“Now,” he went on, his tone sharpening, “Leo hears rumors that his pet Rogue Hunter has claimed the title of his Enforcer. Is this true?”
“Ummm?” I got a sudden bad feeling. “Maybe.”
“Brilliant.” But I could tell he really meant stupid. “The Enforcer is a titled position in a Master’s household. Have you drank from him? Have you drank from any Mithran?”
“Nooooo.” I drug the word into three syllables.
“Don’t, for a period of two moon cycles, unless you want to be bound to that vampire as an Enforcer—a top blood-servant similar to a primo. One sip of blood will seal the contract.” I let a breath go, a long exhalation he couldn’t hear. Not a problem. I had no intention of drinking from any vamp, ever. “Please . . . attempt to be less foolish,” he said. The call disconnected.
I was still holding the cell when it rang again. I was a popular gal tonight. “Yellowrock.”
“Jane. It’s Adelaide. We need you at the compound.” Adelaide, tall and blond, the blood-servant lawyer who wanted to be my gal-pal. Before I could respond she said, “Lincoln’s chained scions have been let free of their shackles. They killed—” Her voice shut off as if someone had garroted her. I heard a breath drawn, full of tears. “They killed Sarah. She turned twenty-two yesterday. She was just a child.” There was a sob in her voice. She had liked Sarah.
This was why Leo had turned my services over to Shaddock. Young rogue-vamps who killed humans were staked. By me, if they got out of the scion lair; opening a scion lair with unchained rogues was a near guarantee that some would get out. I chose my words with care. “Why hasn’t Lincoln handled it? Or Chen?”
Her voice changed, growing stilted and sharp. “Mr. Shaddock isn’t on the premises at the moment. He is not available. And Chen is elsewhere employed.”
“Ah.” Crap. Shaddock was missing from more than his parley talks, and Chen was hunting him. “And the person who set the rogues free?”
“We have the event on digital video, and the perpetrator is contained.” Her emphasis on the word contained made me think her culprit was not in the best shape.
“I’ll be there within the hour.” I tossed my vamp-hunting gear on the bed, catching sight of myself in the long mirrors as I moved. I was no clotheshorse, but I looked pretty good in harem pants, boots, white silk shirt and short vest. Too bad I wasn’t going to get a chance to show the outfit off. While I talked on the cell—ordering the supplies I needed, and my SUV brought around front—I stripped and pulled on leather studded with silver. Weaponed up, stakes in my bun, and every vamp-killer blade and gun I owned. And strode toward the door to the hallway.
It opened, my hand still above the knob. The smell of vamp swept in. I had a hand on a stake before I could catch myself, and met Grégoire’s gorgeous dark blue eyes. His delicate brows lifted, his gaze resting on my hand and the stake, unamused. I released it as if it burned. “Oops.” Grabbing a stake in the presence of a master vamp wasn’t smart.
Grégoire laughed. Waving one hand as if he were dismissing the gesture of violence, he moved into the suite, graceful as a ballerina. His forward motion alone backed me up, his blond hair loose about his shoulders, his scent like aromatic lilies tonight. Grégoire was wearing midnight blue silk jammies that probably cost more than everything I owned, the shirt unbuttoned to reveal a pale chest, hairless and smooth. And he was barefooted. I don’t know why, but the sight of a man’s bare feet can make me melt. Of course, if a vamp wanted to get the drop on me, he would come at me just like this, looking innocent and harmless. I backed up fast, my hands off my weapons. “Grégoire.”
“Rogue Hunter.” The matching bookend blood-servants stepped in behind him and shut the door. They were wearing even less than their master, silk pajama bottoms hanging low on their hips and twin looks of expectancy that sent warnings through me like lightning. “My master sent a gift for you,” Grégoire said. “I have been instructed to give it to you prior to your activities tonight.” He extended a black velvet box six inches high and fourteen square, like something from an expensive jewelry store.
“Ummm.” One can’t be too careful accepting gifts from vamps. Sometimes they thought it meant they owned you. Not that I’d ever received a gift from one, if I discounted the sabertooth lion bones Leo had given me once and the cell phone. And the guns. And I discounted all that because it was business. But this wasn’t. “Okay. What is it and what does it mean?”