Ravenous

Stupid? Alessandro wondered. Or just a very, very good actor?

Omara was impassive. 'We need to speak in private.'

Alessandro saw Pierce turn sheet-white. He glanced at the queen. She was studying Pierce with a wistful expression. Normally a private audience with Omara meant punishment. Here Alessandro wasn't sure what would happen, and he didn't like mysteries where the queen was involved. She was unpredictable enough.

As if to illustrate his thoughts, she made one of her mercurial shifts. 'Alessandro, come.'

She rose. He followed her. Pierce stayed behind, tossing back one glass of wine, refilling it, and then drinking that, too.

Omara stopped close to the entrance to the lounge.

'Are you sure you want to see him alone?' asked Alessandro.

Omara gave him a veiled look. 'That is what I wish.'

He stifled a curse. 'Do you truly think he's mixed up with our enemies?'

'Or perhaps a vapid, self-involved twit. Or both. Leave it to me.' Omara's tone brooked no further argument. 'Despite what I said earlier, the bleeding ring is not evidence of anything but poor judgment. However, it is a good excuse to frighten him into confessions.'

'What about the woman?'

Omara gave a slow smile. 'John must learn to share. Do you have any idea who she is?'

'A Realtor. I overheard their conversation. Holly Carver's lover is trying to sell her house. Idiot bastard.'

'A fool indeed. A witch never parts with her home.' Omara's brow contracted. 'Wait a moment. Did you say your little witch has a boyfriend?' Playfully Omara wound her finger in one of Alessandro's curls. 'You are in her life, you admire her, and yet she loves another? How does that happen?'

Dangerous territory. Alessandro shrugged. 'You are my queen.'

Omara gave a rueful, lopsided smile. The expression was unusual for her. 'You fear my jealousy, so you aim to please. Not a bad plan, except you're a pathetic liar. I may be your queen, but I do not rule your heart.'

Alessandro opened his mouth, desperately trying to think of something to divert her thoughts from Holly. But Omara caught his chin in her fingers, and shut it. 'I see the look in your eyes when you speak of your witch. You try to hide it, both for her sake and for mine. Your loyalty does you credit.'

This was a softer side of Omara than he had ever seen. He didn't trust it.

She went on. 'Your witch should be falling at your feet, and not those of another. You are my sword arm and defender of my honor. My champion should be adored.'

Dangerous territory. 'But the lady has some say, does she not?'

Omara rolled her eyes. 'You're hopeless. Put some effort into winning her over. Try wearing something besides black. Women like a bit of color.' She patted his cheek. 'And see to it that you get her assistance. Soon. She should be raising the dead for me by now.' She looked at her watch. 'I have to go.'

'Be careful of Pierce.'

'He is the one who should have a care.' She pursed her lips. 'I'll call you later.'

Alessandro bowed as she left. Get her assistance. If Alessandro's favors bought that aid, so be it. He was for sale, even at the cost of Omara's monumental jealousy.

Emptiness yawned inside him. One day his disappointment in Omara would swallow his loyalty. She was an excellent queen, but there was little in her that was human enough to love.

He had to check on Holly. He rang her home, then her cell, but got no answer. Not a big surprise. She often turned off the phones if she was working magic. But, just to be sure, he called her grandmother.

She gave Alessandro a full report. He was stunned.

Ben had left Holly? Idiot. Up until the business with the house, Alessandro had always tolerated Ben. On some basic level he just didn't present much of a challenge. But she was having dinner with Detective Macmillan. Why Macmillan? She'd met him only once. Why the sudden interest?

And why was Macmillan making advances now, when he should be paying attention to his job?

This new development was worrisome on many levels. The detective was different from Ben Elliot. Macmillan was a man of action and authority. He counted.

Alessandro started toward the door. He couldn't just let this slide. Rival, he thought, every instinct alert. Maybe he couldn't be with Holly the way he wanted to, but he was damned if he was giving her up to Macmillan. Not until he was convinced that Macmillan was the better man.

That would be never.

Holly is mine.

Halfway out the door, he paused to survey the spacious lobby and the upscale boutiques that lined its perimeter. He remembered the queen's words. Try wearing something besides black.

Alessandro strode to the adjoining mall with grim purpose.

Chapter 13

All too soon Holly faced the ultimate test of feminine protocol: what to wear when one was not sure whether business, pleasure, or both were on the dinner menu. As a rule, no lingerie decisions could be made until one decided how the evening should end. For instance, if one were reaching for the three-for-one panty hose in basic taupe, the night would be over before it began.

Better in that case to stay at home with the remote.

She'd barely met Macmillan but, cop mode aside, he seemed like a nice guy—maybe even worthy of fishnet stockings. But right now? There was a vampire she couldn't have and a demon mouse she wished would go away. Not to mention Ben. Maybe footed sleepers with a plunging neckline would send the right message.

Then again, it was just a dinner invitation. A business thing. Maybe she could save the angst until after he offered to coat her in chocolate sauce and lick it off to the strains of the 1812 Overture. That would give hosiery choices some meaning.

Ugh! She glowered at the closet. This is why I had a steady guy. After a while they don't notice what you 're wearing anyway.

Up till then it had been a good afternoon. Holly had spent time with O'Shaughnessy's Charms and Protections. Reinforcing the protection spell over every door, window, chimney, and light plug— basically wherever there was an opening in the wall—was tedious, but not difficult. Her powers grudgingly rose to the occasion with no more than a few sharp twinges. By late afternoon she was exhausted but thoroughly satisfied. She wanted to keep that glow.

Not so easy, once the wardrobing debate began. Why did Mac need her help with something personal! That one word held so many possible scenarios, some of them alarming. Better go with the little black dress.

But then she wore the metallic teal spike heels. They looked like castoffs from Hookers from Outer Space, but there was no need to strike all the fun off the menu.

Holly arrived a few minutes late. Macmillan lived in a nice but slightly older downtown condo block. As Fairview's housing prices caught up with the rest of the country, it was the kind of place working folk would soon find too expensive to afford. The woodwork in the lobby was faux mahogany; the fittings in the elevator were finger-smudged brass. Soft carpet in the hallway nearly mired her heels as she teetered her way to the corner suite, and her calves were aching by the time she knocked on Macmillan's door.

Alessandro answered. Holly frowned in confusion. Did I get the right address?

'Good evening,' he said, just this side of Bela Lugosi. 'Come in. May I take your wrap?'

'What are you doing here?' she asked, handing over her mohair stole and the bottle of merlot she had brought.

Fleeting irritation crossed Alessandro's face. 'Detective Macmillan cannot abandon his culinary creation, so