“I am taking an interest in something,” he said. “That should please you.”
“That’s what worries me. Why her?”
“Is she not interesting?” He took a sip of his Bliss. It tasted like moonlight sliding down his throat.
“Has Arcuro ordered this?” Deagan asked.
Jared watched as Laila avoided meeting Nora’s eyes.
“Because it would explain things if he had,” Deagan continued. “It would mean he has finally tired of you and decided to assign you to a suicidal task. But if he did not order this—”
“Enough.” Those two quiet syllables stopped Deagan’s speech. His aura shifted, fluctuated, then steadied out. Understanding darkened his eyes, and his mouth downturned.
“You should taste a hint of spice with undertones of oak,” Laila said. “It blooms over your tongue and… and…”
Laila’s gaze fixated on Nora. A moment later, Jared smelled it. Smelled her. It was the same sweet aroma that had pulled him toward the wolf two weeks ago, a powerful scent that reminded him of orchids growing through freshly turned soil. It made his mouth water, his fangs ache.
Nora set a dagger—the one Laila had used earlier—on the side table. She let her hand hang off the couch. Blood dripped from her fingers and onto the floor, just out of sight from the humans.
But not out of Laila’s sight. Not out of his or Deagan’s.
That cunning werewolf.
As Nora’s blood drip, drip, dripped to the cement floor, Laila’s pupils dilated, almost completely obliterating the blue of her irises.
Nora had to give the vampire credit—she lasted longer than she’d expected—but just as Laila jerked toward her, Jared barked out her name.
Laila’s gaze locked on her master. He must have given her a mental command. She immediately strode toward the door, not saying a word or looking back.
Pity.
“Friends.” Deagan swept into the midst of the group, drawing the humans’ attention and motioning for them to rise. “Bring your wine and join me back at the bar. We have an exquisite chardonnay we would love for you to try.”
Jennifer frowned toward the door. “Is she okay?”
“She’s perfectly fine.” Deagan put his arm around her shoulder, and the air in the room turned warm and comforting, cozy as sitting beside a fire on a winter’s night.
Nora suspected that was Jared’s doing. He had moved closer.
“That was foolish,” he said, stopping an arm’s length away.
She stood and stretched out her blood-soaked palm, feeling the knitted skin stretch. “That is what you can expect if I find your vampires here again. One of them will break, and then they will die.”
He grabbed her wrist. He didn’t break eye contact, and the move was so startlingly quick she almost let surprise leak into her expression. Instead, she kept her bloodied palm open and relaxed.
His gaze was intense, and his aura gave the air a tangible pulse. He was one of the Aged. He had mountain loads of self-control, but he lifted her hand toward his mouth, eyes challenging her to stop him.
She curled her left hand into a fist and launched it at his chin.
The satisfying jerk of his head was worth the sharp lance of pain in her knuckles. She followed when he stepped back, then swung a hard kick into his ribs.
His expression remained steady, but she’d hurt him. She could tell by the way the air expelled from his lungs.
“You are enthralling,” he said.
“You are dead.”
He held his arms out wide, inviting her to take him down.
