Guests? She’d been hooded to get here, and she didn’t even know their contact’s name. They were being pampered and treated with the utmost respect, but Gabe thought this guy was a scary motherfucker. What a strange duality.
Isolde bobbed her head at them before disappearing once more. Reyna reached for the treats on the tray.
“Don’t eat that,” Beckham said, taking the strawberry macaron from her hand.
“Ugh. Do not deprive me of macarons.”
“I’ll get you all the macarons you want when we leave. But you never go into an enemy’s house and eat or drink.”
Reyna sighed. She saw the logic in that. But strawberry macarons.
Beckham glanced at the watch on his wrist as they waited. And waited. No wonder Isolde had brought them something to munch on. Apparently, he liked to keep hisguestsin suspense.
Then suddenly the door to the library opened once more. Reyna jumped to her feet and Beckham followed at a more resigned, leisurely pace. He was back in control. Ready to take on the world. She was anxious to finally meet this guy.
A soft breath escaped her mouth at her first sight of him. One look at him and it was obvious he was the most beautiful person she had ever seen. Not like the dangerous, scary goodness that Beckham exuded. This man had none of Beckham’s bulk or menacing stares or looks. Nothing about Beckham that had made her fall in love with him.
But she could appreciate beauty when it was before her.
He stopped before them with his hands loosely in the pockets of his ten-thousand-dollar suit. He held himself as if he knew no threats in this world. As if he was the top of the food chain. Not a scratch could hurt him.
His hair was brushed back from his face. The black strands almost appeared midnight blue when they caught the light. His cheekbones were chiseled out of marble with a jawline as sharp as a razor blade. But it was his eyes that were the most striking. A dark, stormy gray that seemed to swirl to life when they were turned on her. She stilled as he assessed her, and she couldn’t bring herself to utter a single word. Those eyes had known lifetimes.
He was otherworldly. Definitely not human. But no way was he a vampire either.
Whatishe?
“Welcome,” he said, his gaze slowly shifting from Reyna to Beckham. “You may call me Graves.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Graves.
Reyna swallowed. It fit him perfectly. How many people had he put six feet under? If her time with other walking predators was any indication, the answer was many. Many, many, many…
“It’s my pleasure to have you here tonight. It was fortunate that I heard your request. I apologize for keeping you waiting,” Graves said. “I had other matters to attend to.”
Murder or fucking.
There didn’t seem to be an in-between for him.
“I see that you didn’t partake of my refreshments.” His eyes shot to the food and back. “Believe me when I say that if I wanted you dead, poison would hardly be my choice. I prefer something much more macabre.”
“Poison is hardly the only possibility,” Beckham said.
“I suppose you can never be too careful,” Graves responded, his eyes alight with humor at Beckham’s offense. He slid his hands out of his pockets to reveal that they were clad in black leather. Why would he need gloves inside?
Beckham crossed his arms. It was written in every line of his body that he wanted this over with. And something seemed to unspool in Graves at Beckham’s annoyance. As if he was finally getting started.
“And you,” Graves said, as he faced Reyna. “What did you fear from my tea?”
“Too much milk?”
A muscle feathered in his cheek. It was as if he was contemplating smiling.
He nodded his head once at her. “Humans.” He turned back to Beckham. “I see why you like this one.”
“Standing right here,” Reyna said.
