She flashed her most disarming smile. “Even someone ancient can be new to the right person.”
“New, yes. But hardly fresh. Any fruit’s edibility is limited, even if it is never plucked from the tree.”
“Oh, but if that fruit is made into wine, it betters with age, and the first sip is still the most pleasurable.”
This time his smile broadened and he flashed a little fang. “True. Sit beside me. I’d like to know you better.”
With a wink, he moved her chair back from the table. She’d heard of vampires moving things with their minds. Only the strongest and oldest could do so. Turn off the lights, unlock doors. For him to so casually draw her chair back, Malvern must be old and powerful indeed.
“Tell me, are you the freshly picked grape or the wine?”
She took a seat beside him. “The wine,” she said. “Well-aged, full-bodied, and dangerously intoxicating.”
Malvern clapped his long fingers together in a creepy way that sent a cold shiver along her neck. She amped up her illusion to hide it.
“Oh Michael, wherever did you find this one?” Malvern asked.
“Rowan has been a member of my pack for years,” he said flatly. “I assure you, she can be quite entertaining.”
“So you’re a shifter?” Malvern asked.
“Yes. I thought it would be obvious given that I am definitely not a vampire.”
“Your scent is strange to me. Unlike Michael’s.”
She glanced back at Michael playfully. “What does Michael smell like?”
“Day-old butchered duck.” Malvern laughed and Rowan joined in.
The first course was served, a rocket and radish salad for her and the other non-vampires at the table, a small bowl of blood that gave off the slightest hint of orange for Malvern and his coven mates. She was relieved to be served actual food.
Michael pouted beside her, obviously still offended by the duck comment. “I wanted to give you an update on our search for that human who infiltrated Wicked Divine the other night.”
Rowan stiffened and gave him a dagger-filled glare. Why was he bringing this up now? The entire purpose of their visit was to distract Malvern from this topic.
Malvern sipped his blood and frowned. “Down to business so soon, Verinetti? All right. Tell me, have you found the walking blood bag?”
“We believe he is the father of one of the younger girls in the herd. I have a team of sniffers out tracking him down. He should be dead by morning.”
Rowan relaxed. Michael lied so convincingly even she couldn’t tell, and she knew his statement wasn’t true. She just hoped it wasn’t partially true. It wouldn’t be beyond Michael to hunt Nick down. Her dragon pressed to the surface. If Michael hurt Nick, she would kill him, with pain. She wrestled herself under control.
“Good,” Malvern said. “Stevenson, talk to your friends on the NYPD and make sure we have protection for the auctions. We will pay whatever we need to. My coven must be fed.”
Rowan’s head turned. Stevenson. That was Gerald Stevenson at the end of the table. The same Gerald Stevenson who had bought Sunrise House right out from under her. The same Stevenson from whom she’d stolen the Raindrop of Heaven. When had he slipped into the room? He hadn’t been in the parlor earlier.
“Already done,” Gerald said. “We have several integral members of the NYPD on payroll already. They will be avoiding Wicked Divine and squelching any cases that could be problematic for your coven.”
Oh no, Nick! Did he know who was on the payroll? If she knew anything about Nick, it was that he had a good heart. He would never allow that girl’s murder to go unpunished. He was probably still investigating it. Not only that, his friend Soren had been at Wicked Divine. Could they trust him? How much about that night had Nick shared with his partner? If Soren was compromised, all her efforts toward taking the heat off Nick would be for naught. She’d have to warn him tonight, as soon as she got back to his place.
“Now to more pleasurable topics,” Malvern said, turning his attention back to Rowan. “I mentioned that Michael smelled like day-old duck. Do you know what you smell like?”
She shook her head.
“Nothing I’ve ever smelled before. You have a smoky scent, something exotic. Alligator? Are you an alligator shifter?”
She wrinkled her nose. “What we shift into is a private matter. We usually don’t discuss it.”
Malvern frowned.
