* * *
It tookover an hour to get from Rowan’s apartment to Malvern’s residence. Over sixty long minutes with Michael dressing reluctantly beside her in a pretentious suit. The length of time they traveled told her nothing. Depending on traffic, it could take sixty minutes to go a couple of miles or it could take them completely out of the city. Once the driver opened the door and Verinetti held his hand out to her, there was no mistaking that it had been the second of those two choices. The grounds were heavily wooded, and the stone castle of a home in front of her loomed on the horizon, a great, glowing mecca under the bright moon.
“Toto, we’re not in Manhattan anymore,” she whispered as she climbed out of the car.
“No,” Michael said, “you are not. And you’d do well to remember that. The NAVAK coven has outgrown these quarters, which is why they are expanding into the city, but very few have relocated yet. Stir up trouble here and you’ll have a significant portion of the coven to answer to for it.”
“Why would I stir up trouble?”
His eyes lifted to the heavens. “Goddess if I know why you do half the things you do, Rowan.” He offered her his arm, but she refused and started up the steps without touching him. “As I was saying.”
An extremely tall and lanky vampire, whom she supposed was the butler by the black-and-white uniform he wore, opened the front door for them and showed them to a parlor off the dining room. Her nostrils flared and tingled, the scent of vampire and fresh blood so strong it almost stung her lungs. She followed Michael toward the bar.
“Now that Lurch is gone, can you tell me if we’re going to be the only warmbloods at this dinner?” she asked.
Michael shook his head. “The black man in the south corner is one of mine. Werepanther. And those two women and that man over there are blood donors.”
Rowan looked at the group of three humans and immediately noticed the NAVAK tattoos on their wrists. All were scantily clad with noticeable bite marks on their necks and thighs. A whiff of medicine-tainted sweat reached her nostrils, and she realized they must also be drugged.
“Will Malvern be serving regular food as well, or should I have had a burger before I came?” she mumbled.
Michael stopped in front of the bar. “Malvern is an excellent host and will see to your every need.”
“Drink, miss?” The bartender, whose slightly dropped fangs gave him away as a vamp, gestured to the cart behind him. “We have a full bar or several types of bagged blood if that’s your fancy.”
“Vodka and tonic please.” She watched the bartender mix her drink and decided the bottles looked untampered with. Still, she gave it a sniff while Michael ordered his favorite Ramos gin fizz. The drink was obscenely complicated, included citrus, egg white, and heavy cream, and required a ridiculous amount of shaking. Who even drank that anymore? For the love of the Mountain, he was a pain in the ass in every sense of the word.
After a few long minutes of listening to Michael ramble on about how he’d bought his fourth nightclub and was expanding the Wicked Divine brand to milk the most out of the human population, Rowan began to wonder if Malvern would show. Where was he? Wasn’t this his party? Lurch returned, rang a small bell, and announced dinner would be served.
Michael grabbed her elbow. “Before we go in there, I want to know where we stand. As a shifter, will you finally become a member of the pack?”
She balked. “Why would you ask me that? I’ve never been a member of the pack. I’m independent and plan to remain so.”
“And what about us?”
“There is no us. That’s over.”
“So, other than protecting this human, there’s no other reason you joined me tonight?”
“No. I told you I was doing this to keep him safe. He was only in that position because of me. It’s not fair to make him pay for my mistake.” She took a different tack when his eyes clouded with darkness. “I’m your friend, Michael. I have always worked with you when you needed me. This is no different. But no, I don’t want anything more. Not from the pack and not from you.”
The dark clouds remained in his eyes, but he gave her a curt nod and ushered her into the dining room. At the head of the table, the vampire waited. Malvern’s hair was platinum white and hung straight down to his jaw. His small eyes were blue, and his complexion was as pale as porcelain. Pale as a corpse. The shape of his face made her believe he was originally from Eastern Europe, or maybe Russia. Based on appearance alone, Rowan had no trouble taking him seriously as the leader of this coven or as the killer she’d heard he was. He looked deadly.
“Michael, you’ve brought a guest.” Malvern’s gaze locked onto her and slid down her body before focusing on her neck. “Won’t you introduce us?”
Rowan strode around the table and offered her hand. “Rowan. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
He stared at her hand as if she’d offered him a roll of barbed wire.
“Vampires don’t shake hands,” Verinetti whispered. “It’s offensive.”
She retracted her hand. “My apologies.”
“You must not have much experience with my kind,” Malvern mumbled.
“No.” She added quickly, “How exciting to experience something new. Is there anything more enthralling than the first interaction with a strange and beautiful creature?”
His mouth edged up into a tight-lipped smile. “For those with virginal appetites.”
