Santiago didn’t know why he was so discombobulated (who the hell would have thought he would use such a prissy-ass word, even in the privacy of his mind?). He’d known from the moment he’d crossed paths with Nefri that she was more than just a powerful clan chief.
It was impossible to miss the fact that she was far superior to others.
But his overriding bitterness at Gaius’s defection behind the Veil had made him ignore his instinct to treat her as a rare treasure. Then, even worse, his male desire had kicked in. It’d insisted that he deny the knowledge that this female was far too good for a former Gladiator who was more comfortable among the dregs of society than royalty.
And she was royalty, even if she didn’t carry the title of queen.
A fact hammered home with painful clarity as the vampires and a handful of fey crowded around her in speechless awe. Even among the most aristocratic members of society she was a VIP.
Hell, they barely gave her enough space to sip the blood that was brought to her in a Baccarat crystal glass on a silver tray. Oh, and then there’d been the scramble among females to assure Nefri they’d have fresh clothing sent from the most exclusive designers, clearly hoping to use this accidental meeting with the Great Nefri to inflate their own standing.
After a torturous hour of watching the crowd fawn over the always gracious Nefri, Gabriel at last led them down the stairs to the hidden tunnels beneath the building.
The club didn’t encourage guests to linger during the daylight hours, but there were always spare rooms. Of course, unlike Santiago’s humble establishment, these rooms were the size of most apartments and decorated in soothing shades of gray and silver.
Discreet, expensive, and sophisticated.
Escorting them into the sitting room with a low, velvet sofa and hand-carved coffee table, Gabriel placed a hand over his heart and offered a deep bow. “You’re certain you have everything you need?”
“Absolutely,” Nefri assured him with a warm smile. “This is lovely.”
“Just hit the zero on the phone if you want room service,” Gabriel said, the jaded vampire clearly dazzled by Nefri. “Anything.”
“I will.”
There was a long pause, as if Gabriel was having difficulty tearing himself away, then with a last dip of his head, he backed out of the room and closed the door.
A thick silence filled the air as Santiago moved to the wet bar that came complete with his favorite tequila.
Pouring a large shot, he downed it in one gulp. On the point of pouring another, he was halted when Nefri laid a gentle hand on his arm.
“Santiago?”
His fingers tightened on the glass before he was setting it aside and turning to meet her worried gaze. “Sí?”
“What’s bothering you?”
He shrugged, wishing he’d managed a couple more shots before she’d interfered. He was feeling . . . raw. “Nothing.”
Her brows snapped together. “You’ve barely said a word since we’ve arrived. And you have that”—she gave a wave of her hand—“that broody male thing going on.”
He arched a brow. “Broody male thing?”
“You know what I mean.” She searched his guarded expression. “Something is obviously bothering you.”
“I told you . . . it’s nothing.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I thought it was a woman’s prerogative to pretend she’s not upset when she clearly is.”
“Ouch,” he muttered.
She moved a step closer, wrapping him in her sweet jasmine scent. “Please, tell me.”
He grimaced. Dammit. He wasn’t a “touchy feely” kind of vampire under the best of circumstances. Unless it was in bed. When his emotions were involved he became as articulate as a grunting orc.
“I sometimes forget,” he eventually muttered.
“Forget what?”
“That you are who you are.”
“Who I am?”
“You’re Nefri,” he said. “A creature of myth and legend.”
She blinked in confusion. “Are you speaking in code?”
He reached up to yank the leather tie from his hair, ramming his fingers through the thick strands in an effort to relieve the tension throbbing in his head. It didn’t help.
“Vampires all over this world would worship at your feet,” he said, his voice rough. “Hell, you’re treated like a queen by a dragon.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“No, it’s the truth.”
Her lips thinned, as if she was annoyed by his words. “Fine, let’s say for argument’s sake that you’re right. What does that have to do with why you’re treating me like I carry the plague?”
“You are . . .” He struggled for the words.
“What?”
“Way out of my league,” he finally managed to say, expressing the fear that burned deep in his soul.
Without warning Nefri was slapping a hand across his mouth, her eyes snapping with anger. “Don’t you dare.”
He grasped her wrist and gently tugged her fingers from his face. Now that he’d started, he intended to finish.
“We can’t ignore the truth, querida.”