tucking it away. 'Sorry, love,' he said in that ridiculous accent. 'One quick stop. Five minutes. I promise.'
And it had started off so well, too. 'Five minutes?' I questioned. 'Something's got to go,' I threatened, half serious. 'Either the phone or that accent.'
'Oh!' he said, putting his hand to his chest dramatically. 'Wounded to the quick.' He looked askance at me, clearly relieved I was taking this as well as I was. 'I can't do without my phone. The accent goes…' He grinned. '…my love.'
'Oh, please,' I moaned, enjoying the light banter. I had been walking on eggshells around Nick so long, afraid to say anything lest I make things worse. Guess I didn't have to worry about that anymore.
I wasn't surprised when Kisten turned toward the water-front. I had already surmised the trouble was at Piscary's Pizza. Since losing its Mixed Public License last fall, it had gone to a strictly vamp cliental, and from what I heard, Kisten was actually turning a profit. It was the only reputable establishment in Cincinnati without an MPL to do so. 'Savages?' I questioned when we pulled into the parking lot of the two-story restaurant.
'Mike is being histrionic,' Kisten said as he parked in a reserved spot. 'It's only a bunch of women.' He got out of the car and I sat tight, my hands in my lap as his door shut. I would have expected him to leave the car running for me. My head jerked up when he opened my door, and I stared blankly at him.
'Aren't you coming in?' he said, hunched as the cold breeze off the river shifted his bangs. 'It's freezing out here.'
'Ah, should I?' I stammered, surprised. 'You lost your MPL.'
Kisten reached for my hand. 'I don't think you need to be worried.'
The pavement was icy, and I was glad that I was wearing flat boots as I got out of his car. 'But you don't have an MPL,' I said again. The parking lot was full, and watching vampires bleeding each other couldn't be a pleasant sight. And if I willingly went in there knowing it lacked an MPL, the law wouldn't help me if anything went wrong.
Kisten's coat was long, dragging while he held my arm and escorted me to the canopy covered entrance. 'Everyone in there knows you beat Piscary into unconsciousness,' he said softly, inches from my ear to make me very aware of his breath on my cheek. 'None of them would dare even think to do that. And you could have killed him but you didn't. It takes more guts to let a vampire live than to kill one. No one will mess with you.' He opened the door, and light and music spilled out. 'Or is it the blood you're worried about?' he questioned as I balked.
I fixed my eyes on his and nodded, not caring if he saw my apprehension.
Expression distant, Kisten gently led me forward. 'You won't see any,' he said. 'Everyone here came to relax, not feed the beast. This is the only place in Cincinnati where vampires can go in a public setting and be themselves without having to live up to some human's, witch's, or Were's idea of what they should be and how they should act. There won't be any blood unless someone cuts a finger opening a beer.'
Still unsure, I let him guide me in, stopping just inside the door while he knocked the snow from his dress shoes. The heat of the place struck me first, and I didn't think it was all coming from the fireplace at the far end of the room. It had to be pushing eighty, the warmth carrying the pleasant aroma of incense and dark things. I breathed deeply as I untied Kisten's coat, and it seemed to settle in my brain, relaxing me the way a hot bath and a good meal did.
A stirring of unease ruined the feeling when a living vamp came forward with an unsettling quickness. His shoulders looked as wide as I was tall, and he massed three hundred pounds if he was an ounce. But his eyes were sharp, revealing a quick intelligence, and he moved his muscular bulk with the sexy grace most living vamp's had. 'I'm sorry,' he said in an iron-pumping-gym accent as he came close. His hand was reaching out—not to touch but clearly indicating that I should leave. 'Piscary's lost its MPL. Vamps only.'
Kisten slid behind me and helped me slip his coat off. 'Hi, Steve. Any trouble tonight?'
'Mr. Felps,' the large man exclaimed softly, his speech taking on a well-educated accent to match the intelligence his eyes couldn't hide. 'I wasn't expecting you until later. No. No trouble apart from Mike upstairs. We're all quiet down here.' Brown eyes apologetic, he glanced at me. 'Sorry, ma'am. I didn't know you were with Mr. Felps.'
