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He nodded, and his gaze followed me, burning a hole in the middle of my spine as I headed down. I had a feeling that it would be a bad mistake to think he was as meek and as mild as he appeared.
The office door was open, and the vampire inside—a man with ebony skin and dark hair—looked up before I could knock. His eyes were an almost incandescent green that glowed brightly against his skin.
“You wanted to see me?”
Obviously, the bartender had psychically warned his boss of my presence. “I did.”
He waved a hand toward the somewhat scruffy leather chair on the other side of his desk. “About what?”
I sat down. “The fill-in entertainer you hired today.”
He snorted. “I can tell you one thing: She won’t be coming back. She did a runner well before her set was finished.” He studied me for a second, something close to amusement in his eyes. “Seems someone scared her off.”
And I had a feeling he knew it was me. “Unfortunate, given I need to speak to her.”
I showed him my badge, and his eyebrows rose. “So we are hiring werewolves these days.”
“Well, no, just me. You could say I’m special.”
“Could I, now?” He leaned back in his chair and studied me for several seconds before adding, “And did they give you the nano microcells you’re wearing?”
The amusement I’d glimpsed in his eyes was definitely evident in his voice, and I had to wonder what the hell was going on. “No, they are a means of self-preservation.”
“Do they keep Hunter out?”
I hadn’t felt him attempting to read my mind, but then, with the best telepaths, you didn’t. “Mostly.” I shrugged. “Probably as much as it has kept you out.”
He smiled. “I can read only the occasional surface thought.”
“As can she, and usually the worst possible ones.”
His smile grew as he leaned forward and offered me his hand. “Harry Stanford, at your service.”
His grip was firm, but not overpowering. A vampire who was confident in his own strength and who saw no need to display it—unlike Hunter.
I studied him for several seconds, mulling over our brief conversation, then said, a little hesitantly, “Are you, by chance, on the high council yourself?”
“And where would you get that idea, young lady?”
“It’s a guess.”
“Then it is a good one.” He picked up a pen and began to tap the table lightly.
Unease slithered through me, and my pulse rate began to skip—never a good thing when cornered in a small room with a vampire.
“And, uh, were you on the side of those who thought I could be of use to the council, or one of the ones who thought it would be better for all concerned if I were killed?”
“Neither. I could not see the sense in killing you before we’d explored and discussed all possible outcomes.” A half smile touched his lips. “And I would never, under any circumstance, side with Hunter.”
“Oh.” Great. He hated Hunter, and I was here under her orders.
“Never fear,” he said, almost jovially. “There is no point in killing the messenger when it is the master I would rather see dead.”
“If you did attempt to harm her,” Azriel said, voice flat but nevertheless deadly. He rested a hand on my left shoulder as he reappeared beside me. “You would be dead before you even left your chair.”
“Ah, the reaper himself. I was wondering when you’d turn up.”
“I am never far away.”
