Ravenous (13 page)

Pierce flushed pink, his cheeks hot with stolen blood. "I broke no laws. She asks for it."

"You broke the spirit of our pact. We can feed, but no one wants to see the thing done. To them we are nothing but foul leeches."

"And yet you accepted my offering the other night."

Omara's eyes widened with irritation. "That was our own ground, where we rule. This is the human realm, where I come to flatter and amuse the day-dwelling potentates. This is where I cozen and beg for every scrap of legal protection for our kind. You
will not
shatter my efforts with your idiot games!"

And you will not betray me
. The words were unspoken, but Alessandro heard them all the same.

Pierce fumed, muscles bunching beneath his elegant gray suit. "Those 'idiot games' are our traditions, my queen. Would you so easily discount our honored past?"

Omara jerked as if slapped.

That's enough
. Alessandro lashed out a hand, snatching the collar of Pierce's jacket. "When the queen speaks, you do not question."

Pierce moved to strike, but Alessandro caught his wrist. Miranda covered her face, her breath coming in frightened sobs.

Calmer now, Omara picked up her glass and took a sip of wine. "Easy, my champion. Let him go."

Reluctantly Alessandro uncurled his fingers. Pierce slid back into place.

"You do not like this new world, John?" Omara asked softly. "You miss the old ways of terror and mystery?"

The anger was still there, but with a degree of pain as well. Pierce had wounded Omara, and that surprised Alessandro.
Interesting
. She was vulnerable to the worm.

Pierce ducked his head. "I do miss the past. It is so much harder to survive now."

"You could always get a job," Alessandro said helpfully.

"But he has," Omara said, her voice dark. "Dare I guess what you are about tonight, John? You were charming this pretty businesswoman. She has what you need: blood and money. In other words, you've gone for the oldest profession of all."

The last words were steeped in disgust. In reply Pierce gave her a look charged with sexual heat and defiance. "So what if I have? Women like Miranda appreciate my skills."

Alessandro snorted. "You're a gigolo."

He saw the word sting. Pierce lolled back in his seat, putting his hand on Miranda's bare knee. His leer showed fang.

Omara leered right back, but made it terrifying. "Does she taste good, John? She smells of diet pills and carbonation."

Pierce grimaced with embarrassment as Omara grabbed the girl's arm and sniffed the inside of her wrist, lingering above the freshly-closed wound. "I grant you her skin is beautiful to look at, like alabaster touched with rivulets of lapis. Sadly, you can't judge a vintage by its label."

"Hey, I don't swing your way!" Miranda protested, trying to twist her arm away. She whimpered beneath Omara's crushing grip, anxiety banishing the haze of the venom.

The queen's honey-gold eyes turned as hard as agate, her lip lifting to show the tips of her teeth. "You dare to tempt us with your snow-white flesh. Now you will do what you're told, meat."

She dragged her tongue along Miranda's inner arm, sucking a little where the veins rose beneath the skin. A human heartbeat passed. In that moment Alessandro saw the naked hunger in Omara's face, the veil lifted from a millennia of carnage. He knew that appetite of old, had seen it in the queen's face time and again. He felt it in his own flood of arousal. His saliva began to run.

Alessandro heard the low, almost inaudible growl of Pierce's territorial protest. The air grew heavy with threat.

Miranda shot Pierce a look of wild panic, the truth slamming her with the force of a train. She finally wrested her arm free. "Omigod, let me out of here."

Surprise! We We monsters
! Alessandro thought dryly.

Pierce touched her shoulder. "Miranda, please don't go."

The mere command was enough. Miranda froze, cradling her arm. "What do you want me to do?" Her voice was small and hushed. The sound of a venom-slave. No will of her own. No future beyond the next bite.

Pierce shot a glance at Omara. The queen nodded. Pierce turned back to his human. "Go upstairs now. Go on. Get up."

Miranda rose. Pierce stood as well, handing Miranda her purse and kissing her lightly on the cheek. "Go upstairs to the room. I'll meet you there as soon as I can."

