“What is on your mind, Delaney?” Old Rossi’s voice was toneless and soft, as if his words were sifting down from a long distance.
I tore my gaze away from Sven’s still form, shoving aside my sorrow. I hadn’t known Sven for long, but I’d liked him. To see him here, dead—totally dead and not just sort of undead—made me realize I’d miss him.
“Do you know how this happened?” I asked.
“Bullet to the head.”
“That doesn’t kill a vampire.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“So how did he die?”
“Ichor techne.”
“Is that a kind of poison?”
For the first time since I’d entered the room, Old Rossi’s eyes flicked up to meet mine. I gasped, then felt stupid for letting him see my reaction.
His eyes were red, deep heart-blood irises swimming in eyes gone black. A vampire hunting might have red eyes. A vampire starving might have black. But a vampire with red and black eyes was either a breath away from hellish, vengeful violence, or insanity.
I had never seen red and black eyes. Never seen the devil so near.
“It is an art.” His voice was barely more than a hiss, a whisper of breath across tongue. “A very old blood art.”
“Art kills vampires?” My heart pumped so fast and strong, I felt like my entire body was shaking. Instinct told me to run, hide, flee, but I knew that would be the fastest way to feel fangs sinking into my throat.
Old Rossi’s gaze fixed on my throat, where I knew my heartbeat fluttered.
I didn’t know if it was the fear, or just a brain glitch, but I couldn’t stop the next words from falling from my mouth. “That would explain your interior decorating choices.”
His gaze snapped up to lock on mine. Then his eyebrow slowly rose.
“Are you insulting my interior decorating tastes?”
“On purpose?”
He waited
“Yes?” I said.
Oh, dear gods. Why had I been honest? I didn’t usually insult people when they were about to kill me. There was no denying that Mr. Devil and Darkness over there was a breath away from killing something. Probably a nervous police chief who was dripping rain on his wooden floor.
He blinked, and a wash of black faded to gray, the red to a ruddy amber. “I have impeccable taste.”
He sounded offended.
He looked offended.
Offended was better than deadly.
“Says the man with a room full of eggs in boxes.”
I resisted the urge to slap my hand over my mouth. His look of offense shifted to surprise.
“They are rare and valuable andbeautifuland represent the fragility of life in balance with the universe.”
He was right. They were beautiful. I opened my mouth to tell him I agreed with him, but he was on a roll.
