There was a chaise longue in the back of the office, a fancy one with tufted gold velvet upholstery and a velvet throw. Once before, I had been here and a naked girl had been sleeping on it. Tonight it was empty. Thank goodness. Though Beast disagreed and showed me an image of Leo and me on the couch having a grand old time.
I strolled in and plopped down into a wingback chair, uninvited. Put my boots up on a table and made myself look comfy. Leo was sitting at his desk in the leather chair, papers on the table before him, a pen in his hand, its nub scratching as he wrote. The master vampire was wearing an old-fashioned shirt, creamy silk with full sleeves and a tie at the neck, hanging loose. Not like a modern tie, bright silk with a pattern, chosen from dozens hanging in a closet, but slender white ties that were part of the shirt itself, part of the rounded band of the collar. The upper part of his chest was visible, collarbone catching the light in a pale-pale sheen, along with a few black chest hairs. His legs were stretched out under the desk, encased in black pants, some sort of nubby fabric with a dull sheen, and on his feet were black socks and plushy slippers. His black hair was pulled back into a little queue with a black ribbon, a loose tendril brushing his cheek. I knew how preternaturally soft his hair was. How silken his skin. Beast stretched out, purring.
I curled my fingers under to keep from reaching for Leo, feeling the pull of the binding, and wondering again why Leo never seemed to. It had to be because the binding was completed while I was dying and changing into Beast. It was the only thing that made sense. He put the pen down, laced his fingers together on the desktop, and raised his face from the desk to me. His eyes were French black, his skin pale olive. From the darkness of the blue vein running across his forehead and down his temple, I could tell he hadn’t fed tonight. I breathed in, and he smelled hungry, which was an uncomfortable thought. Leo’s eyes held mine, without a hint of compulsion, curiosity in his expression rather than a predator’s gaze, and I let myself relax, just a hair. Just a bit. Waiting.
“Things have changed since you arrived in my domain,” he said slowly. “You are not entirely at fault, but you are . . . a catalyst, a goad to transformation.” That was true, so I didn’t respond. “We needed this stimulus that you have brought, but it has been painful to many of us.” Leo had fought a war since I first came to New Orleans, killing lots of his enemies, losing lots of his friends, disbanding half of the established clans, leaving four instead of the original eight, and that was only the most obvious of the changes. So, yeah, painful. He had a point.
But I wasn’t going to let it stand as totally my doing, because no way was that the truth. At the same time, I also didn’t want to provoke him unnecessarily. It was one thing to annoy the alpha predator over the phone, and totally different to bait the vamp in his lair. I said, carefully, “You used me and my presence here to achieve some important goals.”
He shrugged elegantly, his head, shoulders, and arms moving as if choreographed. “I am the creature that nature and the Mithran blood has made me. I make efforts to rule with fairness and compassion, but I am not afraid to use the skills and abilities and people at my disposal as I see fit to accomplish ends that will keep my people and my lands safe.”
Behind him, the door opened. I smelled Bruiser’s scent even before he appeared. He was wearing a new cologne, subtle and citrusy, applied with the light hand of someone who lived with predators who had an excellent sense of smell and an aversion to strong perfume.
He entered the office proper and stood in the opening, his hands behind his back, as if at parade rest, though as far as I knew, he had never been to war. He gave a smile, his lips pulling slowly as he took in my boots on the table, my slouch, and Leo’s studied patience. “Leo. Jane,” he said, acknowledging us both, in order of social and dominant importance.
Bruiser—George Dumas—was elegance itself, some of that refinement coming from the upper-class British upbringing, and some from his years acting as Leo’s chief blood-servant, head of security, and Enforcer. Leo’s real Enforcer, as opposed to my part-time job as imitation Enforcer. Tonight he was dressed in slacks and a starched shirt, the sleeves rolled up to show his arms, lean and muscled, and worn, brown loafers, no socks. Which made me smile for reasons I didn’t bother to try to understand.