. Twice. Then the woman turned, wrinkling her nose with that familiar profile, a laugh slipping between her lips at something one of the Foxes said. Pretty, like the chime of bells. And then his brain caught up. How in the Hells?...

He stomped over, on high alert. This was a shifter only club. A club she shouldn't even know exists. The door was glamoured. How did she get in? How did she even know to get in!? His head swiveled around, making sure there were no shifters outside of human form, or monsters un-glamoured. He spotted a gorgon passed out in a far booth, their dreads moving in a serpentine weave on the table. Shit. His pulse quickened and strides lengthened. If she found out the truth of this place-this world-there goes his leverage with the Chairwoman.

"Changed your mind about the reading?" The Brunette Vixen was the first to spot him with that same enigmatic smile. All heads turned at the table, including the Heiress. He didn't need to smell the liquor on her, her cheeks were flush with it; eyes widening comically as he approached. For full moon's sake. A drunk witch in a shifter club. It sounded like the start of a bad joke.

"No, I have business with this woman. Let's go." He held out his hand for the Witch, for support, of course. Unsure just how much of his premium booze she'd guzzled away.

"What are you doing here?!" She sputtered in response.

His brows rose, retracting his hand as he folded his arms with a frown. Very sloshed it seems. Had he not mentioned this? "It's my club."

"Er-right."

"Miss Hoodman?" Her shoulders jumped. "Care to share what you're doing here?" he asked, with the last shred of saintly patience. His brain pulsed, growing a little monster behind his eyes and he desperately needed an aspirin or pixie dust-anything.

"I was invited," she bold-faced lied, her heartbeat quickening.

"I highly doubt that. It's a private club," he said.

"Well clearly not private enough if I was able to get in." Her face smug.

"We can fix that. If you'll follow me, please." He held out a gracious hand once more. She stared at it like it'd grown tentacles. He doubted the bartender had served her enough to put her in this state. Hopefully, she didn't ingest any pixie dust, he thought. He had enough problems as is. An unlabeled wine bottle on the table caught his attention. He picked it up, inhaling the heady tang of citrus and sweet honeydew.

"Savatiano, a gift from Dion," the Brunette said. "Care for a taste?" She held out her glass and he looked to the half empty one in front of the Heiress. Well, that explains it.

"You're not supposed to bring outside drinks." Any unregulated substance was a liability, especially a strong vintage brewed by the god Dionysus himself. The bottle had to be worth a small car.

"Please? Just this once?" The Brunette fluttered her thick lashes, reaching for the bottle which he kept at arm's length. "I'll read your threads. No charge."

"Do me first! You said you'd read mine." The Heiress slid her hand palm up across the table and Vincent swiftly covered her hand with his own.

"What did she ask you for?"

"What do you mean?" The Heiress cocked her head, brows furrowed. "She just offered."

"There's always a price." Vincent tugged at her hand. "Alright, time to go."

"Come on. Let her have some fun." Another Fox with a long rust coloured braid, grabbed at the Witch's other hand, like she was the rope in tug-of-war.

"Looks like she's had plenty." Vincent tugged gently again, hoping she'd take the hint to follow.

"No." She wiggled from his grip. "Kiko said she'd help me find him." The Heiress fixed her eyes on the brunette fox.

Him? Wasn't she with a woman at the bar? His brain was scrambled eggs, as the migraine monster continued to stab, but he swore he'd seen only one other person by her.

"Find who?" Was it someone who came down to the V Lounge? Is that why she was down here? Had this guy let her in?

"It's...." She opened and closed her mouth, seeming to think better of it. "None of your business, actually."

Irksome little thing. Smart not to trust him, but he would devour her secrets one by one, if it meant the slightest clue to saving his people.

"You know what is my business?" He said. "You. Leaving."

"I-I can't see any threads." Panic rose from the fox with the braided hair as she turned over the Heiress's hand in her grip. "Nothing!"

The brunette-Kiko, as he'd learned- leaned over the table, eyeing her palm. "Strange... I haven't seen this before." She hummed.

Probably cause she's a witch, Vincent's brain supplied. And he wasn't about to let these Vixens play twenty questions with his mark to figure it out.

