King's Gambit (6 page)

My phone vibrated against my leg. Crap, when did I drop it? I frowned as I saw that Alex hadn’t answered at all, and the message I received was from Khalil instead. Two messages may not have been a lot, but it was way more communication than I’d had with my boyfriend in the past week.

I missed him so much.
The thought passed through my mind in a low whine as I slid back down onto the mattress, the decorations for a pity party setting themselves up in my head. Normally, I’d be meditating to find my center and letting my magic flow through me – sort of like an arcane workout – before starting my day, but I didn’t feel like doing that. Or anything, really. While it was true magic was more effective when the caster didn’t feel like a ten-ton sack of crap, my powers were enough to handle a threat – as long as Godzilla didn't attack or something. Just to prove my magic hadn’t suddenly vanished, I held my palm up and conjured a ball of ice. It floated above my hand, exuding thin streams of frost before cracking and bursting into a small, crackling sphere of electricity.

It vanished, and I forced myself to whip the blankets off to start the day. Unfortunately, being tangled in said blankets made the action as effective as trying to drown a fish. Some very ungraceful maneuvering later had me out of bed and rummaging through my closet. With Khalil’s “leggy” suggestion in mind, I decided on a bright red, floor-length gown with a slit up the left side. Bam, team player achievement unlocked.

By the time Khalil knocked on my door, I’d managed to stab myself four times with hair pins and was seriously debating carrying a handful of them with me as secondary weapons since, apparently, I couldn’t help but cause damage with them. Still, my efforts paid off and I was able to greet Khalil with my hair in an almost attractive up-do.

“You look ravishing.” He smiled as he looked me over. “I see you took my suggestion to heart. And no boots this time.”

Nope, no boots. Just a pair of dangerously high red stilettos. I reworded my mantra from last night into “
Suffering
was the curse of the fashion savvy” and buckled up for a very long night. At least, with my heels and hair pins, I wouldn’t be unarmed.

“Thank you. You don’t look so bad yourself,” I said, returning his smile and taking in his appearance. The tuxedo he wore was custom tailored and fit him like a glove, but like last night, there was something about him that made the suit look out of place on his body.

“Ah, such kind words from such a beautiful woman,” he said, reaching forward to place a kiss on my hand. It sent tingles up my spine, but I no longer wanted to jump him right here and now. It seemed getting stabbed in the brain by hair needles made me more resistant to his ample charm – go acupuncture. “This evening is getting better already.”

He helped me slip on my coat before we stepped outside, the winter air toothless tonight. It was still early, though, and I wouldn’t be surprise if its fangs came out later on. Ha, fangs, vampires. That’s why I loved puns: they made for pleasant surprises.

“Is this really what Franklin does?” I asked as we walked to the car. “He just throws parties all the time?”

“He has his hands in quite a few of the city’s clubs, so he writes these off as ‘business research.’ I’m not complaining – a lot of valuable information can be gleaned from these events.”

Oh, sweet heated leather seats. If I ever got a car, this would be first on my list. Who am I kidding? This probably costs more than my loft.

“Are we walking into a rave, then? Because your text said ‘black tie.’” My head bumped against the seat and I sat up straight. Right, no leaning back unless I wanted my hair to get FUBAR’d.

“Not at all.” He revved the engine and took off down the road. “Still, he maintains it’s related. I suppose it doesn’t really matter in the end. Parliament or not, as long as he has money, Robert can throw as many parties as he wants, for whatever reason he wants.”

“Then why bother connecting it to his club ventures?”

He shrugged. “To give himself a sense of legitimacy? To make it seem like he’s doing more than just playing around now that he’s a political figure instead of just a pile of money? I don’t know. Or care, if we’re being honest.”

“I hope we’re being honest with each other.”

Khalil glanced over at me, lips curled in amusement. “I see no reason not to be. We are partners, after all.”

“Are we?”

“What else would you call it?”

