Oh boy. I gulped the champagne. Bruiser chuckled and watched me look the place over.
Inside, the foyer was as big as the living room in the freebie house, floored in white marble, with a mosaic heraldic emblem in front of the door in black, white, gray, and maroon marble, depicting a griffin with drops of blood spraying from his claws, a battle-axe, shield, and banner. A real stone fountain splashed near the crest, beside tables loaded with fruit, cheese, and hot and cold meats: a whole salmon; a roasted piglet with an apple in its mouth; various fried meats; boudin in heaps instead of fried into balls, piled in a heated serving tray; sauces, crackers, and the overwhelming scents of spices and food and vamps. Lots of vamps.
Beast rose, seeing through my eyes, making me breathe deeper, faster, taking in the scents, the world a textured smorgasbord of fragrances, smells tangled as a tapestry, bright as a painting. I counted ten vamps standing in one group. Dozens in smaller groups. Crap. There had to be fifty of them, all well fed and moving human slow. All wearing designer gowns and tuxedos, any one of which cost more than everything I owned. Beast went all twitchy. So did I.
Bruiser stood to my side, watching me watch them. I knew I was giving away all sorts of things about me. And I couldn’t stop. I had never been in a room with so many vamps—sane or not—or so much money. I focused on the house and the scents I could parse. Vamp scent of old parchment, dried herbs, subtle perfumes, traces of fresh blood from recent feedings. And an underlying reek of entitlement. I didn’t smell the rogue. And no one instantly turned to me, pointed, and shouted, “Skinwalker!” I felt a faint disappointment even as relief washed over me.
There were two sets of stairs, one on each side of the huge foyer, curving up and around to a small space at the top, like a stage, with another hallway extending back. Rooms opened up to either side. On the ground floor, the foyer stepped down to a formal reception room beneath the upper floor, with furniture done in shades of charcoal, gray, and soft whites. It wasn’t bland, however; touches of color were everywhere from the paintings lining the walls to the pillows on the couches. Rugs in every shade were scattered all over the marble floors, their placement looking haphazard, but they had to be carefully positioned, didn’t they? Or did vamps not fall?
I had a mental image of Leo’s feet flying up in front of him as he landed in a thumping tumble, fanging his lip. Beast’s soft laugh escaped me, breathless. Bruiser raised his brows in puzzlement. I didn’t enlighten him. We moved on inside. Maybe ten feet from the front door.
As we passed a group of vamps in formal wear, one black-clad blond woman turned and sniffed the air in my wake. Faster than I could follow, all the others followed suit. Eyes began bleeding black. Fangs snapped down. I stopped. Whipped around to confront them, my back to the wall. Beast rose in my eyes. For a single moment we faced each other. Me wearing heels. No weapons. Crap. My heart rate sped up. Beast poured speed into me, her pelt rising and rippling beneath my skin, her claws flexing in my fingertips. The vamps each took a single measured tread toward me. Spreading out. Ringing me. Crap, crap, crap!
Bruiser stepped to my side. Placed a proprietary hand on my spine. “The rogue hunter,” he said. At his touch and the words, they stopped. I stopped. Beast went still, but so close to the surface I could feel her killing claws burning in my fingertips as if I were already shifting.
As if the vamps shared a single thought, their fangs snapped back in place. The pheromones of alarm in the air reduced. I remembered how to breathe but it hurt, as if my lungs had dried out and lost elasticity. I forced my clawed hands to relax. The blonde looked me up and down, slowly, as if committing me to memory. Cataloguing me. The way a cattle baron might remember and catalogue his herd. “Dominique,” she said, her voice heavily laced with French. “Acting head of Clan Arceneau. You may call upon me.” Moving human slow, she turned her back. The others followed suit.
“Crap,” I whispered. “You may call upon me?” Was that a command? Like hell I’d call on her. Bruiser took my arm, pointed to the food, and murmured, “I’ll be right back; try not to get killed.”