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  It may have something to do with Dante Choosing the whore, but he wasn’t entirely sure why that would have made a difference.

  Forcing a smile, Dante handed his sister to a waiting footman, walked out the front door and climbed up the stairs of his waiting carriage.

  *

  “Son,” Viktor said and thumped a hand down on Dante’s shoulder. “How are you?”

  Dante fought the urge to shrug his father’s hand off and attempted a small smile. How was he meant to respond to that? He had seen his father four hours ago at the town estate. It wasn’t as if his health was delicate. He was a vampire, for blood’s sake.

  “Fine, and you?”

  “Excellent!” With his free hand, the earl grabbed a glass of red wine from a tray being carried around by a passing waiter and took a sip.

  Dante stood with his father uncomfortably, wishing he was elsewhere, but there was really nowhere else at a ball he’d rather be. He found cards too easy and billiards weren’t exactly a titillating sport. Eyeing the other ball-goers provided some entertainment, but he didn’t really understand their social interactions. Did the fact that the red-haired Countess Bothrey was hanging off the arm of some young human man indicate that she wanted to have sex with him? Or was she merely being polite? Or did she just want to eat him?

  “Do you see anything you like?” his father asked.

  Dante blinked. “Like?”

  “To marry?” His father’s smile was genial.

  Dante swallowed. “Marry?”

  “Isn’t that why you Chose that girl?”

  And now the stake falls, Dante thought. He hedged, “I had developed a special regard for her.”

  “Since you are finally growing up, I thought you might be willing to look more broadly for a wife. Choosing someone is all well and good, but they can’t have children.” Viktor removed his hand from Dante’s shoulder.

  “I don’t need to have children.” He hoped that his nearly choking on the word “children” hadn’t been too obvious.

  “No?” His father’s voice was smooth and Dante flicked a glance at his face. Impassive. The slight arch of an eyebrow.

  “Misty’s children will inherit the earldom, won’t they?” Dante asked.

  Viktor finished his glass of wine and flicked his fingers in the direction of a servant. A man dressed in black and white appeared at the earl’s side and held out a tray for Viktor to put his used glass on. His father did so and promptly ignored the man, who left without looking backward. The human was clearly used to dealing with vampires, and he wasn’t really of any use to Dante. He had brown eyes.

  “They will inherit the earldom, provided she has any. Although, the rate she is going,” his father slanted a look at him, “she probably won’t.”

  Dante looked across the ballroom at his sister, who was flirting with every male within a five-yard radius, and some females. She sparkled—thanks to the gown—and she seemed to draw eyes without having to try. Her admirers were a mix of human and vampire.

  “Why don’t you think she’ll have children?” Dante asked. Misty may have the morals of an alley cat, but she understood responsibility.

  Viktor shook his head. “She deliberately picks men to flirt with who are completely inappropriate.”

  “But she doesn’t have to pick someone appropriate, unless she marries.”

  Vampire women didn’t have to marry to produce legitimate offspring; any child they bore would be legitimate because there was no doubt that her blood ran through the child’s veins. For a male, they had to have either a contract or a marriage to produce legitimate children; double standards, but there was still a possibility that male heirs could be cuckoos in the nest.

  It contrasted with the fact that human women were expected to marry or have a contract for legitimate offspring, just the same as for males. No double standard there, Dante thought, which was stupid in this instance. Although, the fact that humans and vampires could marry even though no children would ever be produced was just idiotic. Politics.

  “I don’t want some inferior vampire siring my grandchildren.” Viktor glared at him.

  Dante smothered the urge to chuckle. Then why did his father want him to have children?

  Realizing he’d been quiet a little too long, Dante said, “But they will have your blood.”

  His father’s glare lessoned in intensity. “True.”

  “And Misty isn’t the type who could be comfortably…married.” Not with the way she worked her way through the slaves, servants, visitors and strangers on the street. No man would tolerate the infidelity, no matter that she was the one with a title. Not even a human would. And she wouldn’t be able to get rid of a husband without causing a scandal and a half.