Alessandro watched the woman retreat, the sway of her hips in the electric blue dress almost, but not quite, worth a moment's distraction.
Junk food
.

"Well, John, I wonder what other secrets you've kept from me?" Omara asked icily. "There have been some curious incidents in Fairview of late."

Pierce gave her a bewildered look.

Stupid
? Alessandro wondered.
Or just a very, very good actor
?

Omara was impassive. "We need to speak in private."

Alessandro saw Pierce turn sheet-white. He glanced at the queen. She was studying Pierce with a wistful expression. Normally a private audience with Omara meant punishment. Here Alessandro wasn't sure what would happen, and he didn't like mysteries where the queen was involved. She was unpredictable enough.

As if to illustrate his thoughts, she made one of her mercurial shifts. "Alessandro, come."

She rose. He followed her. Pierce stayed behind, tossing back one glass of wine, refilling it, and then drinking that, too.

Omara stopped close to the entrance to the lounge.

"Are you sure you want to see him alone?" asked Alessandro.

Omara gave him a veiled look. "That is what I wish."

He stifled a curse. "Do you truly think he's mixed up with our enemies?"

"Or perhaps a vapid, self-involved twit. Or both. Leave it to me." Omara's tone brooked no further argument. "Despite what I said earlier, the bleeding ring is not evidence of anything but poor judgment. However, it is a good excuse to frighten him into confessions."

"What about the woman?"

Omara gave a slow smile. "John must learn to share. Do you have any idea who she is?"

"A Realtor. I overheard their conversation. Holly Carver's lover is trying to sell her house. Idiot bastard."

"A fool indeed. A witch never parts with her home." Omara's brow contracted. "Wait a moment. Did you say your little witch has a boyfriend?" Playfully Omara wound her finger in one of Alessandro's curls. "You are in her life, you admire her, and yet she loves another? How does that happen?"

Dangerous territory
. Alessandro shrugged. "You are my queen."

Omara gave a rueful, lopsided smile. The expression was unusual for her. "You fear my jealousy, so you aim to please. Not a bad plan, except you're a pathetic liar. I may be your queen, but I do not rule your heart."

Alessandro opened his mouth, desperately trying to think of something to divert her thoughts from Holly. But Omara caught his chin in her fingers, and shut it. "I see the look in your eyes when you speak of your witch. You try to hide it, both for her sake and for mine. Your loyalty does you credit."

This was a softer side of Omara than he had ever seen. He didn't trust it.

She went on. "Your witch should be falling at your feet, and not those of another. You are my sword arm and defender of my honor. My champion should be adored."

Dangerous territory
. "But the lady has some say, does she not?"

Omara rolled her eyes. "You're hopeless. Put some effort into winning her over. Try wearing something besides black. Women like a bit of color." She patted his cheek. "And see to it that you get her assistance. Soon. She should be raising the dead for me by now." She looked at her watch. "I have to go."

"Be careful of Pierce."

"He is the one who should have a care." She pursed her lips. "I'll call you later."

Alessandro bowed as she left.
Get her assistance
. If Alessandro's favors bought that aid, so be it. He was for sale, even at the cost of Omara's monumental jealousy.

Emptiness yawned inside him. One day his disappointment in Omara would swallow his loyalty. She was an excellent queen, but there was little in her that was human enough to love.

He had to check on Holly. He rang her home, then her cell, but got no answer. Not a big surprise. She often turned off the phones if she was working magic. But, just to be sure, he called her grandmother.

She gave Alessandro a full report. He was stunned.

Ben had left Holly?
Idiot
. Up until the business with the house, Alessandro had always tolerated Ben. On some basic level he just didn't present much of a challenge. But she was having dinner with Detective Macmillan. Why Macmillan? She'd met him only once. Why the sudden interest?

And why was Macmillan making advances now, when he should be paying attention to his job?

This new development was worrisome on many levels. The detective was different from Ben Elliot. Macmillan was a man of action and authority. He counted.

Alessandro started toward the door. He couldn't just let this slide.
Rival
, he thought, every instinct alert. Maybe he couldn't be with Holly the way he wanted to, but he was damned if he was giving her up to Macmillan. Not until he was convinced that Macmillan was the better man.

