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  He hesitated. “As your date?”

  “If you like. Provided you’re healed.” She shrugged, but something about her tone said his answer meant something to her. “And only if you want to.”

  “What kind of party is it?”

  “Sort of a gathering of European acquaintances of my brother’s. A boring, rubbing-elbows and ego-stroking event guaranteed to drive me mad, unless I have company.”

  “Vampire acquaintances?” he asked, trying to make his voice as casual as possible.

  “Mostly.”

  Absorbing the implications, he tried not to break into a cold sweat. Did he want to attend a party literally stuffed full of unknown vampires and try not to think about how fast he could become dinner? Not hardly. But Calla wanted him to come, and that alone made his heart pound in excitement.

  “Tarron’s trying to shore up relations with the European vampires,” she went on. “He thinks we’re too vulnerable, in light of the recent problems with rogues and hunters.”

  “Well, he’s got a point.”

  “It would be so much more fun if you were there,” Calla went on. “Plus, you could benefit from these contacts as well. And maybe if you’re there, Tarron won’t— Never mind. What was I thinking? Of course you don’t want to hang around with my kind after what happened. I’m sorry. I’ll just go.”

  Struggling to cover her upset, she started to rise, and he caught her wrist. “Wait. If I’m there, maybe Tarron won’t do what?”

  “Nothing. Forget I mentioned it.”

  Damn. Now she’s clammed up. Probably thinks you don’t want to spend time with her. Great job, dumbass.

  “I’d love to go,” he said softly.

  Her eyes met his and the pain there vanished. “Really?”

  “Yes. But a few of my men will accompany me, if that’s all right.”

  “Of course. No leader attends a party full of other powerful leaders without some backup.” She smiled. “I’m glad you’re coming.”

  “Any excuse to spend more time with you.” That part wasn’t a lie. He wished he didn’t have to attend the party in order to see her, but for some reason it seemed really important to her, so he’d manage his fears. Somehow.

  “Thank you. I can’t wait.”

  When she leaned over and gave him a lingering kiss, warmth filled him.

  Perhaps, for once, he’d done the right thing.

  Four

  “Do they suspect?”

  “No, Master.”

  The vampire studied his Sorcerer, who was kneeling before him in supplication. As it should be. Quite a coup to have a powerful creature such as Jinn under his complete control. Such a rush.

  That was what love did to the victim—it blinded. A fatal flaw, in the end.

  An emotion he would never allow into his heart again.

  “Good, my pet.” He stroked the soft hair on the bowed head, let his fingers linger at the nape. “We will continue to blend in, to infiltrate their ranks, learn their secrets. I want you to find me one who we can turn to our purposes. Can you do that?”

  “Absolutely, Master. I have one in mind who I’ve learned craves power among the vampires.”

  “His name?”

  “Graham, a guard. He’ll do nicely.”

  “Fine.”

  Jinn looked up at him. “About Tarron’s gathering. We’ll still attend?”

  “Of course. I’m invited, and no one will recognize you as your true self. Ironic, isn’t it?”

  “Very much so.” Jinn hesitated, then said solemnly, “Master, I’m going to help you make them all pay for what they’ve done. Every vampire in Tarron’s coven, and every one of their wolf allies. I swear to you.”

  For a split second, something like warmth fluttered against his icy soul.

  “I know you will. Now, rise and see to it.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  Jinn pushed to his feet, turned, and left in a swirl of his black cloak. The vampire took a moment to appreciate the Sorcerer’s fine form, then exited the room himself to attend to other business. First, he was ravenous.

  Steps quickening, he descended the stone steps to the basement. Then down a dank, torch-lit corridor to one of the cells therein. Using his key, he turned the lock and walked slowly inside. Took stock of his trembling, terrified blood slave and smiled.

  “Hello, Tom,” he said pleasantly. “Just dropping in for a quick bite.”

  * * *

  Nick hadn’t seen Calla since she’d brought him the cookies a few days before, and that didn’t set well with him. At all. He found he missed her company—and her kisses.

