by J. C. Wilder
“Yes…Master.”
The tension was evident in Miles’ voice and Mikhail could barely prevent a gleeful grin. Oh, how he was enjoying this. He finally had the bastard right where he wanted him.
“You’re dismissed.”
Mikhail sank into his chair to listen as the two men left the room, the door closing behind them. Satisfied that he was alone, he tipped his head back and gave a bark of laughter, not caring if anyone else heard him or not.
Slowly but surely, things were falling into place. His army was being reassembled and the diary would be returned to its rightful owner, him. Once Miles had proved his allegiance, Mikhail would decide his fate and things could move forward. Soon he would lead the council and all would be as it should.
Chapter Four
From behind the bar, Sinjin watched Vivian as she expertly wove her way through the crowds to escort a party to their table. She was dressed as the other waitresses, a white shirt, black skirt and the requisite red silk choker around her slim throat. She’d pulled her wealth of dark curls into an elegant twist. Gone were her torturous heels and in their place she wore a pair of black flats.
After a few missteps at the beginning of her shift, she’d picked things up quickly. She’d tried to enter the kitchen through the exit door and proceeded to knock a tray of deserts out of a waiter’s hand. She’d also mixed up the decaf with regular coffee for one patron. Other than those minor problems, she was doing a good job and things were certainly smoother than they’d been the night before. She also made the environment more scenic.
One of the men she’d just seated leaned close to whisper something to her. She laughed, tilting her head back she exposed her pale throat to Sinjin’s gaze. Hunger ignited in his gut as she patted the man on the shoulder before she walked away, a smile still gracing her mouth.
“She’s good.” Tracey’s voice startled him.
“Oh yeah?” He feigned indifference by opening the cooler door and taking a quick inventory.
“She seems to have an uncanny instinct for knowing when a table needs something and she doesn’t hesitate to jump in. Under normal circumstances I would guess she’d done this before, but I doubt it.”
“Why do ye say that?”
“She comes from money. Her mannerisms and every inch of her body just screams it. Do you see those shoes she’s wearing?”
Sinjin looked at her feet as Vivian walked to the hostess stand. “Aye.”
“A minimum of five hundred bucks and that price is discounted.” Tracey leaned over the bar and snagged a bottle of hot sauce. “We have a little princess on our hands.”
Sinjin’s gaze followed Vivian as she led another party to their table, a middle-aged couple who looked as though they’d stumbled through the looking glass and straight into wonderland. The woman clutched an ugly, oversized purse to her chest as she glanced around the room. Then she spoke to Vivian, leaning as if she didn’t want anyone else hearing what she said. Vivian gave her a reassuring smile and patted her on the arm before turning away and walking toward Sinjin. He cast an admiring glance over her long, supple limbs and easy walk.
Princess or not, she was one beautiful package.
“Do we have milk?” she asked.
Sinjin blinked. “Milk?” What kind of person came to a New Orleans jazz bar and restaurant and ordered milk?
“Yeah, you know, the stuff that comes from cows.” Vivian grinned.
Tracey rolled her eyes at Sinjin before she walked into the kitchen.
Vivian’s smile faded. “I don’t think she likes me.”
Sinjin shot a glance at the swinging door, wondering what was going on with Tracey. She was normally very outgoing and friendly with all the staff, but she certainly wasn’t with Vivian. “I’ll talk to her.”
“Don’t bother, we’ll work something out.” Vivian walked away. “I’ll get the milk from the kitchen.”
Sinjin shook his head and retrieved a beer for a waiting customer. As long as he lived, he would never understand women. Mortal or preternatural, they were conflicting masses of illogical emotions. If women could be more like men—
A prickle of energy moved over his skin, alerting him to the presence of another preternatural. Scanning the crowd in search of the source of the disturbance, he noted the majority of the crowd was human. There were a few vampires mixed in with twenty or so revenants and a small number of witches. As most of them had been here for a while, none could have been the source of the disturbance.
The skin at the base of his neck tingled and he turned to see a woman standing several feet away. She was small, not much over five feet five, give or take an inch. Her slim curves were covered in black leather from head to toe.
Her long black hair was scraped back into a tight braid that was carelessly tossed over her right shoulder. Her dark brown eyes watched him as a rush of energy moved across his skin before settling into a low vibration.
Fascinating, a female werewolf.
“I need to speak to you, alone,” she said.
What would a werewolf want with him? They were notoriously standoffish and had a tendency to avoid everything except the most superficial contact with other preternaturals. Having one walk into the Chat and ask to speak to him was akin to the second coming.
“What do ye want to speak about?”
“An issue of great importance, to your people at least.”
What could a werewolf have to say that would interest a vampire? Or did she have another, more nefarious reason for wanting to get him alone?
“We can speak here, she-wolf.” He pointed to the stool at the end of the bar. Separated by the server area, it was as secluded as it could be considering they were in the midst of a crowded bar.
“No, we can’t.”
Her gaze shifted to over his shoulder and he glanced back to see several revenants had noted the wolf’s arrival. As he watched, one of the revenants nudged a vampire and brought their attention to the woman. One of the revenants edged closer to their end of the bar. Her arrival was attracting an undue amount of attention, thus making a private conversation impossible here.