I thought about it for a second, watching the cars whiz by in flashes of light as people made their way home or out for a night of fun. “Partners it is.”

“Good,” he said with a satisfied nod. “Now, partner, tell me more about yourself.”

“I like long walks on the beach.”

“Really?”

“Nope,” I said, popping the “p.” “Actually, yes.”

“Perhaps we’ll finish early tonight, then we can take a drive to the beach.”

“The beach is almost an hour away.” Smiling, I added, “What did you want to do, watch the sunrise?”

Khalil laughed, a rich bark that was incongruous with his smooth compartment.
You’re just all sorts of opposites mixed together, aren’t you?
“You are the kind of woman that could make a man face his final sunrise. Unfortunately, my will to survive is too strong, even for your feminine wiles.”

“That sounds more like I make people suicidal.”

“It was a compliment, I assure you.”

“Well, then,” I said with a smirk, “give it time.”

His teeth were pearlescent in the darkness. “Oh, I think we are going to get along just fine.”

I will say one thing for Robert Franklin: he had good taste in wine. Rather, his ghouls had good taste in wine, but I wasn’t interested in nitpicking so much as I was in getting another glass. And then another. Khalil was more than happy to oblige, waving at the waiters to bring refills and joking with the other guests that he was trying to get me drunk.

There weren’t as many familiar faces as I’d have liked, and I wasn’t sure if I should be thankful or angry at Marcus for never inviting me to these things. We’d already been here an hour, rubbing elbows with NYC’s fang-y elite, and Franklin still hadn’t shown up. Khalil said the man would likely be “fashionably late,” but my concern faded away more and more with each glass of wine.

“The club business must be booming if Franklin can afford to pay for all of this,” I said.

Khalil “mm’d” in reply. “Rumor has it Sir Franklin’s ventures aren’t doing so well. I wonder where he got the money for all this.”

“Maybe the rumors are false.”

“Maybe.” The gleam in his eyes and the amused quirk of his lips told me he didn’t believe that at all. “Or maybe he’s getting the money from somewhere else.”

“I’m guessing you mean
someone
else.”

His smile was devilish and oh so sexy. “I do.”

I could have asked whom, but I think I had a good idea of the mystery donor. Ah, politicians. “Well, I suppose you can never show you’re slipping in this world.”

“Very true.” He placed a hand over my own as I waved for the waiter. “As lovely as your cheeks look when they’re flushed enough to make even the roses around us jealous, perhaps you should ease up until we’ve gotten what we came for.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I don’t get drunk like normal humans.”

“If I’d known that was a benefit to sorcery, I would have tried harder to learn magic.”

I chuckled. “It’s not as simple as reading a book, I’m afraid.”

“If wishes were horses…” He shrugged. “I suppose I wouldn’t have gotten to enjoy the limitless drinking long enough for it to be worthwhile.” He plucked another glass from a passing waiter and handed it to me. I liked him even more. “Last one.”

Never mind.

I placed my hands on his shoulders and leaned close to him. “Think very carefully before denying someone who can set things on fire with her mind.”

He looked down at me in amusement. “Well, if the wine makes you get this close to me, perhaps we
should
keep it pouring.”

His eyes were doing that liquid gold thing again, and I leaned even closer towards him.
Crap. Bad Morgan. No.
I pulled away and resolved to focus on savoring this glass. “Is Allison Rollins here? I don’t see the King.”

“Neither do I.” He leaned against the windowsill like nothing had happened. “Looks like this is one of the rare occasions where Miss Rollins has stepped out alone. She’s the one surrounded by the flock of young, blonde men. Her preference, I believe.”

“They look like Flavius,” I noted.

“As I said, preference.”

Allison Rollins was a plain-looking woman with flat, light brown hair that fell to the middle of her back. There wasn’t much more to say about her from this distance other than she had a pointed nose and could make even Kate Moss feel fat. Death: the best diet regimen ever. From the dusting of pink on their cheeks, it was clear the men around her weren’t vampires. Ghouls, maybe – party favors Franklin had procured for her.

