“Good idea,” I said, breathless, trying to shake off the fear and adrenaline. “Why didn’t I think of that?” He stepped away, gliding almost as smoothly as a vamp. Music started up and I spotted a trio of human musicians with stringed instruments in the corner beneath a huge portrait of a king in robes and crown, slender hunting dogs at his feet. The musicians were playing something classical and vaguely whiny. Not good dance music. I wanted to giggle at the thought. A hysterical, terrified giggle.
Keeping my back to a wall when possible, and my eyes on the vamp groups, I raided the meat table, adding a wedge of cheese and a strawberry just for kicks, and tried to figure out what to do next. What did one do to celebrate not being eaten? Maybe I could go up to all the vamps present and ask if they knew any rogues. A single adrenaline-laced giggle burbled up, like a terrified heeee, and the waiter behind the meat tray looked at me oddly. I stuffed a hunk of piglet in my mouth and said around it, “Low blood sugar,” to explain the laughter. He set an icing-covered pastry on my plate by way of reply.
Still shaky, I took myself and my overloaded plate on a house tour. Unlike the homes I visited on my Garden District excursion, here I was an invited guest. I figured that meant I could roam where I wanted. It might not help me kill a rogue vamp, but it might help with future searches and vamp contracts to know how the fanged and moneyed lived.
To the right of the reception area was a restaurant-sized kitchen. Inside there were two chefs in white hats and at least a dozen waiters coming and going. The pantry and linen rooms were behind the kitchen with a hallway leading to the backyard and a five-car garage not visible from the front. It was full of fancy cars: the limo that brought us here; an old, boxy Mercedes; a 1950-something Chevy, fully restored; an old Ford from the early days of the automobile—maybe a Model T? I didn’t know my old cars. But Leo had a Porsche Boxster in old-blood maroon, which made me smile. It was the Porsche that finally made me relax. That and the protein. I had never tasted pig this good.
Behind the foyer was a short hallway and a locked door, the room seeming to take up a lot of space. Leo’s personal quarters? Several fresh human blood scents wafted under the sill and Beast’s hackles rose at the smell, but there was no fear mixed in the blood. Curious, I stood in a shadow and watched for a while.
Shortly, two vamps, a man and a woman, left the room, reeking of fresh blood and sex. They didn’t lock the door or catch my scent, didn’t turn my way. I stepped up, caught the door before it closed, and peeked in. It was a suite with a huge bed, couches, chaise lounges, a studio-sized TV screen, and several humans in various stages of undress. Two were cuddled up with a female vamp who was feeding from them, one at a time. I got it. This was the blood bar. Where vamps came for hors d’oeuvres. And now I knew what to call the donors. Blood-junkies. Yuck.
I let the door close without making a scene because none of the humans was chained, showed signs of physical abuse—if I didn’t count multiple fang marks—or looked drugged. Well, drugged beyond the blood bliss they experienced when fed upon by a suitably mature vamp. I moved on. Fast. Back to the reception room and a fresh plate of piglet and salmon. This time I added a cracker and three grapes and meandered on.
A female vamp, walking alone, slowed when she scented me. She smiled, an attempt at humanness, intended to disarm. It worked. I stopped, curious. Waiting. When I didn’t speak, she leaned in, too close, way inside my personal space. I tensed, but her fangs stayed back, out of sight, and she didn’t try to bite me. She only sniffed my neck. So I didn’t react. Much.
She stepped back and tilted her head. “I am Bettina, blood-master of Clan Rousseau.” I nodded, but couldn’t think of a thing to say. Cat got my tongue. The titter tried to rise yet again. Rousseau was a beautiful woman, with mixed-race heritage, mostly African and European. “They tell me that the rogue hunter is here tonight, as a guest of Pellissier. Are you she?”
When I nodded, she walked around me, a dance step, like a cat walks, one foot carefully placed at a time. She breathed in as she moved. Taking my scent. “You smell so . . . good. Will you call me when this . . . unpleasantness . . . is over?” She stopped in front of me, looking up into my eyes. “I wish to know you better.”
There was something in her eyes that said the “know you better” part was in the biblical sense. Lucky me. I swallowed. A smile started in her eyes. And they landed on my throat.
“Bettina. Pellissier wishes to speak with you.”
We both turned to the small, rotund human at her side. I had no idea how long he had stood there, but the look on his face said it had been long enough. “Please visit,” she said, extending a card that hadn’t been in her hand a moment past. And she followed the man away.