Entr’acte
Glynn glided through the night shadows, like the dangerous beast that he was—mostly. His shirt was drying and starting to stiffen, an uncomfortable reminder that he was three kinds of fool.
She’d said no. After giving him a taste of her luscious skin, her sweet sex, she’d said stop.
He’d honored that the only way he could, by getting the hell out of there.
He should have stayed away, but then she’d have fallen from the roof window and perhaps died. Although the explosion of desire had nearly killed them both. It had certainly burned him to cinders.
Sex had never been so good, so…sweet. So fresh and new.
He didn’t understand why. Normally sex was no big deal. He had it when he needed it, with vampires because humans were fragile and the few he’d slept with in the early days had the annoying tendency to become enthralled.
Junior not only had not become enthralled, she’d stopped him. It confused him. Intrigued him. Made him wonder about things he’d heard but had dismissed as impossible.
It was still impossible. He was leaving when the show closed. Even if he weren’t, he was centuries old to her twenty-five years. He might live millennia more. If she took care of herself, Junior might live a single century.
There was absolutely no future for him and her.
Why was he thinking about Junior, anyway? His job was to protect Mishela. Not from rabid fans, as most thought, but to prevent her from being used as a bargaining chip between the two most powerful groups of vampires in the Midwest, the Iowa Alliance and the Chicago Coterie.
His cell rang. He barely suppressed a jump. When had he changed it from vibrate? He was damned lucky the caller hadn’t phoned earlier when Junior’s parents were in the room and he was on the ceiling.
He dug the phone from his pocket and checked the number. Elias. Not luck, then. The ancient vampire’s timing bordered on eerie. “Sir.”
“I have new intel, Rhys-Jenkins. The opposition will make an attempt on Meiers Corners within the week.”
Glynn snorted. “Nosferatu’s already tried to annex the city, undermine the Alliance protector here and invade the city’s blood center. We’ve beaten him back every time. Hasn’t he learned anything from his failures?”
“Strictly speaking, it was his lieutenant who failed. Now that my lieutenant has destroyed his, making him look weak, it’s forced him to take a more direct hand.”
Glynn thought that over. “Should I be worried about Mishela, sir?” Or Junior.
“No more than before. Although things might turn uncomfortable for you.”
“How do you mean, sir?”
“There are only indications…ah, but perhaps I’m being overly pessimistic. I will say this. When the right one comes along, all others fade away.”
At the Ancient One’s words, Junior’s taste rang on Glynn’s nose and tongue, clear as a bell, individual as a fingerprint. He could even sense her from here, as if she was a part of him.
He shook himself. All vampires could locate a donor by the unique blood-taste/blood-scent. Though the distance varied by vampire age, Elias and his infernal training had made Glynn one of the best. Of course he could sense Junior. He’d tasted her. It was nothing special. And Elias’s words meant nothing special.
Glynn gritted his teeth. Sometimes Elias played his Wise Ancient persona to annoying perfection. “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t understand.”
“Never mind. I really called to let you know I’ll be offline for a few days.”
“Still working to keep vampire households from going bankrupt, sir?”
“The economy’s hitting us all hard. I’m infusing what liquid cash I can, but we’re hemorrhaging money.” He made a deep sound of disgust. “I’d rather be funding Mishela’s musical, but I suppose vampire civilization takes precedence.”
“Yes, sir. Good luck, sir.”
“Luck. We all need it, but especially… Well, good luck to you as well, Rhys-Jenkins.”
Glynn hoped he was imagining the pity he heard in Elias’s voice.
