Amané’s was an upscale eatery, all right. It was French cuisine with a Middle-Eastern flair. The owner, Amané, had been born in Turkey, and she moved to Paris when she was fifteen. After studying the culinary arts, she marred a man who lived in Seattle, and moved here to open her own restaurant. We’d met a couple times when Dante’s aunt Tilly took us to dinner there. Tilly knew Amané from way back, given that the restaurant owner was a jaguar shifter.
As I walked in, she saw me—Amané tried to touch as many tables as she could during the evenings—and she recognized me.
“Kyann, how nice to see you! Are you here to meet Tilly and Dante?” She took my hands and air kissed my cheek. The jaguar shifter was gorgeous—she was athletic and slinky, with rich dark skin, brilliant green eyes, and thin silver braids that hung to her waist. She was wearing a leaf-patterned jumpsuit that looked straight over from Paris, and her wrists were covered in silver and gold bangle bracelets that probably cost more than my mortgage.
“Amané, how are you?” I returned her air kiss, looking around. “Actually, I’m meeting someone else tonight. Business, you know.” While Amané knew I was half-demon, I didn’t want to advertise my father’s presence.
She stood back, then smiled. “I think I know who. Someone named Ezerian?”
I nodded. “How did you know?”
“The resemblance is striking, my dear. Come, your party is already here.” She waved away the hostess. “I’ll take care of our guest,” she said as she picked up a menu and led me through the winding maze of booths and tables to a corner booth in the back. My father was there, along with Vaurice. The both stood, and I swallowed hard. My father and I really did look a lot alike.
I slid into the booth. My brother was in the middle, at the back, and my father was opposite me. “Thank you,” I said, as Amané handed me the menu.
“What would you like to drink? Your usual?” Amané asked. I usually had a dark red wine when I came here with Tilly and Dante.
I noticed both Ezerian and Vaurice staring at the interaction. “Thanks. I think a merlot tonight.”
“I’ll have a waitress bring that for you in a moment, and she’ll take your orders if you’re ready.” She gave the men a long look, then glanced back at me, but said nothing else. As she headed toward the front, I leaned back against the booth.
“You know the owner?” my father asked.
“I do. I’ve been here several times with a friend and his aunt.” I glanced at the menu, feeling all too conspicuous.
“You wash up nice,” Vaurice said, once again giving me the ick.
I stared at him, deciding to be blunt. “I’m your half-sister. Would you please stop commenting on my looks?”
Ezerian snorted. “You won’t break him of the habit. Trust me. Your brother’s half incubus. His mother was a succubus.”
“Oh great,” I said. Incubi were trouble. Everything in their world—just like with succubi—was connected to sex, and they had no sense of conscience about seducing whoever caught their eye. “So I was right. You’re a horndog.” Regardless of trying to play along, I wouldn’t be me without a little snark.
“And proud of it,” he said, meeting my gaze.
He really was gorgeous, which was just more bad news for the women he set his eyes on. Or men. I wasn’t sure whether my brother swung both ways, or just one.
Ezerian sighed, rolling his eyes. “I should have realized this might happen if I brought you two together. Get it out of your system.”
At that moment, the waitress returned with my wine. My father and brother were both drinking cognac. “Are you ready to order?”
I nodded, deciding to take the reins. “Yes, actually. I’d like the steak-frites and to start, mussels.” I handed her my menu. My father ordered the steak tartare, which came with toasted baguette slices, grilled asparagus, and he asked for a starter of toast points and caviar. My brother ordered French onion soup and an appetizer of escargot.
As she left the table, I turned to my father.
“All right, why did you want to see me?”
“Can’t I just wish for a chance to get acquainted with my own daughter?” Ezerian said. His voice was smooth, like Vaurice’s, and yet—beneath the cordial demeanor—I detected an iron will and an aloof, cool air.
“I suppose so, but I have the feeling this meeting involves more than that. However, if you really want to get to know me, ask away.” By speaking out about myself, it might calm his suspicions. “You should know that I’m blunt and direct. I had to grow up fast, and I learned that it was easiest to not beat around the bush. I’m not much good with small talk, and while I can be diplomatic when it counts, I tend to speak my mind.”
My father stared at me for a moment. “You don’t disappoint, I’ll say that for you. So, tell me, what was your childhood like?”
“What do you expect? My mother was afraid you’d find out about me and take me away—at least, that’s the best I can figure out. So we moved too often. And I never had the chance to meet her family because she was afraid that her liaison with you might come back to land on her mother and brother. So I never got to know them, either. I grew up with only my mother to watch over me.” I wasn’t going to prance around certain aspects of the truth.
“And she died when you were…”
“Fourteen,” I said. “She didn’t just die. She was tortured and murdered by a serial killer.”
