“Kemnebi is Egyptian for black leopard. Safia means lion’s share.”
On the ballroom floor, the vamps were forming a formal reception line, to pass in front of the were-guests and the vamp VIPs. Sabina and Bethany stood first, Leo next, with Kemnebi and Safia last. The female were’s head was down, her eyes on her hands clasped in front of her.
“Titles instead of personal names, maybe? And the woman—what?—belongs to him?” I had strong antislavery beliefs, but knew it still took place in many countries, parts of Africa included.
“Probably to both questions.” He changed the subject. “Leo wants you in the line, behind the Mithrans of Clan Arceneau, and in front of their blood-servants.”
I couldn’t keep the surprise out of my voice when I said, “I’m the hired help, not a guest.”
“As I explained to him,” Bruiser said, his voice tight. “Leo has his reasons.”
I thought about that. Leo knew I wasn’t human, though he didn’t know what I was. He thought I smelled like sex candy and a challenge all at once, something the vamps had a hard time resisting, though it hadn’t always been that way. Until Leo accepted me, the vamps had thought I smelled like an encroaching predator. I was betting Leo wanted to see what Kem did when the were-cat got a whiff of me. While I let that thought simmer, I said, “Where’s the little green guy?”
“In his room. Unless he found a way out past your men and the heat signature cameras they set up. They are exceptionally well trained.”
“They’re independents, mercenaries. I just get to pay for their services from time to time,” I said.
“Now,” Bruiser said. He touched the small of my back, just below the holster and just above my buttocks, and gave me a gentle push.
I wasn’t willing to be Leo’s experiment, but I didn’t feel like I could say no either. This might fall under the heading of security, to know how a were-cat reacted to me, and if so, that made it part of my job description. Leo was a bastard but he was a smart bastard.
I slid into place in the line just after Karimu, offering apologies to the blood-servant behind her, who would have objected, by saying, “Mr. Pellissier wants me here.” Then I added, to salve the man’s pride, “He wanted his Rogue Hunter in line with you and your clan as a ... sign of approval,” I improvised quickly. I felt brilliant when the man nodded and stepped back a half step out of my personal space. I usually stank at social situations, but his reaction was an indication that I hadn’t trespassed on blood-servant sensibilities. Karimu’s only response was a twitch of his lips. A vamp with a sense of humor.
I shook Bethany’s hand, and she didn’t react to my being in the receiving line, almost as if she didn’t recognize me, which made me all kinds of happy. I’d rather not be on her radar. Sabina took my hand, and hers was cold with the exact flaccid, loss-of-elasticity flesh of the dead, which made my skin crawl, but I shoved down on the reaction. She raised her eyes to mine. “You still retain possession of the sliver of the weapon?” she asked, referring to the sliver of the vamps’ Blood Cross she had lent me to kill a dangerous vamp. I had tried to return the artifact but found her gone from her chapel-lair in the vamp graveyard. I nodded, and saw from the corner of my eye, Leo look my way in surprise. “You will bring it to me. Soon.” She slipped her hand from mine, looking away.
Leo, next in line, took my hand. His was warm with another’s blood. “Leo,” I said. It should have been “Mr. Pellissier” in a formal receiving line and in the line of duty, but I was halfway ticked off with the MOC, and didn’t mind him knowing it. He showed me a lot of tooth and fang by way of reply and handed me off to Kemnebi. “Our fearsome Rogue Hunter,” he said, by way of introduction.
The visiting dignitary took my hand, looked into my face, inhaled, and froze. It wasn’t vamp immobility, but it was dang close. He spoiled it when his pupils widened and nostrils fluttered just a bit. And when he took a second breath, he inhaled through nose and parted lips with a scree of sound, flehmen behavior, the way I do when scenting someone.
“What is this woman?” he asked Leo. “What is she?” When Leo didn’t answer, Kemnebi tightened his grip on my wrist and yanked me to him. One arm went around my waist, hard as iron. His open mouth was at my throat. His breath hot and moist. His magic sought and quested at me like a big-cat twining around my body, but this was deeper, sharper, more intimate. Hot prickles of power sparked against my skin, painful and electric. Beast hunched down, pelt rising with alarm. She showed teeth and hissed.
“A beautiful woman,” Leo said, “one worthy of your bed.”
“What?” I tried to step back but were-cats are strong. Kemnebi resisted. A growl snarled out of me. I felt claws in my mind, piercing. Power leaped into my consciousness. Strength flooded my system as my Beast poured adrenaline into me. “Beast is not prey.”
In an instant I was three steps back; the visiting envoy was staring at me wide-eyed. The room had fallen silent. That dead silence of terrible affront. Crap. I had spoken aloud.
Some silent, logical part of me played back over what I had done to break free. Basic moves. Stepped to my right. Twisting, dropping motion of my left arm to break his grip, the strength of my arm against the comparative weakness of his fingertips. Simple. But Kemnebi had not been expecting me to resist or to be armed. When his encircling arm had encountered the H&K at my back, he had reacted with broken hesitation.