“I have been assured that it is an indication of his satisfaction with your expertise and service, and to replace something lost in his labor. A boon, with, as you Americans say, ‘no strings attached.’”
I took the box gingerly, as if it might explode, and set it on the coffee table in front of the couch. Grégoire sat in a wingback chair and waited, the twins at his back, eyes on the box. I took that as my cue to open the gift. I sat on the couch and raised the hinged lid. The inside was black silk, and on the silk was a jewelry display shaped like the neck and shoulders of a woman. No head. The shoulders were covered with a black silk scarf, lightly draping and partially obscuring a piece of jewelry beneath. I hoped the MOC wasn’t sending me jewelry. Or a promise that he wanted to take my head. There were all sorts of ways to interpret a headless mannequin.
With a gesture suitable to a magician’s stage, Grégoire leaned forward and swept the scarf away. Beneath it was a mesh of interwoven rings. Leo had replaced my broken vamp collar, the one a werewolf had destroyed, crushing it with his massive jaws. I breathed out slowly. It was beautiful, made of three different sized rings, hooked together in an intricate weave. There were tiny, faceted stones attached, all in tawny gold colors, the shade my eyes flash when Beast is near the surface.
“The collar is composed of two layers, which may be worn together or separately. The lower layer is made of sterling silver over titanium, for better strength and protection than the collar you lost to his service. The upper layer, which attaches so”—he indicated a delicate latching mechanism—“is decorative. Twenty-four carat gold rings with chocolate diamonds and citrines scattered across the surface. My master had it created especially for you so that you might wear it even when working in a formal gown and yet be safe.”
I blinked. And ran his words through my mind again. Sterling, gold, and diamonds? This thing must have cost a fortune.
“The silk scarf is my small contribution.” He flicked it smoothly over my arm. “It may aide you when you hunt at night. It secures over the collar to hide the gleam of metal, and to assure that no rogue Mithran will recognize a weapon around your neck prior to an attack.”
I looked up at the twins and licked my suddenly dry lips. “Is this okay?” Meaning, can I accept it without prejudice or would acceptance be a promise to hop into Leo’s bed?
“When a master of a city offers a boon to a servant or employee,” Brandon said, “it’s exactly as my master has said—a gift only, a reward for a job well done.”
Suu-weet. I reached to take the necklace but Grégoire’s hand was there first, vamp-fast. I yanked back my hand. Slammed back into the couch. He was standing in front of me. And I didn’t see him move from the chair. Crap. This was payback for reaching for a weapon in his presence—being taught that he was way too fast for me to kill. Having it shown to me that sane master vamp beats stupid vamp-hunter any night. A cold sweat broke out on my flesh and Beast was oddly absent, not bragging to me that she could win this fight.
Grégoire lifted the necklace and removed the upper gold layer, setting it aside. He unclasped the silver fighting necklace and moved. That air popped and I felt the wind of his movement on my face. I tensed. My jacket was pulled back, the jerk hard enough to make me gasp. The silver necklace settled around my shoulders, cold, and tightened on my neck. Grégoire’s fingers were no warmer than the silver. Grégoire’s fingers were touching the silver. Crap. A vamp who can handle silver. He had been silver poisoned recently. Surviving that might give him immunity. Thoughts fast and desperate.
I heard the faint snick when the latch caught. And suddenly Grégoire was in front of me again, leaning over me. His hands on my throat again. I was inches taller than Grégoire, and pounds of muscle heavier, better trained, way better armed. And yet, if he wanted me dead, he could snap my head around and pop it right off. I had once fought Leo. I knew how hard masters were to beat. Gently, he pulled my leather jacket in place. Raised the zipper with a metallic ratchet. “Do we understand one another, ma chère?”
“We do.” I forced myself to meet his eyes. They were dark with rage, pupils wide, as if he were slipping into his vamped-out state, yet held himself in check. He had that much control, was that strong. I took a breath, slowly, carefully. And drew on my Christian school girl manners, hoping it might be enough. “Please assure the Master of the City of New Orleans that his gift is received in all . . . humility”—I searched for more words— “and delight.”
“And?” Grégoire asked.
I swallowed. And? And what? “And . . . um . . . and the scarf is beautiful.” But that wasn’t what he wanted. “And . . . please assure that I meant no offense to the blood-master’s most trusted and beloved adviser and scion.”
Grégoire smiled sweetly, almost angelically, and patted my cheek. “You have not brought me the witch who bespelled Lincoln Shaddock. And now he is missing again. Still bespelled?”