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“If the line was unstable, a rift could have occurred anywhere. But it appears that the battle was the trigger and it took place there. We will know more in a few days, when the turbulence within the line diminishes enough for an investigation.”
“So, if there’s no danger, why are the consuls meeting?”
“They may be under the impression that the threat is more serious than perhaps is the case,” he said blandly.
“And you don’t think they’re going to be a little upset when they find out otherwise?”
“Early reports are often misleading. And by the time a conclusive answer can be obtained, the meeting will have already taken place.”
It sounded like Mircea was gambling that, given the opportunity to talk to them face-to-face, he could bring them around. And maybe he could. But I wouldn’t have liked to look at that group and say, Sorry, just joking!
“Pritkin thinks someone sabotaged the line,” I told him.
Mircea frowned. Since that was his usual response to any mention of John Pritkin, I ignored it. “To engineer such a breach would require a fantastic amount of energy. More than any known magical alliance possesses. Our experts are convinced that a naturally occurring phenomenon was to blame.”
“Let’s hope so,” I said fervently.
“Where are the consuls meeting now that MAGIC is gone?” Sal asked.
“Here. Casanova is arranging lodging as we speak, and the wards are being reinforced.” He looked at me. “That should not go beyond this room, by the way.”
“I don’t gossip!”
Mircea smiled. “That goes for everyone.”
Yeah, but he’d looked at me.
Horatiu entered, leading a vampire in hospital scrubs. The nurse, I assumed. He looked at us nervously and gave a quick bow before ducking his head and scurrying past. And for the first time that night, I felt myself relax. A vamp medic should know how to care for Rafe.
Mircea was on his feet when I turned around again. That seemed to signal the breakup of the party because, within a moment, everyone had disappeared. For once, even Marco found somewhere else to be.
Leaving me alone with Mircea.
I started for the door, but a hand snagged the back of my shirt. “A moment,” Mircea said quietly. I sighed but didn’t fight it; we needed to talk.
I was ushered into the master suite, where I stopped dead at the sight of the designer’s pièce de résistance. A full-sized cream leather Indian teepee, complete with brown, hand-painted buffalos and beaded fringe, was serving as a canopy for the bed. “Oh, my God.”
“I’m beginning to sense a theme,” Mircea said, tossing his suit coat over a buckskin-covered chair. A moose head with huge, outspread antlers loomed over it, its bright glass eyes looking oddly lifelike in the low light. Mircea took in the room, his expression slightly repulsed yet fascinated. “I believe there is only one thing to say at this point.”
“What’s that?”
“Yee haw,” he said gravely, and took me down like a rodeo calf. Before I entirely figured out what was happening, I was on my back in the teepee with a vampire crawling on top of me.
It was completely unfair, I thought, that when I was tired and disheveled I looked a mess, and when it happened to Mircea he looked like a particularly elegant porn star. His hair was artfully mussed, his shirt was unbuttoned enough to show a glimpse of lean-muscled chest, and his dress slacks clung lovingly to muscular thighs. In contrast, I was wearing the rumpled sweats I’d slept in, which had also acquired a pizza sauce stain. And that was despite the fact that I had never actually had any pizza.
Not that it mattered much what my clothes looked like considering how fast I was losing them. My sweatpants went flying, ending up atop the leering moose head, while warm hands slid along my sides, pushing up my T-shirt. I sucked in a breath at the unexpected speed of it all and at the electric tingle that spread up my body.
“You’re supposed to be tired!”
; “I am. Which is why I am not berating you for almost giving me a heart attack.” My T-shirt followed the sweatpants, and at least the eerie fake eyeballs on the moose were now covered up. Which was more than I could say for me.
“Vampires don’t get heart attacks.”
Mircea gave me a playful flick of his eyebrow and tugged my panties off. “Good thing.”
I opened my mouth to reply when his palms bracketed my face, swiftly followed by his mouth hard and demanding on mine. And somehow my witty riposte turned into a pathetic whimpering noise in the back of my throat. Unlike his usual habit, there was no slow seduction this time; Mircea kissed me hot and wet and dirty.
