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The vampiress stopped before Dominique, but her enormous eyes were for Serge alone. Her chin pointed up another notch. “I am Natalia Bogomolov.” Even her hard Russian accent sounded delicate in her crystal voice. “I have come to find the friend of a friend: Dominique Marchant.”

“You have found him,” Serge said with little enthusiasm, his mind clearly still with his personal problems.

Her chin lowered a bit, her hands flattening against her hips, uncertain.

“Our common friend is Aubrey Wainwright?” Dominique asked. He recognized her name as that of the woman who had so charmed the Englishman. He frowned. That had been five eventful nights ago, and no word from Aubrey since.

Natalia’s gaze flicked to Dominique, as though annoyed he had spoken. “Yes, it is,” she confirmed, looking back to Serge.

A mental nudge made him glance in Cassidy’s direction. “She can’t see you,” she mouthed, and he realized he was still holding himself shrouded in the illusion of humanity he had adopted for his family’s sake. The only vampire Natalia saw in the room was Serge.

Amused, Dominique tented his fingers before him. “Did he send you here?”

Fire flashed in those pale eyes at the human meddling in her business, but seeing no objection from Serge, she turned to Dominique. “No, he did not. But he told me this vampire had great power and would rule us all.” She glanced at Serge, as though unsure about applying this statement to him. “He spoke highly of him and called him a friend.”

“And so he does,” Dominique said and let the soft, sun-bronzed human guise melt away into his stark, pale, blood-drinker reality.

Natalia gasped and dropped to her knees, folding over so far her head touched the floor. Her cream duster flared out around her, all but vanishing against the cream tile.

Dominique was too startled to react. Serge made a tiny, troubled sound deep in his throat.

Cassidy’s mouth dropped open. The man beside her shifted nervously.

Blood-drinkers always accorded Dominique the respect he was due once they realized the true extent of his supernatural gifts, but not one had ever prostrated themselves to this degree. Of course, he had never frightened one as thoroughly as he had just frightened this hapless soul who didn’t know him at all.

“Be at ease, Natalia,” Dominique said. “This is not required.”

She sat up, uncertainty hunching her shoulders. “I am so very sorry, my lord. I meant no offense. I didn’t—”

“No offense taken. Please. Get up and tell me why you are here. As a friend,non?”

Natalia gracefully rose back to her feet, but her head no longer rode quite so high. “I’m afraid I come to bring sad news, my lord. Our friend, Aubrey. He…he is dead.”

15

Pretender

Dominiquedidn’treact.Hecould not have heard what he just heard. This could not be true. Not of Aubrey.

When the stunned silence lingered, Natalia’s companion hurried to her side and held open the bag he carried. She reached inside and retrieved a finely made red metal urn. “You are the only relationship he mentioned in our brief time together. I thought perhaps you would like to receive his remains.” She placed the urn on the table beside Dominique. The man and the bag retreated into the background, his eyes downcast.

Dominique touched the cool metal with his fingertips. He had no reason not to believe her. Aubrey had not reported back as he said he would. Then again, if there was one thing blood-drinkers were good at, it was playing cruel games. The blood-drinkers of old anyway, the ones who still fed on terror and pain. The ones not yet re-sired to him.

Like this one.

It was paramount that he not react without solid proof. “How?”

Natalia’s voice practically disappeared. “He was executed.”

Dominique got out of his chair. She took a step back.

“Considering he was over a century old and one of the most well-adjusted and honorable blood-drinkers I have ever had the pleasure of meeting, that,madame, is sadly self-evident.” Somehow, he kept his voice level despite the anger blazing up his chest.

Natalia shrank into herself a little more, and her eyes darkened with fear. “I should not have invited him to visit with us. I should have warned him about Adilla. I tried to stop them, but I’m young and new there, and—”

Dominique raised a hand to stop the flow of words. Her mouth snapped shut. Tremors raced through her small body. “What happened?”

She wrung her hands before her. “He spoke to me about you. He said you were our true lord and that he had found peace in your blood. I doubted such news would be welcomed by Adilla and Esteban, but I didn’t think…I didn’t—” She tried to swallow a sob, failed, lowered her head. “Forgive me. He was, as you said, an honorable man.”