Page 111 of To Catch A Rogue

She wove her way through the crowd, then slipped the leash from her wrist and handed it to Charlie at the bottom of the stairs. "Stay here where I can see you. I don't think he'll speak if you're there."

Then she climbed the stairs, her gaze clashing with Nikolai's.

The tall Japanese woman at his side murmured something in his ear. Nikolai nodded, and she slipped down the stairs, passing Lark on the way.

"Are you following me?" she demanded, the second she reached him.

His lip curled. "One could ask the same. Every time I turn around, there you are."

Her eyes narrowed. Did she dare believe him?

"I had business at the ball last night," he finally said, holding a glass full of blood as he surveyed the room like a king from on high. "Questioning you was a bonus."

"And the incident that happened afterwards?" she challenged. "We never did make it to Sergey's."

"So I heard."

"Were they your men?"

He glanced down at his glass. "If they were my men we wouldn't be having this conversation right now. We'd be elsewhere."

Locked up in some dingy cell somewhere, no doubt. "Then some of your Wolves are disobeying orders."

"Not once I get my hands on them," Nikolai said coldly. "You shouldn't be here. Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

"Would you even care if I was?"

His eyes darkened. "Not particularly. But if anyone saw that tattoo on your back, there would be questions. Let the Grigorievs stay dead."

"Why? So their murderer can stay on his throne?"

He sent her a dangerous look. "And just what do you know of their murder?"

"You tell me yours, and I'll tell you mine." Silence rang in her ears. "I thought so."

"You've brought friends," he said, watching Obsidian maneuver through the congregation. "Just what are you up to?"

"Exploring the delights that can be found on offer here," Lark replied. "Why else would anyone be here? Why are you here? Looking for your rebellious Wolves? Or looking for a pet?"

His lashes hooded his eyes. "I'm not fond of leashes."

"Or collars?"

Resting one hand on the balcony, he turned to her. "Your friend looks like a dangerous man."

For some reason, he seemed interested in Obsidian.

"He is. He was forged into a weapon by the man you know as Vladimir Feodorevna, his memories stripped from him." She hesitated. "Do you recognize him?"

"Should I?"

Lark's shoulders slumped. "No. No, you shouldn't."

And if anyone were bound to recognize Dmitri Grigoriev, it would be Nikolai. She'd been almost seven, while Nikolai had been thirteen. He'd adored his older brother, following in his footsteps like a shadow.

"You should leave," Nikolai suddenly said. "This place is dangerous for you. I can get you out the back door without being seen."

"Thank you, but we're here for the auctions."