“What are you talking about?” Roman set down his tablet.
“I’m being sued for wrongful death or some such crap. One of the victims’ families wasted no time in snagging a lawyer and slapping me with a lawsuit. Makes me wonder just how much they actually gave a damn about their daughter.” Feeling terribly grumpy, I reached in my purse and pulled out the summons I’d received the night before and tossed it on the table. “Lovely, huh?”
Roman silently opened it, scanned it through—he read incredibly fast; his intelligence was at genius level—then slowly refolded it and set it back on the table, keeping his hand on it.
“Bullshit. I’ll have my lawyer contact you and we’ll put a stop to this nonsense.” He shook his head. “Money-grubbing bastards.”
“Chase said he’d find me a lawyer—”
“Nonsense. I have the best money can buy. You are my consort. No arguments.” When Roman put his fangs down, he put them down. After a moment, he rubbed his chin, then placed one hand over mine. “I want to talk to you about something—two things actually. First, I want to pay for the rebuilding of your establishment.”
Roman, pay for rebuilding the Wayfarer? That didn’t go down too well. I cared about him, yes. I was bound to him, yes. But I still didn’t fully trust him. Camille and Delilah assumed that I’d given myself fully over to his charm. While it was true that, since he was my sire, I had to answer to him, it didn’t stop me from keeping my eyes open and I didn’t have to agree to everything he wanted.
I shook my head. “Thank you, but no. Smoky and Shade have already offered and I’ve accepted. Dragons horde treasure beyond even ancient vamps. They want to do this and I’d like to let them.” It was, I thought, the most tactful way around saying, “Thanks but I don’t want you having a stake in my bar.” Of course, Roman was smart enough to know what I was up to, but decorum had been observed and I knew him well enough to figure he’d accept my wishes.
He just laughed. “I know what you’re pulling. Fine, then. Refuse my help. But if you need it, all you have to do is ask. I truly do not have a hidden agenda in helping you, you know. But Menolly, we’ll find out who did this. I promise you all the help I can give to finding out who torched your bar. And when we do… they’d better pray to whatever gods they follow.”
I wanted to tell him we had a pretty good idea of what was going on. Roman did know that I’d received a letter shortly before the fire, one from an attorney speaking for an anonymous client asking to buy me out. I’d ignored it.
A few days later, I’d received two threatening phone calls, not directly aimed at my bar but hinting that I’d be better off dead, and that I would be sorry I hadn’t listened to “friendly” advice. I got a half-dozen crank calls from hate groups every month and had chalked them up to that. The next thing I knew, the bar was on fire.
“We think we know who’s responsible. I can’t talk about it right now, because seriously—we have to walk cautiously on this one, Roman. I’ll tell you as soon as I know for sure. But that letter I told you about is involved, as well as the crank calls I got after.”
Roman nodded. “I promise to stay out of it until you ask for my help.” His voice was soft, low and curled around me, inviting me in.
I leaned closer to him and he wrapped his arm around me, pressing his lips to mine. I leisurely returned the kiss, melting into his embrace. It was long and slow, without pressure. We both knew that tonight was a no-go and that I needed to head home, so we left it at that. But it stoked my fire, and once I reached home, I’d be dragging Nerissa down to our lair, to fuck her brains out.
Finally, I pulled away. “What’s the other thing you wanted to ask me?”
He cocked his head, the frost of his eyes glittering. “It’s about your daughter, Erin.”
I’d turned exactly one person: Erin Mathews. Former owner of the Scarlet Harlot lingerie boutique, she’d been captured when my former sire came looking for me to finish the job he’d started. Erin was almost dead when we got to her, and I’d given her the option of letting me turn her into a vampire. Otherwise, she would have died. She’d chosen eternal life, and just like that, I’d birthed a middle-aged daughter. Erin was smart, and she was quickly adapting.
“What about her?” Erin had been working as secretary for Vampires Anonymous, a self-help club for newly minted vamps. Run by a friend—Wade Stevens, a vampire and former psychologist who had taken it upon himself to help the newly turned—the VA provided a place where the undead could bridge the gap with their living family and friends, and learn how to coexist without caving to their inner predators.
