“Shall we toast to this?”
“Oh ho!” Titus slapped Leo’s back in what looked like camaraderie. “I have heard that you retain the services of a human from the Orient, one who tastes of hazelnuts? Is this so?”
“Ah,” Leo said. “Chin Ho. He is actually Grégoire’s, but he is here. His name means Precious and Goodness. He is from the land now known as Korea, and is most beautiful to look upon, as he is to taste. He is about fifty years old and is aging well, like a fine wine. I would be honored to have your opinion,” Leo said, all civility and elegance.
“I have a lovely woman I would share with you,” Titus said.
I took off before I barfed. They were talking about humans as if they were liquor and slaves. Ticked me off. I left the third floor and took the stairs to the ground, under the house. The fighting rings here had absorbed the blood, and the blood itself had been diluted with water from the shower. In spots, the sand was the pale pinkish color of watery blood.
What was a Dark Queen even supposed to do in this situation?
Jane will fly by cloth over haunches.
Seat of my pants.
Yes. Jane/Beast will know what to do when Jane must do it.
This is ridiculous. Stupid.
This is fighting for territory. Beast has fought for territory before. And has eaten big-cat who challenged for hunting grounds.
That does not make me feel better.
Beast is best ambush hunter.
Still stupid. Stupid Sangre Duello. Stupid fangheads. Stupid Leo.
Then again, I thought, war between countries where millions of young human men and women died while their leaders sat in safety behind the lines was even more stupid and ridiculous. Plans were made and discarded, cities were taken and lost, and people died for nothing. Still. This sucked. I went back upstairs and raided Deon’s commercial fridge, taking a heaping tureen of roasted pig meat and a single fork to the front porch. I set it on a table and dropped onto a lounge chair, putting my booted feet up. And ate.
Bruiser took the chair beside me. He was holding two glasses of wine. “I’m not certain of the proper wine for whole smoked pork, but decided on an Australian Cabernet-Shiraz and a Chilean Merlot. Which do you prefer?” He held out both glasses.
“Shouldn’t you be off doing Onorio stuff?”
“If I have to do another Onorio task I think I shall go raving mad. I need to be with you.” He still held out the glasses.
I remembered that the Merlot had sucked all the moisture out of my mouth. “I’ll have the Shiraz. Unless you have a Boone’s Farm Fuzzy Navel. That reminds me of Creamsicle, and I’d kill for a Creamsicle right now.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. “Not really,” I amended. “Not kill.”
“I know what you meant, my love. And no, I kept theBoone’s Farm for our celebration when we are safely back home.”
I shoveled in meat. Drank the Shiraz. It was okay. Bruiser seemed to like the Merlot. “I thought there was supposed to be only beer on the island. Nothing the EuroVamps would approve of.”
“Officially. I brought a few bottles of my own. May I?” he asked, gesturing with the wineglass at my tureen.
I offered him my fork. He waved it away and took some of the pulled pork in his fingers and ate. My heart melted. And melted again when he licked his fingers and took another portion.This. This was why I loved him. Bruiser was powerful, elegant, and rich, but there was nothing pretentious about him.
I set aside my fork and we both ate with our fingers and drank wine, watching the night’s distant storm on the ocean, lightning flickering through the clouds and down to the crashing sea, miles away. But growing closer. The breeze picked up. Stunted trees danced in the wind, leaves flying away with the approaching squall.
Bruiser asked casually, “Is it a magical storm? Like something that Adan created?”
“No,” I said. “Just a nightly gulf storm. Mother Nature getting in the last word.” I let a pause fill the space between us, as the gulf splashed and the wind soughed. I took Bruiser’s hand and his fingers wrapped around mine. We sat that way for some time.
We were still sitting when the tramp of feet alerted us. I set aside the huge bowl and leaned over Bruiser. Kissed him gently. He tasted of pork and fancy wine. And love.
Battle wasn’t made for quiet moments or relaxing. It was made for the kind of focus that narrowed down to life and death and survival. This break from that intensity and emphasis and single-minded concentration was probably stupid. But I felt the tension flow out of me at the touch of his lips. I breathed into his mouth, and he smiled, his lips moving against mine. And it was exactly the short, peaceful break I had craved without realizing it. I pulled away slightly. “Thank you. I needed that.”
“As did I.”
I tilted my head, thinking about the way I had just relaxed. “Did you just share your Onorio magic with me?”
