Her gaze slid with appreciation over the gleaming dark wood booths along the front and side walls, with their leather cushioned seats of a deep wine color, and then moved over the wooden tables and chairs taking up the center of the room, before shifting to the long dark wood bar along the back with high-backed bar stools lining it (again of rich dark wood and deep-wine leather seats). There was a set of swing doors in the back wall to the left of the bar, and then a huge mirror and the bar itself ran the rest of the length of that wall until it stopped at a hall leading to the back of the building. The mirror was probably forty feet long and reached to the ceiling. It was lined with shelves, but they didn’t hold bottles of alcohol as they would in a mortal establishment. Here glasses of every size and description filled the shelves: cocktail glasses, highball glasses, wineglasses (both the smaller, more rounded glasses used for red wine, as well as the taller type for white), champagne glasses, brandy snifters. There were even cordial glasses, she noted and smiled wryly as she wondered what they used them for. Who would order a tiny cordial glass of blood mixed with flavor or mood enhancers?
Immortals who came to the club, she supposed and then paused halfway across the room when a man pushed through the swinging doors. He was mortal. He was also huge, a veritable giant at what she would guess was six and a half feet, and that didn’t include the bright green Mohawk on his head that had to be a foot high. But it wasn’t just his height that made him huge. He was also wide, with the shoulders of a linebacker and bulging arm muscles that made the tattoos revealed by his short-sleeved shirt move as he raised the plate he carried.
Ildaria’s gaze shifted automatically to the plate piled high with food and she noted that it held two huge double stackedburgers and about a pound of french fries. Their delicious scent wafted to her and her stomach gurgled with interest.
“It’s not for you.”
Ildaria blinked at that growled announcement in a thick British accent and dragged her gaze from the delicious smelling foodto the man’s face to see that he wasn’t looking at her. He was peering down toward . . . his groin? Confusion filled her atthat realization. He couldn’t be talking to his penis. She didn’t think. Shaking her head, she said, “I didn’t presume itwas for me.”
The big man stopped walking and jerked his head up at her words, his eyes widening when he saw her standing there. “Marguerite’sIldaria?”
“Si.” She started forward again.
“Hi.” He smiled and then added, “Sorry. I wasn’t talking to you, I was addressing my . . . Arsehole!” he ended with irritationand did a little shuffling dance.
“You were addressing your arsehole?” she asked, amusement curving her lips as she reached the bar and stopped between twostools.
Looking flustered now, the man shook his head and then scowled down at something she obviously couldn’t see below the bar.“No. I—” Pausing, he did another little shimmying dance and barked, “Dammit H.D.! Stop that! You aren’t getting any food.”
Curiosity rising within her, Ildaria stepped up on the brass rail that ran along the bottom of the bar and leaned over the dark stone top to peer at the floor on the other side.
“Oh, my,” she murmured and then bit her lip to hold back a burst of laughter when she saw the tiny, cream-colored ball offur that was presently humping the huge man’s ankle. It looked like a fluffy teddy bear come to life, and he was really romancingthe big guy’s ankle.
“Your dog?” she asked mildly.
“Yeah,” he grunted, giving his leg another shake in an effort to dislodge the determined little guy.
“What kind?” she asked with interest.
“Bichonpoo,” the man said still glaring down at the dog, and explained, “Bichon Frise and toy poodle mix.”
“Oh.” Ildaria nodded, a grin pulling her lips wider as H.D. refused to be removed and continued to hump at the big man’s lowerleg. Lifting her gaze to the plate the man was holding, she snatched a french fry from the pile and tossed it to the dog.The pup was immediately off the man’s leg and leaping to catch the treat. Really, it was an impressive catch. He got someserious height in his jump to snatch that fry out of midair. As the dog dropped to the floor to gobble up his prize, the manheaved a sigh, drawing her attention back to him.
Ildaria’s gaze moved with interest over his muscular body before sliding up to his head. When Marguerite had asked her if she’d mind stopping to pick up some blood from the Night Club on the way back from the university, she’d said the man she would be getting it from was G.G. which stood for Green Giant. Ildaria had immediately asked why he was called that, but the other woman had merely smiled and said she’d understand when she met him. Her gaze moving over the green strands of hair standing up stiff on his head in a Mohawk, Ildaria understood.
“That’s what he was working for and what I was trying to avoid,” G.G. announced now, reclaiming her attention to the factthat he was scowling between her and the dog.
It took Ildaria a moment to return her mind to the conversation, and then she gave a disbelieving laugh and asked, “He washumping your leg for food?”
“It worked, didn’t it?” G.G. pointed out dryly. “He humped my leg and you gave him food to get him off.”
“Ah.” She shifted her gaze down to the dog who had finished his fry and was now staring up from her to G.G., his tongue comingout repeatedly to lick his upper lip as if he was trying to tell them he wanted more. Shaking her head, she shrugged apologetically.“Sorry. But I couldn’t resist. Damn that’s one cute dog.” Opening her eyes wide, she smiled