“We’ll go upstairs.” Sinjin led her to the doorway and the steps that led to the second floor. He opened the door then stepped to the side to allow her to precede him. “Ladies first.”
Her gaze sharpened, her nostrils flared as she caught the dare. Was she afraid of being led into a trap? Probably. If he’d ventured into unfamiliar, possibly hostile territory, he’d be on guard as well.
With a slight nod, the werewolf stepped past him and headed up the steps, her spine straight, head up and shoulders back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Vivian as she exited the kitchen, a glass of milk in one hand. Their gazes met and she smiled until she caught sight of the leather-clad woman preceding him. Her brow arched as her expression cooled. She looked away.
He was tempted to tell her that the woman only wanted to talk to him. But what would he say? A werewolf needed a private moment with him? Sorry, dear, undead business calls?
Sinjin followed the she-wolf up the steps. He’d talk to Vivian tonight and make his intentions clear, leaving her without a doubt that he wanted her and there was no reason to be annoyed that she’d seen him talking with another woman. It had only been forty-eight hours since he’d first spoken to her, but he couldn’t get her out of his mind and he wasn’t sure he really wanted to. Disturbed by the direction of his thoughts, he slammed the door a little harder than he meant to.
“Can I offer ye a drink?” he asked, ignoring the woman’s speculative glance.
“No, thank you.”
Sinjin gestured toward the comfortable couch, then waited while she perched herself on the edge, her spine as straight as a ruler.
“How about yer name then?” He chose the armchair across from her.
Her smile was faint. “My name is Elena Vasquez.”
Ah, now his interest was piqued.
“Ye are related to Eduardo Vasquez?”
<
br /> “He was my father.” He caught the tension in her words and, if it was possible, she sat even straighter. Much more of this and she’d break in half with the tension.
The Vasquez family, the majority of whom were revenants, was rumored to have dabbled in the dark magical arts and made their living by indulging in fits of burglary. But they weren’t common burglars, they were unique because, according to rumor, they stole only upon request. Usually they stole collectable art or jewels. They selected only the most difficult jobs for they offered the highest level of danger.
Eduardo Vasquez, the family patriarch, had been killed several years ago when he was found in bed with the wife of a dignitary of a small foreign country. The story held that while robbing her of her diamonds, he’d taken one look at her sleeping face and had fallen in love. They’d carried on an affair for several months before Eduardo was caught and summarily beheaded by the royal executioner.
As a further insult to the proud family, the two children were kidnapped by the royal guards and turned into werewolves against their will. Now, fully grown, the Vasquez children were never seen in the company of another preternatural. In fact, the son was known in the Shadow Dweller realm as El Verdugo, Spanish for the executioner. He was a mercenary who was known to take great pleasure in hunting rogue preternaturals and killing them for sport. Not exactly someone Sinjin wanted to get to know better.
“I see you’ve heard of my family.”
He met her guarded gaze and inclined his head slightly. “I was sorry to hear of your father’s untimely end.”
Her eyes darkened and she leapt to her feet. “It’s all lies.” She spun away and paced to a window. “He wasn’t killed for the love of a treacherous woman.” The scorn was evident in her voice. “He was murdered.”
It was obvious the death of her father was still a very sore subject. Exacerbated, no doubt, by her treatment at the hands of the guard. While he felt for her obvious pain, he seriously doubted that she’d come here to speak of her father or her current circumstances.
“What exactly did you come here to speak with me about, Ms. Vasquez?”
Visibly she forced her emotions back under control. Her leather-clad fist clenched then unclenched several times before she returned to her previous seat, her eyes hot. “Please call me Elena.”
“Only if ye’ll call me Sinjin.”
She nodded her acquiescence. “I did not come here to discuss ancient history.” She crossed her legs before she continued. “I’ve come across something I think you might be interested in.”
“And that would be?”
“The diary that everyone seeks.”
Sinjin couldn’t control his surprise. Half of the preternatural world was looking for the book and it had ended up in the hands of a female werewolf? What madness was this? He forced himself to remain still, but he was too late. Judging from the flash of triumph in her dark eyes, he’d already given himself away.
He cleared his throat. “I might be interested in seeing the book. Is it in yer possession?”
“Not on me, but it is in a secured place.”
“May I ask how ye know about the diary?”
“Everyone knows about it.” She gave him a mocking smile. “Even those of us who choose not to participate in the workings of the council are aware of the book’s existence and what it contains.”
Oh, the efficiency of the preternatural grapevine. Western Union had nothing on the gossipy undead. They were worse than a gaggle of geese when there was gossip to be had.
“I see.” Before they went any further, he needed to determine if she had the real thing and for that he needed to see it. The sooner the better.
Prior to Eduardo’s death, the Vasquez name had been shady at best. Now, after the scandal and his son’s change in vocation, they weren’t exactly considered leading citizens even among the werewolves. Could the beautiful Elena be trusted?
“What would I have to do to get a look at the book in order to judge its authenticity?”
She shook her head. “If you’re asking me to take you to it, sorry, won’t happen. I don’t know you. How do I know that you won’t try to take it from me?”
