For a Few Demons More (26 page)

“Doesn't matter,” he said. “The point is that it's done, and it was done—for you.”

Not knowing what to say, I drank my tea. The melting ice shifted, and I almost got a lapful of it. “I'm really sorry,” I said again, shaking the glass to get the ice to move. “I wouldn't have said yes to Trent, but he waved enough money at me to get the church resanctified,” I finished sourly. My gaze went distant as I wondered if I should tell him about my encounter with Ivy this morning, then decided against it. Maybe later, when we had more time.

Kisten bent to reach over the bar, and, realizing I was ogling him, I put my attention back on my drink and off his tight butt. Crap, the man knew how to dress to showcase himself.

“Forget it,” he said when he settled himself on the stool beside me, a bowl of almonds in his hands. “Someday I'm going to have to cancel on you because of business, and then…” He popped a nut into his mouth
and crunched through it. “…you're going to have to take it gracefully and not be a spastic girlfriend.”

“Spastic girlfriend?” I huffed, realizing that his quick acceptance came from self-preservation, not understanding. Mildly ticked, I swiveled my stool, my fingers on my cold glass.

With a little hop as if having decided something, Kisten put a hand on my knee to stop my motion. “You want to come over tonight for dinner?” he said. As he leaned closer, his hair brushed against mine. “I've got to work tonight, but Steve can handle everything, and we can eat on my boat. No one will bother us unless it involves blood.”

His shoulder was touching mine as I sat facing the bar, and his hand had curved around my back, his fingers playing with the hair over my left ear. My pulse quickened, and I was having a hard time remembering what I was upset about. His hand dropped lower, and his breath came and went upon my neck. The scar there didn't show anymore—lost under my perfect skin—but the vamp saliva the demon had pumped into me was still there.

“I've got something I'm dying to give you for your birthday,” he said, his low voice heavy with intent. “If I'm not going to see you Friday, I want to give it to you…
now.
”

The last word was almost a demand, and I shivered at the tension that pinged through me. Straightening, I licked my lips, turning to tuck my head beside his. I couldn't help but remember Ivy's kiss, and then I quashed the thought. “God, that feels good,” I whispered.

“Mmmm.” Kisten's touch on my neck took on the hints of massage, promising more than dinner. My breath grew fast, and I intentionally pulled in his scent. I didn't care that he was throwing off pheromones to lure me into making myself vulnerable. It felt too damn good, and I trusted him to not break my skin, substituting sex in place of his need for blood.

Fingertips playing with the hair above his neck, my shoulders relaxed and my gut tightened in anticipation. My unclaimed scars were both a pleasure and a pain, making me vulnerable to any vampire who knew how to stimulate them, but when in the hands of an expert, it made for insanely good bedroom play, and Kisten knew it all.

Thoroughly lost, I went to swing my left leg over his to pull him to me, then stopped, remembering where I was. Gathering my will, I
pushed back from him, and Kisten chuckled, desire heady in his gaze. “Damn it, look what you did to me,” I said. My face was warm, and my hand rested atop my neck, hiding it. “Don't you have napkins to fold or something?”

His grin was cocky as he leaned back and ate another almond. My fluster worsened when he glanced at David with an infuriating, satisfied-male look on his face. So he had gotten me hot and bothered. It wasn't hard to do when you knew what buttons to push, and my demon bite was a huge button, easy to hit and hard to miss. Plus, I loved him. “See you tonight?” he had the nerve to ask.

“Yes,” I snapped, but I was looking forward to it already despite my embarrassment that David had seen the entire incident. Okay, I was a witch with a vampire boyfriend. What did he think we did on our dates? Play tiddledywinks?

The hum of Jenks's wings caught my attention, and the pixy landed lightly atop the dessert menu. “What's up, Rache?” he asked, angular features concerned. “You're all red.”

“Nothing.” I sipped my tea, the ice sliding down the glass and smacking my nose again. “You want some sugar water or peanut butter?” I asked as I set it down.

Kisten subtly moved himself farther onto his stool and away from me. Jenks's wings increased their hum. “You sure you're okay? You're not sick, are you? You're throwing off heat like you've got a fever. Let me feel your forehead,” he said, rising into the air.

