Waiting in the Wings

swirled the wine. “For how long?”

“Forever.” Andrew smiled and touched his glass to hers with a clink. “So many laughed when I took this city—a former military base and a collection of houses in the middle of nowhere. But where others saw only emptiness, I saw potential.” He watched her expectantly, so she smiled and touched the glass to her lips.

The wine tickled her throat, the blood almost too fresh as though decanted that day. “Well, then allow me to offer my congratulations for your brilliant planning.” And could we possibly change the subject from money and your plans? The limousine swung into a dark garage and slid to a stop. Outside, a uniformed valet reached for the backdoor and opened it with a bow. The man’s uniform shone, brushed and cleaned to a fare-thee-well.

Grasping the excuse, she set her wine glass down and slid over to accept the valet’s hand. The desert heat wrapped its suffocating grip around her. For a moment, she was transported to Egypt and the long moonlit camel rides she’d taken with Richard—a lifetime ago. Her mouth tightened. She’d wanted to see the pyramids, and he’d indulged her. One of the last such indulgences before politics consumed so many years of their lives.

Politics and ruling—she married a noble, had been turned by a noble, a man who took on the burdens of others. She thought it heroically romantic when they first met. But after four hundred years of coming in second to his ambition and the duties associated with those ambitions—

“Welcome to the Arcana Royale, madam.” The valet bowed to her and she spared him a half-smile. Andrew exited close behind her and his hand came to rest against her waist. She couldn’t shake him off without giving possible offense, so she endured the intimate contact and entered the Arcana Royale proper.

The lobby took her breath away. The warm sandstone marble surrounded sweeping pale columns, fountains and lush foliage. A true oasis of splendor, but the crown jewel stood overlooking the whole of the lobby—a sphinx.

“The rumors are true…” She breathed out the words and hurried forward, head tilted back so she could gaze upon the enormity of it all.

“Yes, they did import a sphinx. It took enormous magic and coaxing.” Andrew shadowed her steps, his presence a buzzing irritation against the private satisfaction of the moment. “I helped.”

Helped what? Talk the workers to death? Her skepticism must have showed on her face because he gave her a wry smile.

“I smoothed the memories of those who observed too much.”

“You compelled humans?” Her mouth fell open. It happened, they all did it, but few admitted it out loud—not after several Princes from around the world dictated that it may only be done in the most desperate of circumstances.

Richard had spearheaded the unpopular effort as early as the mid-1800s, when too many vampires took advantage of the European and American wars to feed with impunity. The savagery on the battlefield fed their natural instincts as predators—unfortunately—it also led to some inaccurate compulsions and left more than a few victims with permanent brain damage.

Noticeable brain damage. They used a variety of excuses to explain it, but the persistence of it—vampires couldn’t afford the war that outing could bring them. So the various princes met and decided that the ability to compel could no longer be used without just cause.

“Only as necessary, dear lady. Only as necessary.” Andrew stroked her arm. She slipped away from the overly familiar touch.

“Maybe we should avoid any further confidences. I’m not comfortable being put between you and Richard.” The decision to let Richard stew over her disappearance sat uneasily in her belly. She needed to check into a room and call him. Well, maybe not call him. She fought the urge to grumble and smiled at Andrew instead.

“Lady Kristina.” The Prince of Las Vegas captured her hand and kissed it lightly. “I swear to you that you are not between us, nor will I ask you to act against your conscience. Feel free to tell Richard anything you like.”

Not that she needed his permission, but…“Thank you. I appreciate that and everything you’ve done to make me welcome in Las Vegas. For now, I’m just going to arrange a room.”

“Allow me.” He smiled and strode away from her before she could protest. Kristina sighed, gaze wandering back to the sphinx. She walked toward the sphinx. Perhaps she could just blend into the crowd, and Andrew would forget her she was there.

At sunset, she’d sat at a table across from the Prince of Las Vegas and a dozen of his friends. At least she hoped they were friends. The bejeweled crowd all seemed to be vampires, born if she were to guess. They talked too loud, drank excessively and eagerly consumed large quantities of blood—most of it free-flowing from the offered veins of the wait staff and other questionable parties.

“So you traveled here from New York, Kiki?” The platinum blonde leaned toward her. Copper and alcohol mixed on her breath and threatened to burn Kristina’s eyebrows off. She’d adopted the nickname at Andrew’s urging. While he took no offense at her presence in Las Vegas, others might read too much into it.

Better to not invite trouble or let Richard know before she was ready. Swirling the wine in her glass, she gave a little shrug. “Arrived this morning. I haven’t seen much of the city yet.”

“Nothing better to see than this place.” The blonde put her hand on Kristina’s arm and gave it a hard squeeze. Kiki didn’t flinch despite the force. She knew a test when she felt one. The woman was strong.

But born or not, Kristina was definitely older. “Really? And why do you say that?” She propped her chin in her hand focusing all of her attention on the female. The woman withdrew her hand—smart.

She gave a little titter and shrugged. “The other casinos are too small. They are mostly run by humans—a butchering lot of humans, though. If you’re really hungry and don’t mind bending the rules—” Stealing a look at Andrew, she leaned closer and her voice dropped to a near murmur. “—you can feed on the most delicious vices. These men kill each other for sport—they won’t miss a few here or there.”

“Lora.” Andrew’s voice snapped like a whip across the conversation, and the blonde turned a faint shade of pink.

It took every ounce of Kristina’s will to just laugh and shake her head. “I can imagine.” She tossed back the wine and met Andrew’s steady gaze with a warm smile. Richard would be so furious when he found out. She should have called him.

As soon as the dinner ended, she would do exactly that.

She just had to make it through the meal.

Andrew watched her take every dainty bite, swallow every sip and when the dinner carried on to drinks and gaming—she tried to slip away.

“Kristina,” he was right at her elbow and urging her toward a quiet gallery off the main concourse.

“Andrew, it has been a wonderful party, but I just want to go up to my room and draw a long bath and just…be alone.” She hated to be alone. She preferred to be with Richard. If she could just get away from these guys, she could slip back to the airport and go home.

“I understand. I really do…but Kristina, you’re not happy. You’ve been wearing your sadness since you walked off the plane and I promise—I will let you have all the time you need, but I want to show you something first.” He smiled, all goodwill and charm.

Run.

Her instincts screamed, but she didn’t dare show him fear or flinch in the face of his charm. No, she would trot along with him dutifully and admire whatever flirtatious invitation he wanted to share with her and then retreat to her room.

Never anger the prince of a city. They are often slow to forgive and they never forget. Richard repeated that phrase often—typically before he assigned a punishment to the fool who angered him. While Andrew was hardly as fearsome as Richard, she clung to the advice.

“Of course.” She took the arm he so graciously offered. He waved off the sycophants, and she strolled with him into what looked like an art exhibit. The style of paintings tickled her memory. “These look familiar.”

“I thought they might. We met the artist a few decades ago. He visited the court of King George in London and presented several pieces for the Queen Mary to choose from.”

“Really? Gedarme?” The French sculptor, painter, and inventor harbored the talent of Da Vinci in his blood —an illegitimate child or so he claimed at one time. “I thought he was human.”

“He was.” Andrew nodded slowly. “But I made him an offer. Talent such as this should not be allowed to