Shadow Rising

Slowly, the tension beneath his hand eased, and the woman sank back down onto her stool. Damien released her reluctantly. His hand tingled where he’d touched her. For a moment, her awkwardness vanished, and the woman looking back at him was every bit as cold and ancient as her dynasty mark proclaimed her to be.



He wondered fleetingly if playing with a Grigori this way was wise, then brushed it aside. He’d lived for centuries doing just as he liked, and it had served him well enough. Why stop now?



“I’ll stay. For now. But I’m not going to entertain you… cat.” Her gaze dropped to the concealed top of Damien’s right collarbone. There, beneath his shirt, was the mark of his bloodline, a trio of entwined black cats fashioned into a Celtic circle. It branded him as Cait Sith, a cat-shifter.



And without looking at it, she shouldn’t have been able to tell so quickly.



“How did you know?” Damien asked.



The woman shrugged, a dainty lift of shoulders exposed by the sleeveless little black dress she wore. The movement made him look below her neck, which he instantly knew he shouldn’t have done. He could stay distracted for weeks by the wonders showcased by that dress. With some effort, he dragged his eyes back up to meet hers.



“I’m good at indentifying who’s who,” she said, her tone defensive. “I studied.”



“Really. And what identified me?”



She turned her head to glare into her drink. “Does it matter? You’re just going to make fun of me, whatever I say.”



The accusation startled him… more because she was probably right. And for whatever reason, the knowledge bothered him.



“I won’t. I’m genuinely curious.”



She didn’t even look at him. “I doubt that. You’re just bored. Go away.”



Damien watched her face, seeing the frustration likely borne of fumbling her way through modern vampire society without a lifeline for at least a couple of weeks, and something in him softened. He didn’t bother to try and analyze it, but his voice sounded strange to his own ears as he sought to reassure her.



“I’m not leaving until you tell me. But I’m happy to drag this out if you’d rather.”



She looked up at him through long, dark lashes with such world-weariness that he had to fight back the urge to pull her into his lap and nuzzle her. The idea had some merit, actually… but Damien was pretty sure that would just put them back at square one. The longer they looked at one another, the more Damien had the unnerving sensation that she was sizing him up, judging him by some measure he couldn’t begin to guess at. The intensity of her focus on him was as pleasurable to Damien as a caress. To his shock, he had to swallow back an inadvertent purr. He didn’t purr for anyone. Anyone. And certainly not for something as cheap as a little attention.



At last, she relented with a sigh. “It’s your eyes, for one thing. The pupils do some interesting things in the light. They’re very feline, if you look close enough. But mostly it was just the way you move. I’d read about it, but the words didn’t really do you justice.”



He lifted his brows, surprised by the simple honesty of her answer. “Oh?”



She nodded, obviously an eager student of a subject Damien was inclined to find ridiculously flattering. He didn’t think any woman had ever remarked on the way he moved before… out of bed, that was.



“Yes,” she said. “Very graceful, very sinuous. Very…” She trailed off, and it seemed she’d been about to say a lot more than she’d intended. Damien watched her pale cheeks flush again.



“Well. It’s unique anyway. So…” She looked a bit at a loss, grabbed the martini she’d been nursing, and took a large gulp. Then she looked at him over the rim of the glass, eyes glittering in the dim light, and Damien found himself momentarily lost again. All vampires were beautiful. It actually got boring after a while. But this one was damned near a work of art. Sculptors would have carved her likeness on temples; famed poets would have composed masterpieces extolling her beauty and then drank themselves to death over her. He could imagine it easily.



Except that she acted like she’d been locked in a closet for the last five hundred years.



The swig of alcohol seemed to bolster her a bit. Damien picked up the glass beside his elbow and sipped, intensely interested in what she might say next.



“Are you sure it’s all right to talk about these things here?” she asked quietly. “Out in the open?”



Damien glanced around and smirked. “Relax, kitten. It’s just us and the mortals, and mortals tend to be incredibly stupid as a general rule. They’re not paying attention.”



Her eyes swept the room, which was bustling with life. He was surprised by the regret he saw reflected in them.



“I don’t know any mortals,” she said.



“You’re not missing anything, trust me,” Damien said. “They’re as wretched now as they ever were.”