  Viktor raised an eyebrow. “Also true.” The earl’s eyes were still on his daughter, Dante saw. “You are both past your second century of life—”

  Only just in my case, Dante thought. And Misty, well, she was four hundred years old.

  “—and I want you to start thinking about the future. You may just be an Honorable, but your blood is my blood. You need to make a good alliance. Marriage is a must for you. You cannot expect that Misty will take care of you forever.”

  It suddenly fell into place, and it was all so simple, really. His father wanted him gone; if Dante married, he would become someone else’s burden, someone else’s financial rock to bear. Someone else’s embarrassment. If Dante Chose someone, then they were his responsibility. His family’s responsibility. The earl must want to prevent Dante from looking among humans for a mate; but he was clearly pleased that Dante had finally started to search. It meant that he could get rid of his son in a socially pleasant manner.

  Although, Viktor didn’t know that marriage wasn’t what Dante had had in mind for the women he’d Chosen.

  Love was a fable.

  Sex was rather, well, messy.

  And children were frightening.

  Dante turned to his parent and smiled, one corner of his mouth turning upward. “I will start thinking, Father. I promise.”

  Chapter 19

  “I just need you to have a look around,” Elle muttered to herself. Those were the words that Gran had said to her earlier that morning.

  Pausing in her perusal of the stone-walled room, Elle thought back to the conversation. After speaking with her mother, Elle had received a summons from Gran. She’d gone there, after checking on Emmie, to be told that she’d just had the most fortunate luck of being employed by the Earl of Wintermere, as a servant for his son, the Honorable Dante Kipling.

  “No way, Gran,” Elle had said.

  “You’re worried about Esmeralda.” Gran hadn’t been asking a question, Elle gathered. She was about to play her trump card. “Esmeralda won’t have to come here while you’re on this assignment. It’s only for a couple of weeks. She’ll be safe at home or at school. It isn’t like I can do anything with the child anyway.”

  There’d been a lot of bitterness in the last sentence. Part of Elle wanted to tell Gran that Emmie did have talent—that she was special—that it didn’t matter what Gran did, Emmie was never going to develop telepathy. But she couldn’t betray Emmie’s trust like that.

  “But if you refuse to do this, I will make the child come here every day; rain, hail or shine, and I will make her life a misery. Is that clear?” There hadn’t been any emotion in Gran’s eyes. They’d been cold.

  And Elle had truly hated her.

  “Fine.” Elle had turned to walk out, not waiting for Gran to dismiss her, but she’d spun around again, just before the exit. “I’m only doing it for two weeks, no more. I’m not quitting my job at the Guards, and it’s all the time I can get off.” She’d taken a step closer, her voice dropping. “If Emmie comes to any harm while I’m away—if any vampire or wolf takes her, or you hurt her—I’m going to hold you responsible. I don’t care if we’re blood; I will come after you and you will pay.”

  It had been rather melodramatic, Elle refle
cted, staring blankly at the stone wall in front of her. But she’d do it again, and she would hold Gran responsible. Gran must have believed Elle, because she hadn’t said a word. She’d actually gone a little pale and had left her mouth hanging open like a fish. Elle had spun around, stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind her. She’d also punched Bjorn in the face on her way out.

  Overall, she thought, rubbing red knuckles, it had been a productive morning. And now it was time to be productive here. Blinking away her thoughts, she returned to examining the room. A steel worktable stood poised in the center, looking more like something from a morgue than an apparatus in a science lab, which she supposed this room was meant to be.

  A couple of steps forward took her to the stone bench that lined one wall. A cupboard was propped near the door, heavy steel and locked. She could pick the mechanism, but she didn’t know if it would be worth it—or if she had the time.

  The sound of the door grating made her jump. She grabbed the handle of the broom she’d kept close by and started industriously sweeping the floor, not that there was any dust on it. A man entered the room, rubbing his hands together while he appeared focused on something that wasn’t in front of him. When he spotted her, he nearly shot to the roof in surprise. Literally. Elle had to admit she was a little envious of that ability.