“I want to take her out of the VA. She’s got the nature I’m looking for. I’d like to train her for my security department. She could rise quickly in the ranks.” The tone of Roman’s voice told me that he wasn’t going to give up on this one.
I thought about the offer. Truthfully, Erin would probably love it. She wanted to be useful and she wasn’t a woman who was happy sitting around. She’d hated the inactivity that Sassy had forced on her when I had left her with the socialite vamp. Sassy Branson had been a dear friend, but her inner predator had finally won out. I’d had to take her out—a promise I’d made when she was still in control of herself.
Erin loved the job she had now, but she’d told me she was itching for more to do. In the end, I decided she had too much talent and know-how to waste.
“I’ll stop on the way home and offer her the opportunity. If she’s up for it, no problem. Might do her a lot of good. If not, then you’ll let her be.”
He nodded. “Fair enough.”
“Time for me to head out, then. My sisters will be waiting and we’ve got a lot to do. With the war in Elqaneve, we’re running on nerves and caffeine—well, my sisters are. I’m just… running.”
“All right, love, but the moment you feel comfortable telling me who you think torched your bar, I expect to hear a full report. I’ll take on the world for you, you know that.”
I frowned. Roman might take on the world, but he’d be biting off more than he could chew if he attempted to take on Lowestar and his cronies. That would be all Seattle needed—a corporate war between the daemons and the vampires.
I slugged back the last drops of blood and picked up my purse, but before I could slide out of the booth, Shikra glided up to the table. The owner of the Utopia was silent, like most vamps, and absolutely gorgeous. Her hair was full and thick, shoulder length, and a tawny wheat color that reminded me of my Nerissa. Her eyes were icy blue. She had been a vampire for only five years, if I remembered right, but she had adapted quickly. Wearing a PVC dress, with the zipper pulled down around her navel, she’d had implants before she died. Her breasts were gloriously round, but they looked fake as hell. I wondered how being a vampire affected having implants, but decided to keep my mouth shut for now.
“I trust the service was good? And your drinks?” She gave a little dip, curtseying to Roman and me. Which was smart, considering his status.
He glanced at me and I nodded. Since I was his consort, it was my place to deal with the niceties such as answering questions like this when we were out. In a sense, it was part of my job.
“You have a lovely club. Great service.” I gave her a toothy smile.
“I wondered…” Shikra paused, obviously wanting to ask something but respecting protocol.
“Yes?” Again, I answered. It was also my job to field queries coming at Roman when we were out together unless his bodyguard intervened.
“I need to ask Lord Roman’s advice, if I may. Something has come up and I don’t quite know what to do. I thought about approaching the police, but something just… I’m afraid to.”
She looked so worried that I motioned for her to sit down without consulting Roman to ask if he was willing to listen. But he gestured for her to join us.
“What seems to be the problem?” Roman leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, his gaze locking hers. That was one thing that made him so popular—when he turned his attention to someone or something, he gave it total focus with an intensity that was frightening.
Shikra pulled out a letter and put it on the table. “I received this the other day. It was followed by two anonymous phone calls. I think there’s a connection but I can’t prove it. I’ll let you read the letter first.”
The minute I picked up the paper, I recognized the letterhead. From a law firm called Vistar-Tashdey Enterprises, it was an offer to buy the Utopia Club from Shikra. Strongly worded, it was almost a demand. There were no names listed, no signature other than that of the lawyer representing VT Enterprises and a phone number. Same as the letter I’d received.
On edge—the letter was as off-putting and self-important as the one I’d received had been—I held up the paper. “Can I have a copy of this? Do you have a copy machine on the premises?”
She took it. “Yes, I’ll have one made. But as I said, the letter isn’t the only problem. The phone calls are more frightening. Last night, and then about an hour ago, I received two calls, and both times someone threatened to torch my club. No reasoning, no blackmail demands. Just a gruff voice, making a death threat. I have no idea if the caller was male or female—the voice sounded disguised.”