“I'm fine,” I said, waving him off. “It's all this leather. What's Mr. Ray doing?”

Jenks saw Kisten smirking as he ate his almonds, then my hand covering my scar. The pixy's attention went to David, who now had his back to us. “Oh!” Jenks sang out, laughing. “Kisten got you worked up? You tell him about Ivy kissing you, and he had to prove himself?”

“Jenks!” I shouted, and Kisten flinched, his face going white. From the end of the bar, David grunted, turning to look at me questioningly.

“Ivy kissed you?” Kisten said, and I could have just died.

“Look, it wasn't a big deal,” I said, shooting evil glares at Jenks, who was now staring at me as if wondering why I was mad. “She was trying to prove to me that I couldn't control her when she lost herself to her blood lust, and things got out of hand. Can we talk about something
else?” Jenks was spilling dust to make a sunbeam on the counter. “Jenks, what is Mr. Ray doing?” I said, flicking an almond at him.
Damn it, I don't have time to deal with this right now.

Jenks stayed where he was as if nailed to the air, and the nut passed over his head to clatter behind the bar. “Bitchin',” he said, smirking. “He's been here for twenty minutes. And don't let her fool you, Kisten. She's been thinking about that kiss all afternoon.”

I made a snatch at him, missing when he darted back. “It surprised me, is all.” I snuck glances at Kisten as he tried to hide his worry. Behind him, David frowned and turned away. Remembering why I was here, I took Kisten's wrist and tilted it so I could see what time it was. “I want to go in with Mrs. Sarong, seeing as neither one of them know the other will be here. Where is she, anyway? She ought to be here by now.”

By the end of the bar, David turned his attention to the door and tugged his coat straight. Kisten, too, sat up. “Speak of the devil,” he said. “At least three cars by the sound of it.”

His steps slow but seeming to eat the distance like magic, David came back, and I felt a wash of angst. Crap, I had magicked Mrs. Sarong's baseball field to convince her to pay me for my time when I'd stolen Mr. Ray's fish, thinking it had been hers. Yes, she'd asked for this meeting, and though it seemed likely she wanted to talk to me about her murdered aide, the possibility that she might still be on about that fish had me nervous.

“I'll be in the kitchen folding napkins,” Kisten said softly, his hand trailing along my shoulder as he rose and slipped away.

The look on his face when Jenks told him Ivy had kissed me flashed before me. “I'm a coward,” I said softly to Jenks as he landed on my earring.

“No you aren't,” he started. “It's just—”

“Yes I am,” I interrupted as I stood and made sure I didn't have spots of iced tea marring my pants. “I pick a place where I know someone will save my butt if I get in over my head.”

David harrumphed and stood beside me, and I was thankful he didn't seem to think anything less of me. For whatever reason. “That's not being a coward,” he said as the front door opened and light spilled in. “That's thinking ahead.”

I said nothing. Nervous, I forced my features to find a confident
slant as the light was eclipsed by what looked like eight people. Mrs. Sarong was first, a young woman close behind her. Her replacement aide, perhaps? Five men in identical suits flowed in after them to make a semicircle clearly protective in nature. Mrs. Sarong ignored them.

The very small woman smiled with her lips closed, taking off her gloves and handing them to her aide. Eyes on me, she reached up and removed her white hat, handing it and her white leather clutch purse to the woman as well. Heels clacking on the hardwood floor, she came forward. She was wearing a tasteful white suit that looked businesslike without hiding the curves of her small but well-proportioned body. Her feet were tiny. Though in her mid-fifties, I guessed, she clearly took care of herself, being trim and poised. Styled short and off her face, her blond hair had streaks of gray, but that only added to her professionalism. A string of pearls was about her neck, and she wore a diamond ring with enough sparkle to dance the Hustle by.

“Ms. Morgan,” she said as she approached, her entourage fanning out to make me wary. “It's good to see you again. But honestly, dear, we could have met at my office or perhaps Carew Tower if you felt more comfortable in a neutral setting.” She glanced quickly over the room, her nose wrinkling. “Though this has a certain rustic charm.”

