“So what are you suggesting?”
“You have two options.” Tonya offered a tight smile. “Go kill something, or fuck it. Hell, do both.”
He snorted. “Are you offering?”
“I would if I thought it would do any good,” she admitted bluntly. “As it is . . .” her words trailed away as she gave a lift of her hand, gesturing toward a distant corner.
“What?”
“I have something more suitable to your current taste in females.”
Santiago wasn’t sure what he expected.
Maybe twin imps. He’d always had a weakness for matched sets. Twinning . . .
Or maybe a harpy in heat.
Nothing was more certain to distract a man than a week of incessant, no-holds-barred, balls-aching sex.
Instead a female vampire stepped from the shadows.
“Mierda,” he hissed in shock.
Not because the woman was stunning. That was a given. All vampire females were drop-dead gorgeous.
But this one had an eerie familiarity with her long, black hair and dark eyes that contrasted so sharply with her pale skin.
Nefri.
No, not Nefri, a voice whispered in the back of his mind.
The face was more angular and the approaching female lacked the regal aloofness that shrouded the real Nefri.
Not to mention the kick-ass power that would have had all of them reeling beneath the impact of her presence.
But she was close enough to make his gut twist into painful knots.
“Will she do?” Tonya murmured.
“Get rid of her,” he commanded, his voice thick.
Tonya frowned in confusion. “What?”
“Get rid of her. Now.”
Spinning on his heel, he headed toward the stairs leading out of the lower levels.
He had to get out.
“Santiago,” Tonya called behind him. “Goddamn it.”
The crowd parted from the force of his icy power, most of them scrambling out of his way with a gratifying haste as he climbed the stairs and entered the lobby.
Not that he noticed.
He was way too busy convincing himself that his retreat was nothing more than anger at Tonya’s interference.
As if he needed the fey prying into sex life. She was supposed to be his assistant, not his pimp. If he wanted a damned female he could get one himself. Hell, he could get a dozen.
And not one of them would be some pitiful substitute for the aggravating, infuriating, impossible female who had simply abandoned him to return behind the Veil....
“Trouble in paradise, mi amigo?”
It was a testament to just how distracted he was that he was nearly across the marble floor of the lobby and he hadn’t noticed the vampire standing near the door to his office.
Dios.
If he could miss the current Anasso (the ultimate king of all vampires) then his head was truly up his ass.
Styx was a six-foot-five Aztec warrior dressed in black leather with a sword big enough to carve through a full-blooded troll strapped to his back. And of course, there was his massive power, which pulsed through the air like sonic waves.
It would be easier, and certainly less dangerous, to overlook an erupting volcano.
“Perfect,” he muttered regarding his unexpected guest’s bronzed face, which had been carved on lean, arrogant lines that were emphasized by his dark hair, pulled into a tight braid that fell nearly to the back of his knees. He didn’t look like he was there to party. Which meant he wanted something from Santiago. Never a good thing. “Could this night get any better?” he muttered.
Styx arched a dark brow. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Share the fact he was no better than a eunuch with his Anasso? He’d rather be gutted.
And, speaking as someone who actually had been gutted, that was saying something.
“I most emphatically do not,” he rasped, shoving open the door to his office and leading his companion inside.
“Thank the gods.” Styx crossed the slate-gray carpet, perching on the corner of Santiago’s heavy walnut desk. “When I took the gig of Anasso I didn’t know I had to become the Vampire Whisperer. I just wanted to poke things with my big sword.”
Santiago veered past the wooden shelves that held the sort of high-tech surveillance equipment that only Homeland Security was supposed to know about, unlocking the door of the sidebar that was set beneath the French Impressionist paintings that were hung on the paneled walls.
“I hope you didn’t come here to poke anything with your sword,” he said, pulling out a bottle of Comisario tequila.
“Actually, I need your help.”
“Again?” Santiago poured two healthy shots of the expensive liquor. The last time Styx had said those words the Dark Lord had been threatening to destroy the world and he’d been teamed up with Nefri in an attempt to find the missing prophet. “I thought we’d gone beyond the ‘sky is falling’ to ‘yippee ki yay,’ everyone back to their neutral corners so we can pretend that we didn’t nearly become puppy chow for the hordes of hell?”