Page 24

“Ah, mon petit chéri. You are adorable. So young. So fresh. So serious.” She fanned herself with one hand, which came to rest on the skin above her lush bosom. “Come now. Bijou knows just what you need to relax.” Turning, she moved up the stairs, her boot heels clacking in a leisurely rhythm. Despite himself, his eyes clung to her backside, which swayed in undeniable invitation.

When she cast him a blatantly seductive look over one shoulder, the urge to pounce and crack her head open against the nearest wall nearly overwhelmed him. Instead, he schooled his face into casual amusement. Deception was not his weapon of choice, but he knew how to wield it as well as any blood-drinker. “I may have misjudged you.”

“Oh, but you have.” She graced him with a smile that dazzled with promises.

He followed her up the stairs close enough to crowd her but not touch her. “Tell me this…Bijou.” He purred her name. “How did you find me?”

She laughed again, a deep and confident sound, and turned toward him on the top landing. “You fascinate me. How could I not?”

Dominique allowed his hunger to show in his face as he peered down at her, his gaze lingering on her glossy rosebud mouth. “How do I fascinate you? Tell me.”

As he intended, she mistook his murderous intentions for something else entirely. Her teeth caught at her lower lip, and unguarded lust flickered in her darkening eyes. Her voice was husky with want. “You should know. Don’t I fascinate you, Monsieur Dominique Marchant?”

“Endlessly, madame.”

She leaned toward him as though she might kiss him, but then backed away and opened another door. A blast of syncopated music surged out, along with a cloud of sultry air reeking of alcohol, sweat, and illicit smoke—but no blood.

Silhouettes moved in the pulsating light. Men and women gyrated, entranced, on a central dance floor. More lounged on scattered settees, alone or in clumps, some swathed in smoke. Waitresses in tiny dresses circulated between them. Human, all of them. All of them prey.

Vertigo gripped him. His control, so resolute only moments before, teetered on the brink of crumbling. Trying to distract himself from the sensory overload, he turned to the only thing here that mattered, the blood-drinker, Bijou. “This is your place?”

“It is. Do you like it?”

More like hit over the head with it. He hoped his grimace would pass for a smile. “It has its charms.”

She led him around the periphery of the room. As they passed through an area of deeper shadows, he spotted two men and a woman writhing together, all of them nude, all of them beautiful. He hesitated, surprised not so much by the scene as by his reaction to it, his sharp desire to…join them. His body hungered for their adoring touch. His heart lusted for their passion-spiced blood.

“I permit only the most palatable to enjoy themselves here,” Bijou explained. She took his arm and pressed close to his side as she shepherded him away. “Think of this as my personal wine cellar, stocked with only the finest vintages.”

He inhaled her syrupy aroma to smother the smell of sex, though this did nothing to clear his head. “Yet you hunt in the gutters.”

“But of course. A girl cannot live on wine alone.”

“And corpses would be inconvenient here.”

“Leftovers? Oh, yes. Very. Venez. Come. Sit, chéri, and be welcome. Enjoy.” She gestured toward a settee occupied by a languorous young woman in a strappy top and an abbreviated skirt. The girl’s hooded eyes lit up with interest as they raked over him.

Bijou reclined into the opposite seat where a muscular, dark-skinned man sporting an impressive wealth of dreadlocks welcomed her with a suggestive caress.

Ignoring the girl, Dominique sat by Bijou’s feet and closed one hand around her ankle. “I’m more interested in you.”

Bijou eyed the girl. “Yes, she is a little boring compared to me, isn’t she? How about—” She reached up to stroke the male’s jaw. With a dreamy smile, he lifted his chin and shut his eyes in obvious anticipation. “He is my favorite. For you…I would be willing to share.”

He held her gaze as he let his hand travel up the length of one long boot before resting it at the top edge, allowing only his fingertips to brush the bare skin of her thigh. Her canines lengthened, emerging between glistening parted lips, and Dominique wondered what her blood would taste like. Then he refocused.

“Would you? Am I truly so special?”

“Mais bien sûr,” she murmured, barely audible over the sensual beat. But of course.

His hand moved higher, tantalizing. “Why?”

“Because you are splendid.” She paused before adding, “And because you could be magnificent. If you let me show you the way.”

She took his wandering hand and pressed it to one of her breasts, which bulged from the plunging leather neckline. Those breasts were supernaturally stunning, he had to admit. Again his attention drifted. Again he forced himself to remember he was there to rip open her throat, not feel her up. Though at this rate, if he didn’t do it soon, he might not.

“And which way is that, chérie?” he asked.

“Oh, you poor child.” She stroked his cheek. “No one ever taught you how to be what you are, did they? I can do that for you.” Her finger trailed along his jaw. “I can show you the way…” Down his neck and inside the collar of his jacket. “…and answer all your questions.” A nail scraped his Adam’s apple.