  Realizing that she was staring and that servants probably didn’t stare at their vampire masters, she dropped her eyes to her broom and began thinking fast. She’d seen this vampire before, on the street. His eyes were a bright violet, so he was probably born, not made, because there wasn’t a lot of red to the color. His black hair was tied back, but it would be long, she’d bet on it. He was also tall, taller than her, which didn’t happen too often with humans; they rarely had the money to eat properly. And he was drop dead gorgeous; amazingly pretty—the most handsome guy she’d ever laid eyes on.

  Although, if she had to pick, she’d choose Clay.

  She froze. No, she didn’t just think that.

  “Are you quite done?” The voice was smooth and deep with no inflection.

  Elle snapped her eyes up to the vampire standing in the room with her. His expression was unnerving, almost like being caught in the stare of a snake.

  “Sorry…sir?” She only just managed to tack the title on afterward.

  “You seem to have been sweeping that bit of floor for a while now. I am sure it is as dust free as possible.”

  It almost sounded like he was smiling at her, but when she flicked a glance at his face, there was no expression there whatsoever. Just blankness. What a cold fish, she thought.

  “Sorry, sir.” She held the broom close to her side, ducked around the stainless steel bench and out the door. She felt a blush dusting her cheeks and didn’t know if it was real or not. Whether her maid persona was embarrassed or whether she was embarrassed—because she’d been comparing Mr. Too-Pretty with Mr. Drop-Dead-Gorgeous.

  I’m an idiot, she thought.

  She didn’t see the vampire staring after her as she walked down the hall.

  *

  Dante’s eyes followed the servant as she ventured away from his workroom. She almost…strutted, with that broom hooked to her side. He shut the door and pressed his back to the heavy steel. It was the girl from the street, he was sure of it. The one who’d caught his interest. He’d forgotten about her; about the shock of red hair and those hazel eyes.

  There had been too many failed experiments, and the uncomfortable navigation of social niceties since he’d spotted her. Dante liked to think he would have remembered her eventually, but he wouldn’t have known how to find her when he did anyway. He couldn’t afford to call attention to himself, not when his father was eyeing him with parental zeal.

  The servant hadn’t seemed at ease around him, nervous almost. Her pulse rate had accelerated and blood had rushed to her cheeks. But then, a lot of humans weren’t comfortable around vampires. They were either excited or afraid. Dante could normally understand the latter; he could barely tolerate the former.

  Could he take the servant as a “mistress”? Was it too soon after the whore? Was there an expected grieving period for vampires who lost a pet—a human? Why was everything so complicated?

  And worst of all, how was he meant to convince the human girl he wanted to have sex with her?

  Chapter 20

  “You positively reek of vampires.”

  Elle froze halfway through stripping off her homespun shirt in the darkness. Dropping her arms to her sides in surprise, her crappy shirt fell back into place. Warm breath tickled her neck, and she could hear someone sniff her. Panicking, she sent her fist sharply into the intruder’s gut, before slamming the palm of her other hand into the man’s face.

  “Will you quit it?” Strong hands pinned her arms to her sides. “It’s just me. Clay.” He smiled; she could see the flash of white in the darkness.

  “Oh, what big shiny teeth you have,” Elle mumbled.

  “Will you stop trying to do me bodily harm?”

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded. When he didn’t reply, she growled, “Wolf.”

  “You stink.”

  “You already said that,” she muttered.

  “You calmer now?” he asked.

  “Fine. Yes. Now go away.”

  “Come now, is that any way to treat a guest?” A match flared to life as Clay lit one of the lamps next to her bed. He looked good. The bastard always seemed to look good. He was wearing his buckskins and shirt again, and his hair was tied back, but he somehow managed to appear as handsome as any lord she’d ever seen, excepting Mr. Beauty.

  “Most guests don’t tend to break into their hosts’ homes.”