"The wine, for her." Vincent held it out for a trade.

"Are you bartering for me?" The Heiress' mouth opened, eyes owlish, like she couldn't believe her ears. To be fair, it was a very expensive bottle.

"If it will get you out of my club? Yes." he said.

"Can't I just sit at one of the booths? I won't cause any trouble."

You being here is trouble. "No."

"Well, I'm not leaving."

"And we've already established, I don't care. My club, my rule, Princess."

"Don't call me that!"

"Stop acting like one, and I will."

"Asshole," she muttered.

His eyes narrowed on the huffy witchy. Goddess! He'd tried to be polite, he really did but this woman...

"Seems like you two have things to sort out." Kiko said, taking the bottle from his hand with a cheshire grin. Vincent was beyond frustrated. He wasn't one to lose control. To act petty in front of patrons. He blamed the headache, taking a settling breath.

"Ladies," he nodded his leave, grabbing the Heiress by the wrist, and in a smooth motion, pulled her out of her seat and onto her feet. She teetered for a second in her tall heels and instinctively, he placed a hand at the small of her back.

"Shall I get you a cab?" He said, with what he hoped looked like a smile, remembering he had to see her again next week, but it was hard to pretend through the pain.

"Careful with that one, Miss," Kiko interrupted with a vulpine grin. "The sweetest smiles, hide the sharpest teeth."

Fucking foxes.

"I'm sure your Mistress hides hers well," he said, pushing the Heiress away from the booth. Aphrodite, though a beauty, was notoriously vicious, destroying love bonds just as quickly as she made them and used her four Erotes and Foxes for the dirty work.

Kiko hissed, an indignant gasp echoing from the other two. "No wonder his threads are broken." He heard her say to his back.

"He's just jealous. Everyone knows Arti abandoned them," another added. Artemis, goddess of the hunt, was their creator-apparently. But she was no goddess of his. It had been a millennium since any wolf had seen her. His only goddess was the moon and his loyalty to his pack alone.

If not for the Heiress, he would have already kicked out those mouthy matchmakers. Broken love threads, huh?...No surprise. He was just happy he hadn't wasted any of his time on the answer. Vixens bartered in years for favors of love, dining on the life-force of others to enjoy such long lives and bolster their goddess's power.

"Did she just hiss at you?" The Heiress asked, interrupting his thoughts, as he half dragged, half pushed her toward the stairs on the far side of the dance floor. "Wait. Wait!" She leaned back with mule stubbornness, realizing where they were headed.."Let go. Don't touch me!" Fear seeped through her anger as she struggled against his iron grip. "I have a-"

"A boyfriend?" he cut sarcastically. "You think your boyfriend wants you down here? Dunk I might add?" He didn't care if his grip made her uncomfortable, he wasn't going to play chase the Witch tonight. He was going to put her in a cab and go home to pop as many aspirin as it took to make the Hellspawn with a pitchfork stop jabbing his eyes from the inside.

"Please. I just want-"

"What you want is not my problem." She glared, green eyes hot- a forest on fire. "What? Not used to the word no, Princess?" Not a well thought out response, but he was too tired to give a shit.

"Fuck you!" She spit, trying to yank out of his hold."I'm not going anywhere!"

"You're drunk. It's time to leave, before you say anything else you might regret." He breathed in patience and calm to stop the fangs from pushing through his teeth.

"I can't," she repeated like a broken doll. Her voice, drowned by the heavy bass as they passed an overhead speaker. "- look around real quick." He caught the tail end of her sentence, watching from his peripherals as her gaze snagged on the door by the stage that led to the underground fight ring. She tried to wiggle out of his grip. Goddess give me strength.

"We're past negotiating, Princess." He leaned in whispering loudly near her ear to make sure she heard. "You can look around on your way out." He tugged her toward the stairs as she pulled back with surprising force.

"You can't force me! I have rights!" She stomped a heel and he narrowly moved his foot in time.

He snapped.

Without another word Vincent bent down and scooped her up over his shoulder like a sack of rice.

She shrieked, drawing attention as Vincent took long strides toward the stairs up to the bar, pausing when he caught her scent by the side exit stairwell.

