Page 12 of A Clash of Moonlight

The vampire stared down at the mess, looking utterly offended, then he looked at his master. “Honestly, she is uncivilized.”

“Whoa.” Jennifer leaned her back against the bar and stared at Jared. “Who are you?”

She didn’t even recognize him; that’s how strong Jared’s mental powers were.

Jared’s gaze remained on Nora. “Do you wish to escape the festivities?”

People thought she was cold and aloof? Compared to Jared, she was sunny and sociable. Definitely civilized.

“Not interested,” Nora said. She grabbed Jennifer’s arm, and as she maneuvered her back to their friends, she felt a deep sense of satisfaction at Jared’s jaw-clenched scowl.

4

She had rejected him.

Jared could not remember the last time that had happened. Certainly it had been decades. More likely, a full century. People did not walk away from him. They created excuses to be in his presence, to serve him, to please him.

“It’s for the best,” Deagan said, his boots crunching on broken glass. “We do not wish to start a war.”

“Invite them to the back room for a private tasting.”

Deagan blinked. “What?”

He strode toward the short hallway.

“What kind of tasting?” Deagan called out after him.

The back room was to the left, across from the bathrooms. The previous owner had stored incoming wine shipments, enough office supplies to last a vampire’s lifetime, and extra glassware, which the establishment would apparently be needing if Nora remained there long. He had his people clean it out when he’d bought the place, leaving a reasonable amount of wine in the crates along the back wall and a small sitting area in the far corner. Laila was there. She lifted her mouth from a human’s neck when he entered.

“Send him away,” he ordered.

Laila spoke softly to the human and picked up a small dagger from the side table. She was young enough to require an exchange of blood to fog the human’s memory, so she made a shallow cut on her arm and pressed it against the man’s mouth.

A moment passed. The human lifted his head, smiled, then grabbed his shirt and pulled it on as he walked out the door.

Laila stood smoothly. “What do you need?” She did not quite hide the note of hope in her voice, hope that he might ask for blood. All who were close to him knew it had been too long since he had fed from anyone except a human.

“Guests will be here momentarily for a wine tasting,” he said. “Arrange it.”

She nodded her compliance and set about her work.

Jared walked to the mahogany desk—a custom-ordered piece from the Czech Republic—and slid open the file drawer on the bottom left. Instead of folders and documents, it contained shredded brown paper. He pushed aside the top layer and removed one of the two amber-colored bottles. Both were unlabeled, and both were gifts from the fey.

He set the bottle on the desk.

“Two stemless,” he said.

Laila glanced at him. Her thin eyebrows lifted, but she did not comment as she took two glasses from the cabinets of the freestanding bar nestled against the wall. She strolled toward him, then set the drinkware beside the bottle of Bliss.

“So you are starting a war with the wolves.” She held out a corkscrew.

Hopefully. He kept the thought to himself and opened the Bliss. An audible pop sounded, then a delectable aroma wafted into the air. It was a scent of dangerous ecstasy, of promises of passion and pleasure. Nora would recognize it the instant she entered the room, and it would raise her hackles, so to speak. She might not have a personal vendetta against the fey, but old werewolves despised them. Nora’s father would pass on his prejudice to his pack, and they would be obligated to hunt the fey who had given it to him.

“Should we prepare for violence?” Laila asked.

“You should prepare for guests.” He set the cork beside the bottle.

Laila looked like she was about to return to her work, but she hesitated.