Khalil nodded toward the entryway. “Our host has arrived.”

Roger Franklin looked like one of those sleazy Hollywood porn producers. He was a short man with an egg-shaped head that was barely covered by a whisper of grey hair. The magic weight loss fairy that hit the undead had skipped over him, leaving a rotund mass hanging over his beltline. Even his tuxedo couldn’t class up his appearance, and I pitied the fabric as I watched it strain against his flabby flesh.

“I didn’t think it was possible for vampires to be…”

“Fat?” Khalil said, surprising me with his sudden bluntness. “It’s rare, but it can happen.”

I nodded, averting my eyes before Franklin could see me. “Let’s wait a bit.”

“It would be too suspicious to approach the man right away, hmm?”

“Yup.”

“And it has nothing to do with the fact that you have no idea how to get his blood?”

“Nope.”

“You have the vials, yes?”

“Yup.”

“Still not going to admit to not having a clue?”

“Nope.”

“Shall we get a room once this is over?”

I snorted. “I
am
listening to what you say.”

“I know,” he said with a coy grin. “I was just hoping your pattern of replying would hold.”

“If you can find a way to get blood from Franklin, it just might.”

“Promises, promises. Perhaps a dance will inspire you?”

Did these look like dancing shoes to him? Did they even look like
standing
shoes? Right. Suffering. Fashion. Adulthood. Fuck my life. I downed the rest of my wine.

“Why not?”

I could practically feel Lady Cassandra looking down at me, saying those dance lessons I hated as a child were paying off. Actually, she was more likely to be sighing at how little I managed to learn. Khalil didn’t seem to mind. His ease on the dance floor compensated for my lack of grace, and we waltzed along effortlessly to the music.

“You are a very talented dancer,” I said.

“As are you.” I shot him a look and he chuckled. “You’re certainly practiced, at least. Do all hunters take dance lessons?"

“Depends on who you live with,” I said. “How about you? Did you learn back in…?”

“In?” he repeated with a raised brow. “You should know how secretive we vampires are.”

“Even with their partners?” I said with a cheeky smile.

He returned it and said, “Touché. I was born in Calcutta. How many years ago that was, we can leave up to your imagination. Unless you’re really into older men, then I may feel compelled to share.”

“Age doesn’t really matter to me. Is there anything else you feel like sharing, though?”

“Tit for tat, my dear.”

“I don’t have any tats.”

His grin widened. “Even better.”

“I was born in the Order city of Dovesport,” I said, pressing my cheek drowsily against his chest. My regenerative abilities may slow the effects of alcohol, but they don’t stop it from making me drowsy. God giveth and taketh away, indeed. “My age is classified.”

“Sir Castinus told me you were twenty-six.”

“That traitor.”

The hand Khalil had on my hip wound around my back and held me closer to him. It felt nice to be in someone’s arms again, and I allowed myself to relax against him farther. “I find pillow talk is best for getting to know a person, but this isn’t so bad, either.”

“Good. I think. How long do you think we should wait before approaching?”

“The bedroom?”

I let out an exaggerated sigh. “Franklin.”

“Do you have a plan yet?”

“Do you?”

“Sir Castinus doesn’t pay me for my planning skills.”

I held back a snarky comment on what Marcus
did
pay him for. The thought was way too NC-17 for the dance floor, and the more I thought of it, the more I wondered how it would feel to be in the middle of that image. Great. Maybe I didn’t stab myself hard enough with those pins. I pressed my chin into Khalil’s shirt and peered up at him. He smiled down at me with an expectant look, waiting for me to lay out my nonexistent master plan.

This was nice. Easy. Comfortable. His eyes were warm and inviting – I could stare at them for hours, absolutely mesmerized. I took in his face, from his high cheekbones to his full lips. Behind them rested fangs capable of draining me of every last drop of blood. I was still drawn to dangerous men, it seemed. When would I be old enough to know better?