That would be never.

Holly is mine.

Halfway out the door, he paused to survey the spacious lobby and the upscale boutiques that lined its perimeter. He remembered the queen's words.
Try wearing something besides black
.

Alessandro strode to the adjoining mall with grim purpose.

All too soon Holly faced the ultimate test of feminine protocol: what to wear when one was not sure whether business, pleasure, or both were on the dinner menu. As a rule, no lingerie decisions could be made until one decided how the evening should end. For instance, if one were reaching for the three-for-one panty hose in basic taupe, the night would be over before it began.

Better in that case to stay at home with the remote.

She'd barely met Macmillan but, cop mode aside, he seemed like a nice guy—maybe even worthy of fishnet stockings. But right now? There was a vampire she couldn't have and a demon mouse she wished would go away. Not to mention Ben.
Maybe footed sleepers with a plunging neckline would send the right message
.

Then again, it was just a dinner invitation. A business thing. Maybe she could save the angst until after he offered to coat her in chocolate sauce and lick it off to the strains of the 1812 Overture. That would give hosiery choices some meaning.

Ugh
! She glowered at the closet. This is why
I had a steady guy. After a while they don't notice what you 're wearing anyway
.

Up till then it had been a good afternoon. Holly had spent time with O'Shaughnessy's
Charms and Protections
. Reinforcing the protection spell over every door, window, chimney, and light plug—basically wherever there was an opening in the wall—was tedious, but not difficult. Her powers grudgingly rose to the occasion with no more than a few sharp twinges. By late afternoon she was exhausted but thoroughly satisfied. She wanted to keep that glow.

Not so easy, once the wardrobing debate began. Why did Mac need her help with something
personal
! That one word held so many possible scenarios, some of them alarming.
Better go with the little black dress
.

But then she wore the metallic teal spike heels. They looked like castoffs from
Hookers from Outer Space
, but there was no need to strike all the fun off the menu.

Holly arrived a few minutes late. Macmillan lived in a nice but slightly older downtown condo block. As Fairview's housing prices caught up with the rest of the country, it was the kind of place working folk would soon find too expensive to afford. The woodwork in the lobby was faux mahogany; the fittings in the elevator were finger-smudged brass. Soft carpet in the hallway nearly mired her heels as she teetered her way to the corner suite, and her calves were aching by the time she knocked on Macmillan's door.

Alessandro answered. Holly frowned in confusion.
Did I get the right address
?

"Good evening," he said, just this side of Bela Lugosi. "Come in. May I take your wrap?"

"What are you doing here?" she asked, handing over her mohair stole and the bottle of merlot she had brought.

Fleeting irritation crossed Alessandro's face. "Detective Macmillan cannot abandon his culinary creation, so at the moment I am his butler."

"Well, the uniform looks good on you. Nice, um, shirt."

Alessandro shifted his weight to one hip, settling into his insouciant slouch. Hot-pink silk framed an expanse of pale, muscular chest. His long curls of pale blond hair slid with languid ease over the fabric, the sound a faint, suggestive whisper.

"I came looking for you," he said. "Your grandmother mentioned where you were going, and that you would be coming alone."

His eyes caught hers for a moment, but gave away nothing. She wondered how much exactly Grandma had said—but Holly couldn't reply, her mouth too dry for words. Her gaze lowered to the perfect pale chest in front of her. And the shirt. It was so… pink. Hot. Very hot.

Finally he shrugged. "The detective and I agreed that we three could discuss what we know about recent events. He has been interviewing me as he chopped parsley."

Holly felt a flicker of irritation. She felt confused, torn between Alessandro's bare chest and Macmillan's micro-grins. She hadn't wanted a steamy date with the detective, but now she felt unaccountably cheated that it wasn't even a possibility.
Damn
.

"Why do you care about sharing information with the police?" she asked.

Alessandro shrugged. "I need to know what he knows. He has forensics, databases, and all the rest of the modern world's monstrous wealth of information. I'm willing to dangle a few tidbits to get access to that."