  Cookies. His heart warmed all over again as he recalled the gesture. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had done something so thoughtful for him. It made him miss her even more.

  Why the hell hadn’t he thought to get her cell phone number? Even vampires had them. He could call Tarron and ask for it, but that would mean a bunch of explanations neither of them was ready to give. Tarron would likely question him about his sister inviting Nick to the gathering as it was. Dammit!

  The party was tonight, though, so his wait was over. He’d chosen to concentrate on Calla and not on the fact that he’d be surrounded by dozens of the elite of her kind. Or that was how it was supposed to work. His suit chafed against his skin, so uncomfortable he felt like stripping it off and going dressed in his jeans, a black T-shirt, heavy boots, and a few weapons strapped on for good measure.

  But that probably wouldn’t bode well for diplomatic relations.

  Not that he cared what anyone else thought—just a certain vampire princess. He’d endure the whole thing for Calla, and maybe he’d find out why it was so important to her for him to be present. He knew she liked him, but he sensed there was something more behind her invitation.

  With a sigh, he made one last adjustment on his tie, then left his quarters and made his way to the recreation room. Jax, Hammer, Aric, and Micah were supposed to meet him there, where they’d be picked up by the coven’s guards and teleported to the stronghold. All of them except for Hammer, whose Psy gift happened to be teleportation. A handy skill. As disorienting as that form of travel was to shifters, it beat hours in a plane or helicopter.

  Nick walked into the rec room, and all eyes fixed on his attire. Predictably, the comments were teasing but good-natured.

  “Jesus, who’s having a funeral?” Ryon cracked.

  “I didn’t even know he owned a suit,” Zan said.

  From his position sprawled on the sofa, Kalen eyed him. “Nick, is that you? Hey, you clean up okay.”

  “Well, I happen to think he looks rather handsome,” Mac said in his defense, bouncing baby Kai on her hip. That earned her a frown from Kalen, which she ignored.

  “Thanks, Mac,” Nick said, then rolled his eyes. “Christ, people, haven’t you ever seen a guy dressed up before? We need better entertainment around here.”

  Snickers sounded and he ignored them. The heat was taken off him when his chosen men for the evening walked in dressed in similar dark suits. Another round of razzing ensued, followed by verbal heartfelt relief from those who weren’t chosen to go.

  “Sounds boring as hell, making nice with a bunch of uptight, prissy vampires,” Kalen said. “Have fun with that.”

  “Their bunch can be pretty snooty,” Ryon put in.

  Zan arched a dark brow. “So, you’re taking one for the team in the name of political alliance? That’s your story?”

  “And I’m sticking to it,” Nick confirmed.

  A few knowing grins and glances were exchanged, but he didn’t rise to the bait. Let them think what they wanted. They probably weren’t far from wrong.

  Their escort showed, appearing outside and knocking rather than popping into the room. A common courtesy observed, same as not barging into the house of someone you don’t know very well.

  “We’ve been invited to stay overnight as Tarron’s guests,” Nick told him as they walked out. “So don’t wait up.”<
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  “Be safe, dear,” Kalen called out. “Use protection!” The others laughed.

  “Idiot,” Nick muttered.

  As much as they annoyed him sometimes, though, there was a time not so long ago when his men hadn’t felt comfortable enough with him to joke around. Except for Kalen, they’d all served under the team’s late commander, Terry Noble, and the teasing meant they’d come a long way toward accepting Nick since Terry’s death. He had to admit it was kind of nice.

  Outside, the vampire guards were waiting and each one took hold of one of their arms. Even Hammer, though the big man protested. Apparently, Tarron’s men took their jobs seriously.

  After a few disorienting seconds, they appeared in a gigantic ballroom Nick hadn’t seen on their previous stay at the vampire stronghold. The space was stunning, with crystal chandeliers hanging overhead, glittering crystal glasses of every type of liquor, not to mention crimson liquid his wolf could smell was blood. Either donated or purchased through a blood bank, of course.

