Wendy’s voice bordered on desperation. “Ms. Payson, I really need to ask you to wait.”
I was still in control, but I decided there was a point to make. When I turned to her again, I let go of the glamour masking my fangs and red eyes.
“Do you see any Blood Potion in my hand? No, you don’t. And there are a lot of warm, tasty bodies in this room right now. Get out of my way.”
A deep, smooth voice rolled over us. “Hello, Brandilynn. Did you need to see me?”
I straightened and put the glamour back in place before turning around to face Tristan Keith, the owner of that voice.
He stood at the edge of the bandstand, looking down at us. He wore a business suit that was thoroughly modern, but there was no mistaking he’d come from an earlier time. In fact, Tristan might have walked the floors of the King George in its heyday. He might have danced with flappers in this very ballroom for all I knew.
Gerald stood nearby, his gaze on Tristan saying he was less than pleased with his boss. And our resident psychic Lana looked kind of angry too. That’s saying something, because Lana is as bubbly as they come. She almost never gets mad.
Gerald and Lana are my friends. Maybe Tristan treating me like a pariah was what got on their nerves. At the moment, that was neither here nor there. I had come for answers to other questions, and I was by thunder going to get them.
I gave Tristan the most pleasant look I could dredge up. Look at me, being polite and reasonable. “Why yes, Tristan. I do need to see you, right away.”
Without sparing the hapless Wendy another glance, I mounted the steps to the stage and stood looking at Tristan. Had there not been so much angst between us, the view would have been delightful. Black onyx eyes. Even blacker hair, cut in the fashion of the 1920’s when he’d last drawn a human breath. Classically cut features, giving him a beauty that his pale skin rendered an enthralling starkness to. He was not outdoorsy-masculine like Dan, but more like dapper Errol Flynn masculine. He could have worn (and has worn) a tuxedo as effortlessly as most men wear jeans.
I swallowed hard. It sucks to find Tristan compelling still. When I look at him, even when he’s vampire hard and smells of a dried husk of something long withered, I somehow can’t believe we’re over. My very being cries out against it.
No release date set.