  Clay ignored her jibe. “How’s the shoulder? You didn’t seem to have too much trouble just then.” He rubbed his stomach.

  By the blood, he was well built.

  Tearing her eyes away from his body, Elle frowned and rubbed her shoulder in remembered pain. “It’s feeling better.”

  “How…informative.” Clay sat on her bed.

  “Go away.”

  He tilted his head to the side, his eyes like molten gold. Why was it so hard to stay unaffected by him? Weres and vamps were generally good-looking. It was part of what they were; they needed to attract prey. She’d seen more than enough handsome examples of both races, but for some reason this irritating sod was the only one she couldn’t get out of her mind. Or room.

  She strode over to the window. “I swear I locked that.”

  “Oh, well, what’s a lock between friends?”

  Turning back, she saw Clay flick his ponytail over his shoulder. Like a girl. She huffed out a short laugh.

  “What?” Eyes wide, he held a hand over his heart.

  “You are utterly ridiculous, you know that?” Elle found herself sitting down on her bed next to him.

  Clay frowned, all traces of affectation gone. “Why do you smell like a vampire?”

  He keeps going on about that, Elle thought. She caught herself as she went to sniff the collar of her scratchy shirt. “No reason.”

  He leaned forward and sniffed her. “Thanks,” she muttered, hunching down on herself.

  Clay fingered the material of her shirt. His voice was sharp and intense. “You’ve been in one of their estates. Why would you do something so stupid?”

  “Work.”

  “You have a job already; you don’t have to work in one of those places.”

  Elle just shook her head. “Go away.”

  *

  Clay tried to fight the scowl he knew was coming, but lost. “Are you crazy?” He grabbed Elle by her shoulders. Too late, he remembered her injury and released his grip, but she looked more pissed off than hurt.

  “Go away.”

  “You say that a lot,” Clay sniped. Really, couldn’t she get the hint that he wasn’t going to go anywhere? Not when she was so bloody interesting. And he hadn’t met an interesting woman—scratch that, person—in centuries.
It’s what made Elle so irresistible; she was a cranky puzzle he wanted to solve. And she had some of the sexiest legs he’d ever seen.

  “That’s because I’d like you to go away. It’s not a hard concept to follow.” One eyebrow was arched.

  “I thought you worked with the City Guard. It’s not exactly a brilliant career choice, but for someone with your temper, it’s ideal. Why’d you quit that for an estate job?” He put a palm on her forehead, pretending to feel for a temperature. “You have a fever or something?”

  She snorted and stood. “What do you know about my temper?”

  “Far too much.” He widened his eyes in mock alarm as he ducked the fist she sent at his head.

  “Go flirt with someone else. I want to go to sleep.”

  Clay smiled, wickedly. “But I had so many other things planned.”

  “Out!”

  Clay stood and backed toward the window. “I’m going, I’m going.”

  But I’ll be back, he thought.

  Chapter 21

  Dante tried not to stare at the servant. She seemed to know he was looking at her though, because she kept sneaking peeks at him through her hideous mob cap’s fringe whenever his gaze fell upon her. Which occurred all too frequently for the mere interest a master would show a servant.

  It was rather like bad choreography.

  The whole situation was just plain stupid. Curling his lip, Dante sat at his workbench and pretended to study a slide and its droplet of blood. The small label had cramped, spidery handwriting that said “Sample G, Pure.” He had the lamps shining brightly, more for the servant’s sake than his, but he didn’t want her getting close enough to read his writing. Dante was trying to be courteous, but had the servant thanked him? No. So, in revenge, he’d asked her to polish the stainless steel bench. “I want it to shine,” had been his instructions.

  Why did he have to try and pretend he’d fallen in love with a human, anyway? Or that he lusted after one enough to Choose them? Why couldn’t he just say that he wanted to? It wasn’t like vampires had to fear what humans thought about them. There may be fewer vampires in the vampire to human ratio, but one vampire was the equivalent of ten humans. There wasn’t any need to give a shit about them and their petty lives.