All of that was arresting enough. But there was something about the way he looked as his fingers drew the music from the instrument, a hot intensity that would likely melt any human who attracted it, that stilled Ariane’s breath.
Lucifer himself seemed to have stepped from the pages of Paradise Lost to sit down and play a song.
As the final chord reverberated out into the hall, she heard Damien’s chuckle right before he slid by her and walked into the room.
“For God’s sake, Vlad. All you need is a sparkly jacket and a gaudy candelabra.”
Ariane looked to Diana, who was watching the scene unfold with a wry half smile.
“Is he trying to get killed?” Ariane asked.
“I wonder that sometimes,” Diana replied as the gorgeous pianist rose, grinning, to greet Damien. “But not tonight. For whatever reason, Vlad likes him.” She shook her head and rolled her eyes.
“If nothing else, you and Vlad have now reminded me that there’s no accounting for taste. Come on, and let me introduce you to Vlad Dracul.”
Chapter Eleven
DAMIEN RELAXED into the plump leather chair and swirled the mixture of fresh blood and an excellent red wine in his glass. For the first time in weeks, he felt relaxed. He wouldn’t have thought it could happen here, sitting in the temple of a dying queen while a winged homicidal maniac lurked gods-knew-where out in the night. But he had learned to take his pleasure where he could and not question it.
The four of them—he, Ariane, Diana, and Vlad—sat comfortably in the oversized furniture in front of a darkened fireplace that he was sure was the picture of coziness in winter. As it was, it was still incredibly pleasant. The translucent curtains moved gently in the night breeze while the cicadas sang outside to accompany the rumble of the occasional passing motorboat. The piano now sat silent, though not forgotten, at least by Damien.
He had once been quite proficient. But never like Vlad. Some bastards really did manage to get it all.
“And that,” Vlad was saying, “is why Bram Stoker was and always will be a flaming, lying asshole.”
Ariane laughed, the lilting music of it making it impossible for Damien to focus on anyone but her. She seemed to have relaxed, too, with her feet tucked up beneath her on the couch, having slipped out of her shoes when she’d thought no one was paying attention. But he had.
Thank the gods the woman seemed to have no clue just how much he watched her. Or how long he’d been trying to catch a glimpse of the dagger he was certain she had tucked into some frothy bit of lace around her thigh. Except it wasn’t the dagger he was interested in.
She rested one elbow on the arm of the couch, curled up and happy like the kitten he liked comparing her to. Her hair was beginning to come loose, shining pale strands of it framing her face, making his fingers itch to pull out the pins and send the rest of it tumbling around her shoulders.
He was far too enamored of her hair. Much like every other part of her.
And it hadn’t escaped his notice that the Dracul seemed equally fascinated.
“So he wrote an entire book about killing you off just because you wouldn’t give him an interview?” she asked. “That’s taking spiteful to an entirely new level.”
Vlad chuckled. “Well, it was the lack of an interview, and then my instructions to all of my people that they were not to turn him, no matter how he begged. I’ve found that the ones who want it that badly are almost always complete disasters as vampires.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Ariane said, her smile as warm as the summer night. “I’ve never known a human to ask to become a Grigori.”
“It could be because you have so little contact with humans,” Vlad said. “Is it true that your people bring in rotating groups of blood donors, rather than leave the desert and hunt?”
Damien made a disgusted noise. “Careful, Ariane, he’s slipping into professor mode. If he starts this, you’ll be asleep long before sunrise out of self-defense.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” Ariane replied. “I think the differences in all our bloodlines, in the traditions of our houses, are fascinating.” She returned her attention to Vlad. “How on earth did you know about the Chosen? No one knows about them!”
As Ariane, with Vlad’s gentle prodding, began to talk about the humans who came to stay for months on end, pampered beyond their wildest dreams in exchange for regular donations of their blood, Damien glanced at Diana. She sat on the opposite side of the couch from Ariane and had lapsed into being surprisingly pleasant, apart from a few barbs. But now, when she felt Damien’s eyes on her, she met his gaze, lifted one corner of her mouth in a knowing smirk, then returned her attention to Vlad and Ariane.
Damn her, she sensed Vlad’s interest, too, and she knew full well it was bothering him.