"Is this how you got in?" He followed the trail up, taking the stairs two at a time. She'd found the only unguarded entrance. But there was no handle on the outside. Someone had to have let her in from the inside...Almost like it was planned.

"Let me go, you bastard! Put me down! Please... " Her tone desperate, blunt nails scraping the back of his jacket as they neared the door at the top. He almost gave in, curious to see just who she was looking for. Who was so important that she was willing to beg? But if she could see through the glamoured door maybe she could see through a glamoured Harpy? Or Goddess forbid, a Centaur. Good luck explaining away a horse-man. He couldn't risk it.

"You mother fuc-ouf!" He adjustied her on his back, stepping out into the cool summer night. Did the woman even eat? She weighed nothing. A couple of cowboy looking cougars, in plaid shirts and denim leaned against the building, the embers of their cigarettes glowing in the dark alleyway. "You can let me go now." Her body seemeding to go limp in defeat as the door swung shut behind them.

Vincent set her on the ground.

"This guy bothering you, Miss?" One of the young cougars stepped forward, his thick mustache curled like a sheriff from an old western flick. Must be an out of towner if he didn't recognize Vincent's face. A foolish tourist.

"Actually-" She stepped forward, and without a thought he wrapped a hand round her waist pinning her to his side, not liking the hungry look in Mustache man's eye.

"Leave," he commanded, injecting aura into the word. Their bodies jerked limbs moving stiffly forward as his Obedience took hold.

"What the fuck?" Mustache's eyes grew wide as he tried to struggle against the order.

"C'mon let's go." The other cougar, more than willing to follow direction, pushed his friend forward out onto the sidewalk, their fading footsteps leaving a deafening quiet in the small side alleyway.

"Let. Me. Go."

His grip, loosening as she jerked her hand out taking two steps out back out of his reach. The pepper scent of her anger rolled over him like a tsunami, tinged with salt? His eyes snapped to hers, wet tracks sliding down her cheeks. "You can't just-" She hiccuped a sob, eyes glistening with hate, "You- Why couldn't you just let me stay?" She asked, angrily palming the tears away. "....fuck!"

Vincent stiffened, alarm bells firing in some primal part of his brain that sought to comfort the strange, annoying, woman. To wrap his arms around her small form and soak up her pain. Stupid instincts.

"I'll hail you a cab." He offered instead. A hand at the small of her back guiding her toward the sidewalk. She trudged forward, her steps heavy with defeat.

"My friend's still inside." The Heiress said weakly.

Who? Oh yes, the brunette. " I'm sure she can find her own way home."

The Heiress opened her mouth like she'd fight him only to say, "okay. Not like anyone cares." She mumbled the last part.

He flagged down a cab at the edge of the sidewalk, keeping one eye on her in case she bolted as the yellow car pulled up. He caught her tear-stained face in the headlights and resisted the urge to wipe a fat droplet that clung to her lashes. Guilt. That's what he was feeling, because of the damn crying.

Vincent opened the cab door for her, fishing a fifty from his back pocket and handing it to the driver. Should be enough to cover her ride.

"You can make it home by yourself, right?" He asked, opening the door for her to step in. But what he was really asking was, are you going to try to come back? Heer eyes narrowed and he was pretty sure she got the message.

"Look," he leaned into the cab, a hand on the door as she buckled herself in. "I'm sorry for- the way I handled things. It's been a long night and I- it's not a place you should be." She lifted her head to him, glaring silently. Seriously, why was he even explaining himself? "What's his name? This guy you're waiting for. I can ask around for you."

Silence.

She curled a finger, and he leaned his head in.

She leaned closer and, for a brief deranged moment, he thought she was going to kiss him. "What are you?-"

A hand came up to connect with his cheek before he could even react. He jerked up, smacking his head against the car hood.

"Uh, son of a-!" He stumbled back, cradling his pulsing noggin.

"That's for manhandling me!" she huffed, slamming the door in his face.

Vincent started-frozen in pain and bewilderment, as the cab pulled away, taillights weaving through the glow of traffic. His night summed up to a single word.

"...Ow."