  Long tables were filled with food at each end of the room because vampires did have to eat, same as anyone else. Pleasant music—and he used that phrase loosely—was being piped in through hidden speakers, but there was also an area set up for a live orchestra to perform later. Likely more elevator music.

  Idly, Nick wondered what they would do if he found the sound system and blasted in a little Alice in Chains or Slipknot.

  Before he could be seriously tempted, Tarron spotted him and headed over, a welcoming smile on his face. He stuck out a hand and Nick shook it.

  “Commander, so glad you could come! Calla told me she invited you and some of your men to join the festivities. A bit of PR between species never hurts, I say.”

  Nick wasn’t here for the damned PR, but wisely refrained from saying so.

  “Right.”

  Tarron greeted Nick’s men and shook their hands as well before turning back to him. “You’re completely healed, I hope. You had us all worried last week.” The vampire studied him with genuine concern.

  “I’m good as new. Thanks for asking.” Just then, a waiter stopped by and held out a tray loaded with beer, wine, and champagne. Nick snagged a glass of beer and the man hurried off. “Is the waitstaff all vampire?”

  “Mostly, with a shifter or some other creature thrown in here and there. For events like these, I always have to hire some staff from the outside, and there aren’t many humans I trust.”

  “I hate to break it to you, but there are plenty of our kind that aren’t trustworthy, either.”

  “True. But at least if things go south, the fewer humans in on our secrets, or in the line of fire, the better.”

  “Also true,” Nick conceded. He couldn’t stop himself from searching the crowd as they spoke.

  “Looking for my sister?”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “Probably only to me.” There were questions in the vampire’s eyes, and hovering on his lips. That much was obvious, too. But either he’d decided to respect his sister’s wishes on prying further, or he’d given up on getting answers before they were ready to be given.

  “So, why don’t you introduce me to some of your friends?”

  Tarron accepted the change of subject gracefully. “I’d love to. Though I wouldn’t call most of them friends,” he said under his breath, for Nick’s ears only. “Present company excluded.”

  Nick flashed him a smile. He wouldn’t exactly call Tarron and himself friends yet, either, but the potential was there. As long as the man didn’t drain him dry for messing with his sister.

  That brought a host of unpleasant memories and he fought to retain his hard-won calm. He fought to forget where he was, and among whom. His men were here, and between all of them they could put up a good fight if need be.

  That didn’t stop the cold sweat from breaking out underneath his dress shirt. Or his heart from racing like he’d been jacked with speed. Fuck’s sake, calm yourself or they’ll sense your fear. And then what? Converge on you like a pack of rabid dogs?

  Here, at a social gathering in which almost everyone hoped to gain something, and were all under Tarron’s protection, that was highly unlikely. Nick told himself that until it sank in and he finally began to breathe easier.

  In truth, most of the vampires he met were friendly and entertaining. Some downright boisterous. One in particular, a teenage vampire named Daegan, whom Nick’s team had rescued from rogues a few weeks ago and brought to Tarron, was charming and funny, putting everyone around him in a good mood. The young man had adjusted well.

  “Nick, I’d like you to meet Prince Rolan Stanislav, from the Russian territory,” Tarron said smoothly. “Rolan, Commander Nick Westfall, of the Alpha Pack team here in America. Those guys are great allies to have, my friend.”

  Rolan nodded, giving Nick a small smile and holding out his hand. “It is nice to meet you,” he said in a heavy accent. “I don’t believe we have met.”

  “No, but same here. Good to meet you.” Nick eyed the tall platinum blond prince. “Russia . . . that’s a hell of a long way.”

  The prince shrugged. “Not so long when we can teleport. Though it does take several minutes rather than seconds to cross such a long distance.”

  “So, how do you know Tarron?”

  “We met perhaps sixty years ago at a gathering similar to this one, but in my country. We have kept in touch. Unlike myself and his beautiful sister.” The Russian turned to Tarron. “Where is Calla hiding?”

  Nick’s wolf began to growl, low and dangerous, and he silenced it with an effort.

