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“Oh?” I swallowed a grimace. My plan for the rest of the evening had been to return to my rented chateau and kick back with Cain, Talon and a few of our favorite thralls.
“An auction,” the primus added. “Some new females. Fresh andtrès belle. An Italian, a pretty little Asian, and a couple of Irish girls straight from the country.”
I couldn’t refuse without insulting Régis. I’d just have to make sure I was outbid.
“You honor me,” I said.
“Not at all. It’s my pleasure.” He guided me outside into the cool August night. “You can ride with me.”
Cain and Talon trailed at a short distance. Maritime enforcers, they weren’t just my best friends, they were my bodyguards, turned by my mother when I was a teenager to be my personal security.
Régis’s limo pulled up. “The auction is at Le Dahlia Noir,” he told me. “There’s an aboveground club, if you want to mix with the humans after. The syndicate owns the building.”
We got into the limo and pulled out, Cain and Talon following in a rented SUV.
The underground version of Le Dahlia Noir was done up like a British gentleman’s club—leather and wood-paneled opulence. A heavy satin curtain concealed a small stage, and bluesy jazz emanated from hidden speakers.
The Quebec City Syndicate vampires stood around, talking in small groups or lounging on the leather couches. Régis introduced me, Cain, and Talon to those we hadn’t already met, then he and I settled onto a pair of club chairs in front of the stage. Cain and Talon took seats on a couch at the back along with a QCS enforcer.
A miniskirted server poured two glasses of blood-wine, then set the bottle on the black lacquered table between us.
I sipped my wine. “It’s very good,” I told Régis. “One of yours?”
He offered me the thin-lipped smile that was about as pleased as he ever got. “A red from my own vineyard. The secret is the terroir.”
“Terror?”
“No,terroir. It comes from the French forland, but it means so much more than that. Soil, climate, topography. The vines high on the hill give us grapes that taste different from the wines lower.”
I eyed the dark red liquid in my glass. “No kidding.”
“Oui. The higher elevation keeps the vines cooler at night, for example, which helps the grapes conserve their acidity. The wine will be more elegant, and it lasts longer.” The primus turned his glass in his long fingers. “I’m a farmer at heart. Sometimes at sunset, I walk my vineyards. It’s so peaceful.”
I swallowed a chuckle. Régis, a farmer? The man was as cutthroat as they came.
“Tell me about making wine,” I said. “My father is thinking of investing in a couple of local vineyards.”
Actually, it was my idea. These days, Jules thought only of blood and death. But he was officially the Maritime primus, and I pretended he was still calling the shots. In reality, his lieutenant and I had been running the syndicate for the past year.
“Ah, bon?” asked Régis. “He should. He can control the blood-wine process from start to finish.”
“We do own some vineyards in California.”
“Then you must add some Canadian wines to your portfolio.”
Régis launched into an explanation of the different red wines his vineyards produced. I’d finished my first glass of wine before he circled around to his real reason for inviting me here tonight.
“The loss of Lenore must have been a blow to you and Jules. She’ll be missed.”
My hand tightened on the wine glass’s fragile stem. My mother had been slain a little over a year ago by an unknown assassin just steps from our castle on Lilith Island.
“Thank you. And yes, it was a blow.”
You have no idea.
My mother hadn’t been exactly warm and fuzzy, but she and my father had been a mated pair. Losing her had ripped his heart out.
“Your father—he’s well? I’ve heard talk...”
