Instead, I feel my wings spread slightly—a threat display I'm not entirely conscious of making.
"She's not available for introductions," I say, my voice dropping to a lower register that carries more threat than the words alone.
Caelum's eyebrows rise at my tone, but he's smart enough to step back. "No offense intended, of course. Enjoy your evening."
He melts back into the crowd, leaving us alone again, but the damage is done. The possessive fury that flared at his attention to Heidi hasn't subsided—if anything, it's growing stronger as I notice other appreciative glances being cast in her direction.
"That was rude," Heidi observes quietly.
"That was necessary," I correct, my hand tightening on her arm as I guide her toward the stairs.
She doesn't argue, but I catch the way she glances at me with something that might be curiosity. Or satisfaction. It's hard to tell in the shifting light.
The VIP lounge offers relative quiet and privacy, though we're not alone. A handful of regular clients occupy the plush seating areas, nursing expensive drinks and conducting the kind of business that requires discretion. I nod to familiar faces as we pass, but don't stop for conversation.
My usual table sits in the far corner, positioned to offer views of both the main floor below and all approaches to ourlocation. Defensible, private, perfect for conducting business while maintaining awareness of surroundings.
I settle into the leather chair that's been mine for years, expecting Heidi to take the seat across from me. Instead, she hesitates beside the table, uncertainty flickering across her features.
"Sit," I tell her, gesturing toward the opposite chair.
She does, but something about the distance bothers me. The bond, probably—we're close enough that it's not causing pain, but not close enough to eliminate the underlying pressure entirely. Or maybe it's the way she keeps glancing toward the main floor, clearly fascinated by the spectacle below.
"Drink?" I offer, signaling one of the servers.
"Wine, if you have it."
I order wine for her and amerinth for myself, then lean back to study her reaction to our surroundings. She's trying to appear sophisticated and worldly, but I catch small tells that give away her genuine fascination. The way her gaze keeps drifting to the elaborate glass sculptures that serve as light fixtures. How she traces patterns on the table's marble surface with unconscious appreciation for the craftsmanship.
"You're staring," she says without looking at me.
"I'm observing."
"Is there a difference?"
"Intent," I reply honestly. "Staring is invasive. Observation is... educational."
She does look at me then, storm-colored eyes sharp with intelligence. "And what exactly are you learning?"
That you appreciate beauty even when you're trying to hide it. That you're more comfortable with luxury than you want to admit. That the dress I chose brings out gold flecks in your eyes that make them look like precious stones.
"That you're not what I expected," I say instead.
The server arrives with our drinks before she can respond, providing a convenient interruption. She sips her wine carefully—testing for tampering, I realize, though she tries to make it look casual.
Smart. Paranoid, but smart.
"Your meetings," she says after a moment. "How long will they take?"
"As long as necessary." I check the time, noting that my floor manager should arrive soon. "Why?"
"Curiosity. I've never been privy to how places like this operate.”
Another piece of information to file away. For all her street-smart wariness, she's not familiar with high-end establishments. Which suggests her criminal activities have been limited to smaller targets, probably by necessity rather than choice.
"And what do you think?" I ask, genuinely curious about her assessment.
She considers the question seriously, her gaze sweeping the VIP area before dropping to the main floor below. "It's carefully constructed. Every detail serves a purpose—the lighting, the music, the layout. It's designed to make people feel sophisticated while loosening their inhibitions."