  “She’s here somewhere— Oh, here she comes,” Tarron said.

  They turned and watched Calla weave her way through the crowd toward them. Nick nearly swallowed his tongue at the sight of the princess.

  She wore a classic sleeveless little black dress with a plunging neckline that showed a hint of the swell of her breasts. The hem stopped a few inches above the knee, and his gaze automatically traveled the length of her slender legs all the way to her strappy high heels.

  Holy Mother of God.

  Her attention went straight to Nick, and she gave him a wide smile. “Hey, there! You made it.”

  She walked right into his arms and hugged him close, although briefly, and turned her head so he could place a kiss on her cheek. Not quite the claim he would have enjoyed staking for everyone to see, but it was early days yet. He hadn’t missed how she’d had eyes only for him, and that soothed him and his wolf somewhat.

  After letting him go, she turned and greeted Prince Rolan, but not nearly as warmly as she’d greeted Nick, he noted with satisfaction. However, he didn’t miss how the prince’s face lit with pleasure at her attention.

  “Calla, you’re looking radiant,” the prince said, taking one of her hands in both of his. “How have you been?”

  “I’m doing well, Prince Rolan. And you?”

  “Better now that you have graced us with your shining light.” He kissed her hand. “Would you do me the honor of taking a walk with me?”

  Shining light? Nick thought sourly. The vampire can’t be just handsome, titled, and rich? He has to be fucking Shakespeare, too?

  And his wolf was growling again. Thankfully nobody heard.

  “Um, well . . .” Calla caught her brother’s eye and he nodded. “All right. I suppose a brief stroll would be good exercise.”

  Rolan’s smile was pleased. “Very good. Shall we?”

  Anxiety joined the party along with the slow burn of anger. Possessiveness. The vampire was gazing at Calla in naked interest, as though she was the reason he’d come tonight—not stuffy politics. He was more than happy to leave his colleagues behind to enjoy a “stroll” with Calla.

  She threw Nick an apologetic look as they walked away, which mollified him a little.

  “I invited him,” Tarron said ruefully.

  “What?” He rounded on the vampire.

  “I asked him to come because Rolan has been intereste
d in Calla for ages, but the timing has never been right. I thought they’d make a good couple.”

  “Well, I don’t fucking think they would,” Nick snarled.

  “To clarify, however, I invited him before I got wind of something going on between you and my sister.” He pinned Nick with a glare of his own. “I’m not that manipulative or dishonorable.”

  “Good to know.” Fists clenched, Nick looked away, still pissed.

  Tarron’s voice grew hushed. “You wouldn’t blame me if you knew how truly sad and alone she’s been these past few years. I just wanted to help.”

  “Understandable,” he replied evenly. “But she doesn’t need his help—in any way.”

  “Try that attitude on her and you’ll get not an inch further than I ever do. Trust me on that. If she digs her heels in, you’re done.”

  Dammit, the man made too much sense.

  “Come on. I’ll introduce you to more of the guests.”

  That was the very last thing Nick wanted to do—socialize while Calla was alone with the fanged Casanova. But he gritted his teeth and endured while Tarron made more introductions, and he answered curious questions about what his team of shifters did to protect citizens. That, at least, was a subject he could warm to, and that part wasn’t so bad.

  “Nick, this is Ivan Cardenas, from Barcelona, Spain,” Tarron said in introduction. “Ivan is an old acquaintance we haven’t seen around here in some time. He’ll be joining the discussion in the dining hall later with the other leaders.”

  “Hello,” Nick said, shaking his hand. “I’m sure that will be a fascinating talk, won’t it?”

  Cardenas chuckled. “I’m sure it will. It’s good to meet you.”

  “You, too.”

  Nick was grateful when the Fates intervened and Tarron was pulled into a debate on whether blood banks were sufficient to feed their population, or covens should be allowed to feed on death row inmates or some shit. Nick excused himself and nobody noticed when he found a corner, held up a far wall, and finished his beer.