Page 127 of Taste of Blood

The venue is a sparkling display of lavish wealth. Crystal chandeliers bathe the room in warm light, while tables laden with finger food rim the marbled floor. The soft strains of a string quartet provide a muted backdrop to the low level buzz of conversation. There has to be close to three or four hundred people in the room, with more arriving in a continuous stream.

Asher snags two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and hands me one.

“I hate champagne,” I mutter.

“I know, but it’s for appearances.”

He leads me further into the room, nodding now and then to what I assume are acquaintances. When he stops to chat with an older gentleman, I let my eyes wander over the crowd, looking for our mark.

I’m not paying any attention to the conversation in front of me until I hear the question directed at me.

“And what do you do, young man?”

I stare down at the man, who’s watching me with a shrewd gleam in his eye. I’m momentarily at a loss for words until Asher swoops in to save me.

“You’ll have to excuse him. He’s in security. They never stop working.”

“Maybe I should hire you,” the man says to me. “I can never find anyone who takes his job seriously.”

I let my eyes meet his and push my lips up into something resembling a smile. Asher grabs my arm and excuses us, steering me away before I say something that will get us both thrown out.

“I was behaving,” I insist once we’re out of earshot.

“Let’s not tempt fate. Did you see him?”

“Not yet, but there’s a lot of people here.”

Too many, if you ask me. I’m not a fan of crowds, especially the kind dressed to kill. They’re all pretending to be such do-gooders and are probably more ruthless than most vamps. Myhand itches to reach for my knife. A picture flashes in my mind of people running away, covered in blood. Strangely, the image calms me.

“Let’s head over to the tables,” Asher says. “Everyone passes by there eventually.”

“As long as we don’t have to pretend to eat,” I mutter.

“No one eats at these things,” Asher assures me.

Then why do they have all the food?

We’re halfway across the room when someone calls out Asher’s name. We both stop and turn as a handsome male vamp strides up to us. Asher’s smile is genuine when he greets the man, causing an unwelcome flare of jealousy in me.

“Miro, I didn’t think this was your type of scene. A little too tame for you, isn’t it?”

The man called Miro shrugs. “True, but I’m here on behalf of Carlyle.”

Carlyle. I swallow the snarl that threatens to crawl up my throat at the mention of that name.

Asher turns to me. “Cord, this is Miro Virtanen. He’s an old friend. Miro, this is Cord McCallister. My…?”

Now who’s at a loss for words? “Lover,” I supply smoothly, ignoring Asher’s look of shock.

Miro grins. “Oh my. Where have you been keeping him, Asher?”

“We’ve recently reconnected,” I reply, slipping my arm through Asher’s possessively. His look of bewilderment is almost worth putting up with this waste of space in front of us. It’s not often I can render Asher speechless.

Miro chuckles. “Well, don’t get into anything I wouldn’t.” He leans closer to Asher. “Of course, that leaves you a lot of leeway.”

I growl low in my throat, the sound swallowed up by the ambient noise of the room, but apparently Asher heard it. He squeezes my arm as Miro wanders off.

“What was that about?”