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Except when I open the door, he’s not there and the bedroom door is open. Telling myself I’m relieved, I head down the stairs to the dining room. Joséphine has finally accepted that I don’t eat more than a few bites of any breakfast she makes and doesn’t overwhelm the table with so many choices. This morning there are egg muffins with spinach and I blush, while chiding myself. I shouldn’t be embarrassed that Joséphine knows I need iron-rich foods this morning; she’s a vampire herself! It’s probably a totally normal thing—
Oh, shit, did they hear us in Ambrose’s office last night?
Groaning, I steal the plate and mug of tea—since I put my foot down on using the delicate china—I scurry away, head bowed. I don’t even realize I’m heading towards Ambrose until I’m in the doorway of the office, startled to a stop because of who is in there with Ambrose.
Forgetting all about the fact that less than twelve hours ago, Ambrose had me braced up near the top of the bookshelves eating me out like a starving man in this room, I charge in and set the plate down on the table between the shelves.
“Where’s Deidre?” I ask, not apologizing for interrupting Kasar and Ambrose. My stomach turns and a cold sweat breaks out as I look back out the door, as if she might come in at any moment. “Is she okay? Is she here or home?”
Kasar gives me a bored look, and it’s then I take in his attire. The last, and only, time I saw him, he wore the suit and tie look I’ve come to accept as the Nightshade standard. It’s stranger to see a vampire around here in anything other than a suit. Kasar is wearing black cargo pants, combat boots and a gray t-shirt that has to be a size too small. Combined with his olive skin and ink-black hair pulled back in a messy bun, I want to snort.
Deidre must be panting like a bitch in heat, because Kasar like this is her dream man. Sure, her dream man has always been human, but now that I’ve experienced Ambrose’s supernatural strength—I’ve gotta say human dudes are looking a bit lackluster.
“Deidre is in a safe location,” Ambrose answers, and there’s enough warmth in his voice that it makes me emotionally stutter to a stop.
“Oh,” I breathe out, a tide of relief pulling my panic away as quickly as it’d washed over me. “Good. That’s really good.”
I wrangle my hands, the fact that I interrupted the two men in what was most likely an important meeting hitting me. Ambrose is dressed as clean as I’m used to, though he’s foregone the coat and tie and has even pushed his sleeves up to his elbows. His hair isn’t as tidy as it usually is, and there’s no helping the blush as I realize he’s just smoothed it down from when I’d gripped it like a crazy lady.
The warm mahogany office seemed too warm now, except for the chilliness radiating from Kasar, who hasn’t moved except to cross his arms over his chest.
The vampire is ripped. He’s definitely Deidre’s type.
I point with my thumb over my shoulder. “I’m just going to go now,” I say and take a step backwards, feeling awkward. I turn, about to quick-step the hell out of there when Ambrose calls my name. I halt, shoulders tensing like that time one of my better foster moms walked in on me doing karaoke in the bedroom. I’m like a glacier, barely able to turn back around but I do. “Yeah?”
Ambrose’s statuesque face is placid, but when I meet his golden gaze, I get a brief glimpse of the warmth from this morning. “You’ll be joining me for a late luncheon. Be ready by one.”
I give him a finger gun and a wink before feeling horrified. What the hell, El? Are you back in middle school with a crush for the first time? The man had his tongue in you last night, and you gave him a finger gun? I speed around when he stops me again. I don’t turn this time. Because, god, what if I offer him a high five or a coolio?
“Your breakfast?”
Tempted to abandon it, I hurry over to collect it, my head down and cheeks burning. Kasar is like an ice yeti full of disapproval and Ambrose is definitely laughing at me.
I flee out of the office and up the stairs. I haven’t explored much on this floor but last week I did find the door to the wrap-around porch on this level. I’ll take annoying bugs over embarrassing myself any day. Using my hip, I open the door and the cool air fans my face. The temperatures are dropping, but the humidity is still as thick as the height of summer. One thing the Barrows and Topside have in common, neither city can escape the humidity.
On this side of the porch, there’s a roof, and two massive fans spin lazily, giving enough of a breeze to be comfortable.
“I don’t know how you humans handle the heat,” an unfamiliar woman’s voice says, irritated.
I freeze just before I turn to sit in one of the white wicker chairs and see... well, I’m not entirely sure what I see. I eye the door and she scoffs.
“Please, I know better than to touch Ambrose’s toys before he’s done with them,” the stranger says, waving at me dismissively with an elegant hand with a really sharp manicure.
“Okay,” I say, voice neutral as I sit down, keeping my eyes on her. The porch is whitewashed and the railing is wrought iron. Each side of the house has the same furniture: white wicker chairs and benches with gray cushions, glass tables with votive candles, and hanging flower baskets set over the railing.
The supernatural—and she’s definitely supernatural—is lounging in one of the wicker benches, her back tucked into the corner of the armrest and back, one leg bent with her booted foot braced on the other armrest, the other leg off the bench. She’s wearing all black leather, from the knee-high biker boots to the painted-on leather pants with ties along the side from the top of her thigh down into her boots, showing off diamonds of bronze skin, to the leather corset halter top. She’s bronze-skinned with long black hair that glows red where the sun catches, and she has a face and body that belongs on lingerie billboards.
Seriously, wealthy women in Newgate pay tens of thousands of dollars to look half as sexy and sultry as this woman.
She also has three-inch nails that look like metal and are sharpened to wicked claws. I look at her eyes again, not even bothering to hide my curiosity. Her eyes are gold, like vampires, but her pupils are slit like a snake’s and when she winks, her eyelids close horizontally, startling me enough I jostle my tea and burn my hand.
Hissing, I break away from my study and set the mug and plate on the low glass table between us.
“Name’s Eris,” she says with a click of her tongue and cheek, dropping her foot to the ground as she spins and sits upright.
“Nice to meet you.” It really isn’t. I want to run inside and hide under Ambrose’s desk, but I think if I run, she’ll chase and I won’t even make it through the door. If I thought Ambrose feels dangerous, this woman oozes chaos and danger.
She gives another disconcerting wink. “Liar.”