Damien considered saying something wildly inappropriate just to turn Ariane’s attention back to him, but he knew it would backfire. Vlad was too used to him for it to really work. He looked around the room, hoping for inspiration to hit him as Vlad launched into one of his many pet theories on everything that was utterly boring in the world.
“You know,” Vlad said, his faint Eastern European accent more pronounced now, as it always was when he let his guard down a little, “I’ve never gotten a good look at the Grigori mark until tonight.”
Diana laughed. “I’m glad you never tried. I don’t think you’d be sitting here with us now if you had.”
He looked mildly chagrined. “I could take down a Grigori if I had to.”
“No,” Ariane said. “You couldn’t.”
“You should see the swords they train them with,” Damien muttered, irritated when no one even looked at him. This had turned into the Vlad Dracul show, complete with two rapt women and an utterly extraneous wingman: him. Vlad was one of the few people Damien could actually say he liked, but the animal magnetism thing with the opposite sex could be very annoying. Especially because Damien knew that a big part of the man would be perfectly content wrapped in a bathrobe, locked in his library poring over a bunch of dusty old books.
“Now, if only your men wore such fetching dresses, I might have seen the dynasty mark long before now. I would have been traumatized, but I would have seen it.” He paused, and with a flash of white-hot anger, Damien knew what was coming.
“Do you mind,” Vlad asked, leaning forward, “if I take a closer look at yours?”
Damien gritted his teeth. The man had to be stopped. The only solution that popped into his head wasn’t a particularly good one, but it would at least save him from having to watch Ariane be lured into some kind of threesome right there on the couch.
The very thought of it had him shooting to his feet so quickly that the other three froze, staring at him as though he’d lost his mind.
He probably had, Damien decided. Not that it changed anything.
“I have an idea,” he announced, feeling a hundred kinds of foolish. “Not that your proposed game of I’ll-show-you-mine-if-you-show-me-yours doesn’t sound engaging, but your little performance earlier got me thinking, Vlad.”
“Oh?” Looking decidedly amused, Vlad sat back in his chair.
Damien had a sudden, terrible flash of clarity: The man had been baiting him all along. Which meant he’d been incredibly obvious. Which meant he’d walked right into this sick little trap…
“Do tell,” Diana purred, looking like the cat that got the canary.
Ariane simply waited, quiet and composed, utterly unaware of what he’d just been forced to reveal. He let his eyes linger on her for just a moment, still struggling with the wave of hunger even that brought on. Not hunger for blood but hunger for her attention, her interest, and some nameless more he could neither define nor deny.
“I’ve heard, though this was never confirmed, that the Grigori are often possessed of beautiful voices. I thought you might sing for us, Ariane.”
She blushed, as he’d known she would. He wondered how quickly he could make her flush if he had her under him… on top of him…
“How did you know that?” she asked.
“I’ve picked up a few things from the professor’s dissertations,” Damien replied, jerking his head at Vlad. “I tried not to, but it’s such a bloody flood of useless information that a few things stuck.” He saw her uncertainty, and right then knew that he had to hear her sing. Not because of Vlad, but because it was another facet of the woman to uncover. It was madness, that such a beautiful creature could be so self-conscious.
Drawing her out of her shell, unlocking more of her secrets, was suddenly the most important mission in Damien’s universe.
“I’m not really used to singing for an audience,” she hedged.
“Look, I’ll accompany you,” Damien pressed. “I was passable at it once. But I’m bound to be rusty enough that I’ll be the one making noticeable mistakes. Humor me, Ariane.”
“Do,” Vlad agreed. “I’ve heard him play. We’ll need your voice to cover it up.”
Ariane laughed a little nervously, but Damien had to fight back the satisfied smirk when she stayed focused on him and not Vlad. Mission accomplished.
She stood, smoothing her simple sundress down over curves that made his mouth water every time he paid them too much attention—which was a lot. Damien held out his hand, torn between guilt and pleasure when just the feel of her hand sent heat curling down his arm and through his body.
“Just like old times,” Diana commented, lifting her glass to her lips and not bothering to mask her curiosity. “Really, really old times.”
“Not as old as you, darling,” Damien said with a sharp grin in her direction before returning his focus to Ariane. He led her to the piano, settled himself on the bench, and looked up at her. The blush had faded, and she was now several shades paler than usual.
“You’re going to pay for this,” she said under her breath. “I’m not a performer.”
