Page 9

While staring her down, Liam puffed on the cigar he’d clamped between his lips. At length, he pinched it between his fingers and blew a noxious cloud of smoke into her beautiful home.

Rather than tell him where he could shove that cigar, she composed her features and glanced at the diamond-encrusted watch on her wrist. “Cutting it a bit close, don’t you think?”

“Got ten minutes to spare yet, by my count.”

“Please, come in,” she said, the greeting more command than a welcome. “You may leave your belongings by the door.”

Rather than lower his bag gently, Liam dipped his shoulder and let it drop. It struck the marble with a metallic clang as though he’d brought an arsenal of weapons with him. Goddess help him if he’d damaged her floor. She swallowed an angry reprimand, refusing to give him the response he seemed so desperate to wrench from her.

Perhaps this was going to be harder than she thought.

Perhaps this was goingto be easier than he thought. Liam fought a grin, watching the red hue creep into Vivian’s porcelain cheeks. Her expression didn’t change, and yet, he could tell he was getting to her. At the end of his two weeks, Vivian would be more than eager to be rid of him. Sure, he was being a dick, but he was doing it for her own good. Last thing he wanted to deal with when his time was up was a blubbering, heartbroken female.

He strolled into the living room, taking a moment to check out his surroundings. On the walls was some kind of fruity burgundy wallpaper. Over that hung a multitude of paintings in heavy gold frames, all of them with a tiny white bird painted in the corner. Those he didn’t hate. It was the rest of the furnishings that made his insides squirm. There was enough velvet and fringy shit surrounding him to make a male’s balls shrivel.

Beside him was an ornate table with flowers carved into the legs. On the highly polished surface was a butt-ugly dish that looked like something Alex had made him when she was nine. Not seeing an alternative, he used it to snuff out his cigar.

A grunted whimper hit his ears, and he glanced up.

In a velvet chair sat a wide-eyed blonde wearing a sorry excuse for a sweater. He placed her age as youngish, early twenties, maybe. The brand on her neck declared her as Vivian’s. He’d known Vivian had claimed a young faerie as her Chosen but had yet to meet the girl. The young woman watched him with her mouth hanging open like she’d tripped out on some wacky weed and gone to another plane.

He cocked a brow at Vivian and dipped his head in her Chosen’s direction. “She okay?”

Vivian returned to her place on the tufted sofa, sitting next to a dark-haired vampire. Once settled, she extended her arm. “Liam, this is Dove, my Chosen.”

The girl blinked, the sound of her name snapping her out of her daze. “Ashtray,” she said in lieu of a greeting.

“Come again?” he asked. Dove beamed back, delight in her expression.

“Ashtray,” she repeated, strangely pleased with him. “You knew it was an ashtray. Everyone in my pottery class thought it was a serving bowl. Even the instructor.” Apparently, that’s all it took to win the female’s approval.

Again, Liam looked back at Vivian, saying in a low whisper, “Your ah, Chosen…” He tapped his temple. “She a little touched in the head?”

Vivian pressed her lips together in annoyance. “Dove is a faerie, like your Alexandra. And she isnottouched in the head.”

When Dove sputtered a laugh, smacking her hand over her mouth to stifle her hilarity, Liam had his doubts.

“This is Armond, my progeny.”

Unlike Dove, Vivian’s progeny was far more reserved. While holding Liam’s gaze, Armond claimed Vivian’s hand and kissed her fingertips. Liam fought an eye roll. Mistress Vivian’s devoted manservant. What a sap.

Though they hadn’t been introduced, Liam had seen the male with Vivian a couple times. On both those occasions, he’d dressed to match his mistress. The vampire was an accessory, the little man purse she’d slung over her shoulder.

Liam ignored the male and locked eyes with Vivian. “Now that the introductions are out of the way, you want to tell me why you were in such a hurry to get me here?” In her message, she’d claimed it was urgent. Was she really that hard up for a good orgasm?

“We’ll discuss the details later.” Her smile tightened, and she checked her watch again. “Almost midnight.” She patted Armond’s thigh and rose to her feet. Even in stilettos, she barely came to Liam’s shoulder.

She peered up at him. Tone business-like, she said, “I believe that was the time we agreed upon. Two weeks from now, at the stroke of midnight, your debt will be paid. Armond?” She extended her arm to her progeny, and he placed a pearl-handled dagger in her hand.

Liam eyed the sorry excuse for a weapon. “What’s this about?”

She sliced her palm, and the scent of her blood rolled over his palate, sweet and sultry, smoother than his favorite Basil Hayden whiskey. He ignored his aching fangs. “You want me to take a blood oath?”

“Consider it an insurance policy.” She arched a brow. “Unless you’re afraid you can’t hold up your end of the bargain?”

Once he accepted her challenge, he’d have no choice. Breaking that vow would cause him physical pain.

“Course not.” He could handle anything she threw at him. If she asked too much, there were still a few ways around those demands. The details of any oath were open to interpretation.