Unable to help myself, I snarl as the thralls enter, pulling rack after rack of clothing followed by my master tailor, who claps her hands to get the thralls to leave.
“Let me see what I’m working with,” Pirosca says with a baleful gaze at me. “Dominik,” she adds as a throwaway in my direction.
Mostly because I have Lucy tucked behind me as I bare my fangs.
If anything, my possessive nature is getting worse around my mate. I struggle to see her talk to any of the thralls and as for being close to any of my progeny? I want to rip their heads off, more than usual. In fact the mere thought of anyone even being in her vicinity makes my skin itch more than being out in the day.
It makes me want to do things I thought were long in my past. And it certainly isn’t helped at all by the fact if I show how I feel, chances are Lucy will run for London.
And I can’t have that either.
“Is he always this feral, my sweet?” Pirosca asks, leaning to one side to peer at Lucy.
My mate shoulders her way past me.
“Most of the time.” She holds out her hand to the tailor who shakes it. “I’m Lucy Cushing.”
“And I am Pirosca.”
“Piro-scha?” Lucy repeats with the correct emphasis. The tailor smiles.
“Your pronunciation is good.” She nods.
“Thank you. I’m trying, when I can get a word in edgewise with this one.” She jerks her thumb over her shoulder.
“Pirosca has been my tailor for…generations,” I butt in. “She will style you for tonight.”
“Oh,fancy,” Lucy says with a smile playing around her lips.
I don’t like leaving her alone with anyone. Even while she is sleeping, I’m in one form or another with her.
And when she is in other places, I use my abilities to be there too.
I walk to the door, tell the thrall we are not to be disturbed, and close it again, only to find Pirosca inspecting Lucy by turning her right and left.
“You have good bones. I can work with you,” she says.
Mirth dances in Lucy’s eyes.
“But you”—she glares at me—“you need to go. I do not want the mate under foot, and I want her to dazzle you like she will dazzle society tonight.”
Lucy stares at me, her tongue in her cheek and her eyes wide.
“Please go, Dominik. I want todazzle,” she says, with a slight strangle to her voice.
I wrinkle my nose.
“Shoo,” Pirosca says, flapping her hands at me.
Lucy claps a hand over her mouth before she recovers her composure.
“You heard the lady, Dominik. Shoo,” she says.
With the greatest of reluctance, I leave Lucy, closing the door behind me. I am the king of the vampires, not some thrall to be chased out of a room.
And yet, it has just happened. I am no longer master in my own nest. My little human has taken over. She has just told me toshoo.
I am the king of the Budapest vampires, a vast empire under my fingertips, and a little pregnant human told me toshoo.