“I wouldn’t know,” she murmured, more to herself than to him, it seemed. Still, the comment was impossible to ignore, and raised even more questions about this woman when Damien thought he’d answered the only important one—whether Grigori women were anything like the men. Based on this one, he’d give that a resounding no.



“Let me guess,” Damien said, playing with his glass. “You were raised in a convent, where your innocence was stolen by a vampire masquerading as a priest or monk or something.”



She blinked and gave him a strange look. “No.”



Damien slouched a little and frowned. That had been his best guess. Disheartened, he tried again. “Noblewoman in the Dark Ages tucked away by your father as leverage for an alliance? Kept from court to maintain your innocence, not to mention your maidenhead?”



Now she looked slightly scandalized. “No. Why does it—”



“Temple priestess?”



“No!” She said it sharply enough to turn a few heads in their direction. He watched her realize it, blow out an exasperated breath, and then lean in closer to speak so no one else could hear.



“Stop guessing. You’re only getting more insulting and not any closer to being right. My past is none of your business.”



“Damn it.” Damien drummed his fingertips on the bar. “And you’re sure you weren’t a nun?”



She gave an irritated little growl that he found incredibly entertaining. Grigori or no, she was far easier to get a rise out of than any vamp he’d met. No wonder she’d taken off. Being the only interesting person in a sea of uptight and boring had to be crazy-making.



Though right now, he seemed to fall into that category for her as well.



“Why do you care? Why are you even still here?” she asked. “If you’re not going to turn me in, I’d think a Shade would have better—well, maybe not better, but other—things to do.”



His lips curved up into a smile. “I do, in fact. I’m looking for your missing blood brother, Sammael.”



The news didn’t go over well, if the angry flash of her fangs was any indication.



“You waste your time. We take care of our own. The Grigori don’t need outside help.”



Damien chuckled softly. “Don’t you qualify too? You’re not exactly authorized to be running around playing detective, are you?” He didn’t wait for an answer. It was as plain as day on her lovely face. It surprised him. Grigori did not defect, they didn’t disobey the leadership, and they didn’t just get something in their heads and go act on it. It was hard to imagine this nervous and slightly awkward beauty being a “fight the power” type. Still, he was well aware that looks could be deceiving.



“No need to worry, kitten. If Sammael is out there to be found, I’ll find him. The pay’s too good to fail.”



“Who’s paying you to interfere? Another dynasty?”



Damien gave a short, sharp laugh. “Sariel, by way of some hulking lackey who was sent to work the deal.”



Her mouth dropped open. “Impossible,” she hissed when she’d collected herself enough to speak. “They sent Oren. Why would they need you?”



“That’s easy. Because I’m the best,” Damien replied, enjoying her outrage while he took another sip of his martini. “This Oren must be pretty worthless, since I haven’t seen him. Oh, and before you accuse me of lying about all this”—he held up a finger when she opened her mouth to speak—“I’ve got a dossier of information provided by your leader, as well as some Atlantean diamond being dangled as a prize. Besides, how else would I have known about you?”



She didn’t seem to have an answer for that. Her frown deepened, and her lips pursed ever so slightly. Damien was possessed of the sudden, intense urge to lean over, take her full bottom lip into his mouth, and suckle it. His body stirred in response. Damned if he wasn’t getting hard for her already.



“A hired thug,” she finally said. “I don’t even know what to say. If the ancient ones needed more help, there were plenty of our own who would have answered the call.” The disgust written so clearly across her face pricked at Damien’s pride more sharply than it had any right to. It surprised him and, like most things that caught him off guard, sparked his temper.



“Like you?” Damien asked, letting his contempt show through. “Yes, I can see you’ve got it all under control. Your situational awareness is awe-inspiring. What could they have been thinking, leaving you behind?”



He knew the instant the words were out of his mouth that he shouldn’t have said them. Years of working among thieves and killers had sharpened his tongue and shortened his fuse, but none of his associates ever paid much attention. They were all like that. The Grigori woman, however, reacted as though he’d slapped her in the face. She inhaled sharply, sitting up straighter. And though she still wore her innocence like some invisible mantle, Damien saw he’d misjudged a bit about her spine.