Sinjin shrugged. “My reputation speaks for itself or ye wouldn’t have come to me.”
Her gaze slid away.
His eyes narrowed. “But why come to me and not Alexandre? He’s the head of the council, not I. I’m not even a member.”
“True, but you are the Chronicler of the Shadow Dwellers—”
“Was. I no longer hold the position.”
“It doesn’t matter.” She leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees. “Of anyone, the book is most valuable to you as an artifact, rather than an instrument of war. You know more about the history of the preternaturals than most have forgotten.”
That much was true. He’d acted as the Chronicler for almost two hundred years, spending the vast majority of his time hunched over ledgers as he researched their origins and journaled their current events. That time of his life was over and he had no intentions of going back, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t intrigued by the possibility of having the diary at his fingertips. Being the history fanatic he was, he would give his eyeteeth for an hour alone with it.
“Have ye looked at this book?”
She sat back, her expression disturbed. “Some.”
“And ye know it’s authentic?”
She nodded. “I have no doubts whatsoever.”
“I’d like to see it before we talk any further.”
“Well,” she bit her lower lip as she chose her words. “I’ll bring you several photographs of the pages, ones that you’ll be able to read and judge their authenticity.” Her gaze met his. “Will that be suitable?”
He ground his teeth. Half the preternatural world was looking for this book and this woman was playing coy. Didn’t she understand that lives were at stake? He wanted to shake her until she realized just how important the diary was. Judging from her closed expression, he had a feeling that pushing her would accomplish nothing at all.
“Aye, this will be acceptable. How soon can this be completed?”
She rose from her seat. “I will return tomorrow evening with the photos. Will midnight be satisfactory?”
No, he wanted to yell. But in this situation, he had no say and, for now, he could only play by her rules. Sinjin stood. Wolves, while being pack animals, hated to be crowded by anyone other than their own kind. He deliberately stepped close, towering over her as he held out his hand. It was a test of sorts. Would she take his hand or would she spurn him?
Her eyes narrowed, her nostrils flared slightly, then she took his hand for one firm shake. She immediately stepped away and toward the door.
He smiled. “I look forward to it.”
Vivian’s attention automatically shifted to the stairway door as she exited the kitchen. For the past forty-five minutes, she hadn’t been able to keep her attention focused on her work, ever since that leather-clad wench had led Sinjin upstairs. Who was she? Was she important to him?
What does it matter, Viv? You’re not interested in a one-night stand with a good-time boy and that’s all it would be, another one-night stand.
With a solid thwack, she dropped a handful of laminated menus into the bin. Even though Sinjin was the first man who had interested her on more than a physical level in a very long time, she was through selling herself for a few minutes of closeness with another human being. It was time to get her mind, and body, back where it belonged.
She wove her way through the tables, happy to see that everyone had what they needed for a good dining experience. There was nothing worse than going out for dinner and receiving bad service. That was worse than mediocre food. She was surprised to find that she was really enjoying her stint as a hostess here at the Chat. She might not have very many marketable talents, but she’d always known how to throw one hell of a party. Her friends had said she’d been born knowing how to make people feel at home.
Vivian resumed her position at the hostess stand, glad to see that the waiting area was empty and most of the crowd around the bar had moved into the nightclub. The moment the band started their set, the patrons had run for the nightclub and that was fine with her. It would give her a moment’s rest. Maybe she’d slip behind the bar and indulge in a small glass of wine.
As she stepped toward the bar, the door leading to the steps opened and the leather-clad woman exited. The other woman’s color was high and her eyes sparkled, whether from desire or anger, Vivian wasn’t really sure. One thing she did know, with Sinjin it could go either way.
The woman stalked by, sparing nary a glance for anyone around her. Vivian couldn’t help but admire her sleek form and confident walk. She sucked in her stomach. This woman probably worked out daily to get that toned physique and, at forty-four, Vivian knew she didn’t look anywhere near as good as the other woman did. She let her stomach out after the other woman exited the Chat. Nothing like a close-up look at the body of a twenty-year-old to make a forty-four-year-old feel like hell.
“Vivian, can you grab me a piece of cheesecake with cherries?”
Bonnee, one of the newer waitresses rushed past her, a harried expression on her face.
“Sure thing.”
Vivian turned toward the kitchen and before she could take two steps, slammed straight into Sinjin. She put her hands up and they landed on his chest. Through his cotton shirt, his skin felt warm and hard beneath her palms. Her stomach clenched.
“How’s it going?”
His accent trickled down her spine, igniting a shudder of desire, threatening to turn her insides to mush. Suddenly nervous, she licked her lips and moved away. He didn’t look as if he’d been tussling with a lover above stairs. His hair was neat, his clothing in order, but there was an odd, almost victorious glint in his eyes.
Not that it was any of her business.
“Very well actually. Full house again.”
“I’m sure it’s because word has traveled about the Chat’s beautiful new hostess and it’s bringing them in droves.”
“I seriously doubt that.” She moved to step around him. No way was she going to let him flirt with her after tangling with leather-girl for the past forty-five minutes. Not that she was counting, of course.