Seeing a golden opportunity to pry, I smiled. 'Does Mr. Felps often bring young women not of the vampiric persuasion to his club?' I asked.
'No, ma'am,' the man said so naturally that I had to believe him. His words and actions were so innocuous and unvampiric, that I had to sniff twice to make sure he was one. I hadn't realized how much of the vampire identity stemmed from attitude. And as I scanned the lower floor, I decided it was like any upscale restaurant, more mundane than when it had its MPL.
The wait staff was appropriately dressed with most of their scars hidden, and they moved with an efficient quickness that wasn't the least provocative. My gaze roved over the pictures above the bar, faltering when I saw a blurry shot of Ivy in her biker leather, riding her cycle with a rat and a mink perched on the gas tank. Oh God. Someone had seen us.
Kisten gave me a wry look upon seeing where my eyes were. 'Steve, this is Ms. Morgan,' he said as he handed my borrowed coat to the bouncer. 'We aren't staying long.'
'Yes, sir,' the man said, then stopped in his tracks and turned. 'Rachel Morgan?'
My smile grew wider. 'Pleasure to meet you, Steve,' I said.
A rush of fluster ran through me as Steve took my hand and kissed the top of it. 'The pleasure is mine, Ms. Morgan.' The large vampire hesitated, gratitude passing behind his expressive eyes. 'Thank you for not killing Piscary. It would have made Cincinnati hell.'
I chuckled. 'Aw, it wasn't just me; I had help bringing him in. And don't thank me yet,' I said, not sure if he was serious or not. 'Piscary and I have an old argument, and I simply haven't decided if it's worth the effort to kill him or not.'
Kisten laughed, but it sounded somewhat forced. 'All right, all right,' he said as he pulled my hand from Steve's. 'That's enough. Steve, will you have someone get my long leather coat from downstairs? We're leaving as soon as I open the floor.'
'Yes, sir.'
I couldn't hide my smile as Kisten moved his grip to my elbow and subtly guided me to the stairway. I decided that though he kept touching me, it wasn't for any ulterior motive—yet—and I could tolerate him moving me around like a Barbie doll. It kinda went with my sophisticated look tonight and made me feel special.
'Good God, Rachel.' His whisper in my ear made me shiver. 'Don't you think you have enough of a badass attitude already without dumping blood on the floor?'
Steve was already gossiping to the help, and heads were turning to watch Kisten escort me to the second floor. 'What?' I said, smiling confidently at anyone who would meet my eyes. I looked good. I felt good. Everyone could tell.
Kisten pulled me close to put his hand at the small of my back. 'Do you really think it was a good idea to tell Steve that Piscary lives only because you haven't decided if you want to kill him or not? What kind of an image do you think that gives you?'
I smiled at him. I felt good. Relaxed. Like I had been sipping wine all afternoon. It had to be the vamp pheromones, but my demon scar had yet to even twinge. This was something else. Apparently there was nothing more relaxed and comfortable than a sated vampire, and they apparently liked to share the feeling. How come Ivy never felt like this? 'Well, I did say I had help,' I admitted, wondering if my words were slurring. 'But killing Piscary is gonna move to the top of my wish list if he ever gets out of prison.'
Kisten said nothing, peering at me with his brow furrowed, and I wondered if I had said something bad. But he had given me Egyptian embalming fluid that night, thinking it would knock Piscary out. He had said he wanted me to kill him. Maybe he'd changed his mind?
The music coming from the second floor grew louder the higher we rose up the stairway. It was a steady dance beat, and as it thumped into me, I found myself wanting to move to it. I could feel my blood humming, and I swayed as Kisten pulled me to a halt at the top of the stairs.
It was warmer up there, and I fanned myself. The huge plate-glass windows that had once overlooked the Ohio River had been replaced with walls, unlike the openings remaining downstairs. The dining tables had been removed to leave a building-wide, high-ceilinged open space ringed with tall cocktail tables pressed against the walls. There were no chairs. At the far end was a long bar. Again no chairs. Everyone was standing.
Above the bar just below the ceiling was a dark loft where the DJ and light-show panel was. Behind that was
