I looked at the short, stout fork and the butter knife as I followed him to the back of the warehouse. "Yeah?" I turned the heavy utensils over, mentally comparing them to the pressed metal stuff we had used in the children's home. I was still looking at them when Bruiser placed a flute of white wine in my hand. I looked up, surprised. The back half of the Old Nunnery warehouse had probably once been offices, large cubicles open to each other at floor and ceiling for airflow. The first cubicle had a bar set up. I took a sip and even I knew this was the good stuff. No wine in a box for the vamps. I tasted the salmon and it melted in my mouth. Well, not really, but I didn't have to chew much.
As I ate--wolfing down the fish, Bruiser watching me with a slightly superior attitude, and me ignoring him--we moved into a short, wide hallway. A group of vamps in formal wear paused and stepped to the side as if to let us pass. As we drew even, two vamps dressed in almost-but-not-quite matching red silk gowns started toward me; the others followed their actions as if one brain controlled them. In unison, they sniffed the air.
Beyond them, in the shadows, Rafael Torrez stood. He was smiling slightly, but he didn't come closer. He was watching, his posture expectant. Crap.
My hackles rose and I stopped, turned to face the vamps closest, my back to the brick wall. Their eyes began bleeding black. Fangs snapped down. Beast flared through me and I sniffed back at them, scent-searching. For a single moment we faced each other. Me with a plate half-full of food. Hands full. Adrenaline shot through me as I analyzed my defenses in an instant. The plate was glass, easily shattered, and vamps bled well. Stakes close, in my hair. Wall at my back. I breathed out, muscles going loose and ready.
The female vamps in the scarlet silk sheaths looked me up and down, slowly, as if committing me to memory. I didn't think they were looking over my dress to gauge the quality and cost. One of the male vamps moved toward us, flowing slowly in that inhuman balletic glide the old ones can do. He looked predatory and graceful and dangerous as hell, despite his green and red plaid cummerbund and little matching pocket hankie, the colors clashing jauntily with his fangs.
I tightened my fingers on the plate, ready to toss it in distraction or shatter it into a quick blade. Ready to reach up and pull the stakes in my hair. My hands itched with the need to do something, now. Bruiser stepped to my side. Placed a proprietary hand on my spine. "The Rogue Hunter," he said, not the first time it had been phrased like a title. The vamps, six altogether, fanned out, making a semicircle, boxing us in. Everything went cold and sterile. I realized they had been watching for me.
Offense is the best defense, I thought. Beast snarled deep inside me.
With a spinning motion, I slung my dinner plate to the brick floor. It shattered at their feet. Three of them jumped, startled or to miss being splattered with salmon, marking them as untrained and easily ignored. I focused on the remaining vamps. Beast leaped into my eyes and I growled, hands in my hair. Gripping stakes.
"Jane. No," Bruiser said softly, his voice carefully expressionless.
My hands stopped, nested in my braids. My heart beat like a broken drum.
From the corner of my eye, I saw the shadow move, the shadow that was Rafael Torrez, Blood Master of Mearkanis. Without lifting my gaze away, I took in this new threat. Great. Now what?
Rafe placed a hand on the shoulder of Plaid Guy. "No," he said.
Plaid Guy paused. His eyes were emerald, his pupils widening to black, snuffing out the green. His mouth opened in a little snarl as the new master of Clan Mearkanis came even with him and looked me over, a small smile on his pretty face. Dark, delicate, he walked the way a fencer or dancer might, feet placed with precise balance. "Not now."
Rafe stepped in front of the small group, hands clasped behind his back, and looked me over as though he might make an offer. "George, your master keeps such intriguing pets."
My eyebrows reached my hairline. "Pets?" I spat.
Rafael laughed and nodded to Bruiser. "George."
"Sir," Bruiser said, tone neutral.
Rafe turned and moved through the six vamps. They swiveled on their heels and followed him. And were gone, leaving Bruiser and me alone in the hallway.
"That was seriously freaky," I said.
"Yes. More than you know," Bruiser said, musing. "The Mithrans facing you were from two different alliances. I think this was . . . indicative. Those two in the red dresses--Lanah and Hope--belong to Adrianna of St. Martin, who is allied with Leo. Nasty pieces of work, they are, but with the scent-marking, they should have protected you. A game is being played here, but I don't know what it is." He glanced at me, that small smile hovering on his lips. "You do create interesting situations, Jane Yellowrock. How many stakes do you have in your hair?"
"Not one," I said, lying and telling the truth all at once. I had more than one, so "not one" was the truth. Sorta. I was going to have to get down on my knees and confess a whole lotta half sins, nearly sins, and wanted-to sins. Guilt wriggled under my skin.
"And crosses?" he asked dryly.
Not willing to lie outright, I said, "One tiny one you nearly dislodged in the limo."
Bruiser glanced at the plunging neckline of my new dress and his mouth did that little twitch of a quirk. "It's well secured, then. Keep it that way."
I looked at the shattered plate and salmon at our feet. "Sorry about that."
"It let us see who flinched."
I grinned. "It did, didn't it?"
CHAPTER 9