A shiver ran through me. “Roman…”
He seemed to be thinking along the same wavelength. “You’re thinking there may be a connection?”
I nodded. “Could be.” Turning back to Shikra, I asked, “As far as the letter, can you think of some reason anyone would want to buy your club? No offense, but… are you making a ton of money?”
Shikra shook her head. “That puzzles me, too. Oh, I’m getting by—business isn’t bad. But it’s not the best, either. There’s no real reason to buy me out unless they want the land the building is on.”
I thought for a moment. How could I not tell her about my experience? There had to be a link. But I had no clue what was going on, and until we knew, I was hesitant to mention that I’d received the same treatment.
“Be careful. I’m serious—I think this threat may be real. Keep an eye out, and make certain you post security at the doors. If you haven’t got an alarm system, get one tomorrow.”
“You don’t think it’s just a crank?”
“I wish I did think so.” I paused, then shook my head. “Seriously, be cautious. Meanwhile, I want a copy of the letter, please. And by any chance, were you able to record the messages that came through?” It was a long shot, but I asked anyway.
As I thought, she hadn’t.
“No, I took the calls when they came in, and I know it was the same person both times. Their words were muffled. I’m guessing whoever it was, was trying to disguise their voice. And both times the calls were short. I asked questions but they didn’t answer.”
“What did they say exactly?” Roman glanced around the club and I followed his gaze. The Utopia was unlike most vamp clubs, decked out in vivid crimson, green, gold, and black. The setup reminded me of a tropical lounge, with lush ferns and sprawling ivies spilling over the edge of built-in flower boxes. Booths, a muted crimson, were smooth and rounded, curving around dark walnut tables polished to a high sheen. The floor was a tiled linoleum, a black-and-white speckled pattern. There were no overwhelming drapes hanging low, like in some vamp clubs. No highly sexual statues, or macabre images. For the most part, the Utopia could have been any upscale and chic bar.
Shikra squinted. “Let me try to remember the exact words.” After a moment, she shrugged. “He—or she, I have no clue why but I want to say it was a he… he said, ‘Better count your hours, bloodsucker, because I’m going to send you and your fucking club up in flames.’ And then he paused. That’s when I asked what the hell was going on. He hung up.” She shivered, rubbing her arms. Vamps didn’t feel the cold much, but I knew it wasn’t a chill hitting her.
I closed my eyes. That almost mirrored to the exact wording what my caller had said. The only difference had been, “Better count your hours, bloodsucker, because I’m going to take you and your fucking bar down so hard you’ll never get up.”
That was all Shikra could remember. Roman told her to put a recorder on the club phone and see if she could capture the message if the freak called back, and then she left to print out a copy of the letter for me.
As we headed out, I glanced back at the Utopia. “I hope it’s just somebody’s bad idea of a practical joke.” But as I stared at the neon sign, I kept seeing the flames engulfing the Wayfarer. “I hope to hell that’s all it is.”
Roman walked me to my car. I stood by the Jag, staring into the night. “I’ll drop by Erin’s and ask her about the job opportunity. I’ll call or have her call you tomorrow night.”
Roman drew me in for a quick kiss. His bodyguards were in the background, studiously ignoring us as his hands slipped over my body, cupping my butt. I moaned into his mouth, then pulled away.
“Night, doll,” he whispered, ushering me into my car. He shut the door when I was in. As I drove off, he stood there, one hand raised, watching me go.
I stopped by Sassy Branson’s old mansion—which was now the headquarters for both the Seattle Vampire Nexus, and Vampires Anonymous. Located on two acres, the estate was gorgeous, and the mansion spacious. I stopped at the gate to show my ID. When Sassy had been alive, there had been a simple intercom system, but back then, nobody outside the vampire community knew she was a vamp, and she hadn’t been all that nervous. Now there was good reason to post armed guards around the perimeter, given the hate groups that were alive and thriving.