I didn't think she meant it as a slur, so I didn't take it that way. With David at my shoulder and Jenks sitting on it, I came forward to take her extended hand. My arm had been in a sling the last time we'd met, and I shook her hand, pleased to find her grip firm and sincere.

“Mrs. Sarong,” I said, feeling tall and awkward in my leather since I stood almost eight inches over her. “I'd like you to meet David Hue, my alpha.”

Her smile widened. “Pleasure,” she said, inclining her head to David, who did the same in return. “Taking a witch as your alpha female to start a pack with?” Her eyebrows went up, and her eyes, untouched by age, glinted. “Wonderful way to play the rules, Mr. Hue. I have since plugged that particular gap in my employee handbook, but wonderful nonetheless.”

“Thank you,” he said gracefully, taking a step back and removing himself from the conversation, but not the meeting.

Mrs. Sarong held out her hand to her aide, and the woman took it, letting herself be drawn forward. “This is my daughter, Patricia,” the
older woman said, surprising me. “Since the unfortunate demise of my aide, she will be shadowing me for the next year to gain a better understanding of whom I deal with on a daily basis.”

My eyebrows rose, and I stifled my surprise.
Aide?
The young woman before me wasn't Mrs. Sarong's aide but her freaking heir. “It is a true pleasure,” I said earnestly, shaking her hand.

“Likewise,” she said firmly, her brown eyes giving away her intelligence. Her voice was high but determined, and she was dressed with as much class as her mother, though admittedly showing a lot more skin. Now that I knew their relationship, the resemblance was obvious, but where Mrs. Sarong was aging beautifully, her daughter Patricia was just simply beautiful, long black hair softly curving about her face and her small delicate hands possessing a hard strength. Instead of pearls she had on a chain of gold, a brown stone at the nadir point. Her pack tattoo, a vine twining about barbed wire, circled her ankle.

Stumbling, I pulled David forward. “This is David,” I said, almost hearing my unvoiced, He's single.

David started, but then, with a rueful smile that made him ten times more attractive, he shook her hand. “Hello, Ms. Sarong,” he said. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

“Mr. Hue,” the young woman said, her brown eyes amused.

Mrs. Sarong looked at me, her face questioning at my impertinence.

“Would you like something to drink?” I asked, thinking my rusty host skills were going to get a workout this afternoon while dealing with a woman so clearly raised on etiquette and form.
And what in hell am I doing introducing David to her daughter like he was on the market?
My lips tightened at Jenks's snort from my earring. “We can go to a private room,” I added, not knowing if it would be easier to take her to Mr. Ray or bring him out here, but she interrupted with a wave of her hand.

“No,” she said lightly, her businesslike air returning. “What I want will take only a moment.” She looked at her daughter pointedly, and the young woman gestured for the men to back out of earshot. They went, sullen yet obedient, but when Mrs. Sarong glanced at David, I sent my gaze to her daughter, standing at her side.

“Fine,” the older woman said in concession. “I simply want to contract your services.”

Expecting this, I nodded, but a surge of morality tugged at me, and I
found myself saying, “I'm already working with the FIB to find out who murdered your aide.” I gestured for her to sit at one of the small tables. “There's no need for you to contract me as well.”

She settled herself gracefully, and I took the seat across from her. David and Patricia remained standing. “Splendid,” Mrs. Sarong said, clearly making an effort not to touch the top of the table. “But I want to contract your
other
services.”

Confused, I stared at her blankly.

“Your older profession, dear,” she added.

From my shoulder came a tinkling of pixy laughter, and my eyes widened.

“Mrs. Sarong…” I stammered, feeling my face flash red.

“Oh, for Cerberus's sake,” the woman said in exasperation. “I want you to kill Mr. Ray for murdering my aide. And I'm prepared to pay handsomely.”

Shock zinged through me as I finally got it. “I don't kill people,” I protested, trying to keep my voice soft, but with a bar full of vampires and Weres, I was sure someone else heard me. “I'm a runner, not an assassin.”
Has she heard about Peter?

Mrs. Sarong patted my hand. “It's okay, dear. I understand. Shall we say seventy-five thousand? Place the appropriate bet the next game and let me know. I'll take it from there.”