Of all the things his uncle, his aunt, his sire, and fifteen years of life with vampires had prepared him for, none of them terrified him more than the prospect of singing in front of a room full of judgmental and murderous strangers.
“Just take it seriously and try.” Tenzin was rising to her feet as a chorus of friendly voices encouraged her to the stage.
“Tenzin!”
“Come sing,” they called in mixed French and a language that reminded him of Italian. “Tenzin, we are waiting.”
“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Ben said.
She turned. “Your turn next.”
“Right.” He was going to be sick.
She took to the stage and scrolled through the music choices on the small screen on the left side of the stage; then she tucked her hair behind her ear and raised her face to the crowd.
She was wearing black, as he was, a formfitting sleeveless tunic and a pair of leggings. She wore no jewelry in her ears or around her neck, but her forearms were layered with thin, yellow gold bangles. She had four stilettos hidden in her black boots and three small daggers in her tunic.
She was beautiful, dangerously elegant, and the sexiest woman he’d ever seen in his life.
The background music started, a chorus of humming he recognized immediately.
Fuck me.
Tenzin immediately launched into a simple and haunting version of Billie Eilish’s “When the Party’s Over.” She didn’t look at him, but every word pierced his chest like one of her knives.
He couldn’t think. He couldn’t look away. Like him, the audience was rapt, hypnotized by her soft, breathy voice. It took everything in Ben to keep from flying away.
He couldn’t fly away. Until this was over, she held him captive.
Tenzin turned her eyes to him as she finished, her gaze direct on the final chorus. She seemed to pay no attention to the crowd, which erupted into applause. She walked away from the microphone, off the small stage, and sat next to him as if she hadn’t just destroyed him with a song.
“Your turn,” she said quietly.
The crowd fell silent, waiting for him. No one called his name, but they were all looking at him.
“Ben.” She lifted her eyes to his. “You have to try.”
“Right.” He swallowed the emotion he’d been holding back and rose, walking slowly to the front of the room.
What on earth was he supposed to sing that he wouldn’t murder?
He stopped at the edge of the stage and looked over his shoulder. What else?
He leaned toward the microphone, heard the dangerous crackle and hum of concern from the crowd before he leaned back quickly. “Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “Since this is my first time singing with our hosts” —he nodded generously toward Juvan and his brothers— “I thought I would sing a favorite.”
He entered Louis Armstrong’s name on the specially designed machine and was relieved to see “What a Wonderful World” come to the top of the list.
Perfect. He could half-speak that one, and the swelling background music would cover a multitude of sins.
As soon as he broke into the familiar lyrics, the audience gave a little clap of encouragement and he heard approving murmurs around the room.
He didn’t look at her. He wouldn’t. But in his mind, he was in every room, every alleyway, and every club floor where they’d ever danced together.
“We always dance to Louis. That’s the rule.”
They were next to a canal in Venice. In their apartment in New York. Hiding in an alley in San Juan.
His heart ached with the memories. Back then she’d felt right in his arms. He never knew what she’d do or say, but he knew that no matter what, she’d have his back.
I would never kill you, Benjamin. I would sooner kill myself.
* * *
She scanned the crowd, watching for threats. Though the Corsicans had greeted them as friends, she’d seen their reaction to Ben. They were wary, and wary allies made for unhappy accidents.
Juvan sat down next to her. “He’s not good.”
“Believe me.” She turned to the stocky vampire. “He is very good. He just doesn’t sing well.”
The corner of Juvan’s mouth turned up. “I’d heard the rumors that you’d taken a mate—”
“Ben and I are not your concern.”
“—but I ignored them of course.” Juvan’s eyebrow rose. “We all know a bloodthirsty hunter like Tenzin would not endanger herself with such a raw and uncontrolled consort.”
“I find it interesting how you have judged him.” She turned back to the stage. “You are incorrect.”
“In what way?”
“In many ways.”
“No one dismisses his power. We’re not fools.”
“Do you think I would take a liability on as a partner, Juvan?” She glanced at his brothers. “He is not my blood relative, so I’m not swayed by my emotions.” She smiled. “It’s business.”
Everyone knew that Juvan had turned his brothers for sentiment. Some viewed it as a foolish decision, but Tenzin knew that emotions could be more powerful and dangerous than the most logical calculation.
“Let him finish the song; then meet me in the conference room,” Juvan said. “He’s not good, but he’s not playing a fool. I will talk to him.”
“I would be disappointed if you didn’t.”
* * *
“The icon of Sara-la-Kali is famous for being impossible to find.” Juvan spoke in French, but his accent wasn’t anything like Ben had ever heard. “It disappears and then it shows up. Disappears again. It is reputation more than market prices that determines the value.”
They were sitting in a plush conference room surrounded by windows and armed guards. While the party continued outside, this section of the top deck had been reserved for business. Ben and Tenzin had been ushered into the room where Juvan and Alcide were waiting for them. Both had greeted Ben with a deference he knew he wouldn’t have received as a human.
Ben wasn’t human anymore, which was both a strength and a challenge. He was used to going into negotiations like this while being underestimated. Ben had learned to work those preconceived notions
