Claude grinned. “You don’t come in the salon enough. Older Chitahs have no interest in hanging out in bars or dance clubs.”
Christian tugged on his beard. “Speaking of bars, I’d like to go back to Nine and find out who Raven’s little birdy is.”
“Birdy?” Claude’s eyebrows drew together.
“Aye. The one who told her where our Mage lives. If he knows that much, he might know more.”
“He was in your salon the night the woman was murdered,” I added. “Remember? Bleached hair, had the foil things in it.”
“Maybe. Clients come and go.” Claude put on his stylish leather jacket and stood up. “I’ll wait outside so I can warm up the car.”
When I got up to leave, Christian remained seated. I tapped my black fingernail on the table. “Aren’t you coming?”
“Give me a minute.”
As I slowly headed to the back door, I glimpsed Christian placing more hundreds on the table than I could count. Curious, I walked at a snail’s pace to the van, my eyes fixed on the window as Betty came into view and sat down in front of him. He leaned in a little and did all the talking.
“What’s that about?” Claude said from his rolled-down window.
“I don’t know.” I leaned against his red Porsche and hugged my body from the cold. “I wish I’d taken something from the Mage’s apartment for you to sniff. Can you really make a positive ID from a pillow or a sock?”
Claude’s lower canines grew in length and made him look like a tiger. His voice lowered an octave, rumbling in the back of his throat. “I own his scent. Do you know what that means to a Chitah? It’s burned in my memory forever. We imprint the ones we love and our enemies. That means we never forget.”
“But he’s not really your enemy.”
“Any male who slays a female is my enemy.”
We watched Christian emerge from the diner, his breath clouding the frosty air. Claude revved the engine of his red sports car and sped off.
“Change your mind on that pie?” I asked.
Christian approached the van and opened the door on the passenger side. Once I climbed in, I blocked the door to keep him from shutting it. “I changed my mind.”
He tilted his head to the side. “About?”
“Seeing my father. After witnessing Shepherd’s meltdown, I don’t want that to be me someday because I reopened a door to my past. It might make things worse, and I’m not sure if I could live with that.”
“Does it feel like the right thing to do?”
I swung my gaze back to the diner. I wasn’t sure how to answer that. I’d been so convinced that seeing my father would help me move on, but after watching one of the toughest guys in the house threaten to defy Viktor and lose everything he’d worked hard for, I began to wonder. What if seeing my father devastated me in ways I’d never recover from?
“I’m not sure what the right thing even means, Christian.”
“Then hold that favor in your pocket. Just don’t use it to make me take over your cooking rotation. I’m not a chef.”
I laughed. “I thought cooking potatoes was in the How to Be an Irishman manual.”
He stared vacantly at the diner and chewed on his bottom lip. “Betty won’t be giving me the evil eye anymore.”
My smile withered. “What do you mean?”
“I did what I should have done a long time ago. I scrubbed her past memories of me as best I could—of every time I could remember that we’d talked. Of every Irishman she’d ever spoken to so that my accent won’t trigger something in her mind.”
“Even today?”
“Only our private conversation we had just now, but not the dinner. That would be confusing if you mentioned me around her.” He chuckled and shook his head.
“That’s funny to you?”
Christian gripped the doorframe. “She thinks we’re an item.”
I blinked in surprise. “What did she say?”
“That she liked your Asian friend better. I still left her the thousand-dollar tip.”
He shut the door and slowly strolled around the van.
“You’re not such a bad guy after all. For a Vampire,” I said quietly.
Christian flicked a glance at me, but I didn’t look away. I’d meant for him to hear the compliment.
And he deserved to hear it.
Claude arrived at Nine Circles of Hell ahead of us and claimed a table in a private area of the main room. The vibe was different with rap and sexy dance songs playing. Women were misbehaving on the dance floor with their high heels, skintight dresses, and enough sexuality to set the club on fire. In the Breed world, people had no real concept of time. Many were wealthy and didn’t have jobs, and Vampires never slept.
I carefully studied every face I passed. Chitahs, Vampires, men with hair down to their waist, others with shaved heads. But none had the signature blond hair of my friend Chaos. Christian nodded for me to look in all the rooms, so I weaved through the crowd, staring at one unfamiliar face after another. One man tried to put his arm around me, and when I shoved him away, a Chitah took that as his cue to jump in and instigate a fight.
That was in the wrath room.
Men were less aggressive in the lust room, but one of them actually looked back and forth at my mismatched eyes and flinched before turning away.
Idiot.
“Well?” Claude asked, stretching his right arm across the empty space beside him in the booth.
I looked across the table at Christian, who mirrored Claude’s body language down to the amount of space he left for me to sit. “I didn’t see him.”
“Have a seat,” Christian offered, patting the back of the booth.
“I prefer to stand.”
Claude gestured to the open space next to him. “Come and sit, female. We might be waiting a long time.”
I put my hands in my coat pockets. “I know a bet when I see one, so if that’s what’s happening here, I want whatever you two wagered.”
When Christian rested his elbows on the table with a look of annoyance, I sat next to Claude.
“So what did I win?”
Claude locked his hands behind his neck, showing off his muscles. “The next beer is on us.”
“I’ll take a rain check. We need to stay sober until we hear from Viktor. Any news?”
Claude checked his phone messages. “Nothing yet.”
I looked at the long bar to my right, colored lights matching the theme splashed against the bottles and glasses along the back wall. Hooper was polishing a glass and talking to a man who wore a tribal tattoo on his right arm. When the man got up to leave, one of the waitresses winked at him as she briskly walked behind the bar to mix a drink. She swirled the glass in her hand, a red glow appearing from her fingertips and lighting up the glass.
“Why don’t they just spike the bottles of alcohol instead of each individual order?” I asked.
Christian followed the direction of my gaze. “Just imagine a row of bottles spiked by Sensors. You don’t think that would be tempting to thieves? One can only guess how much they’d go for on the black market. A bottle of wrath could make an otherwise sane man do terrible things. Imagine what it might do to a man who’s already insane. Imagine serving them to members of the higher authority at a banquet.”
“Okay, I see your point.” My gaze traveled across the room. “I see something interesting.”
“A plate of onion rings?”
I kicked him under the table. “No. But remember that woman our Mage was talking to before he ran off? Well, there she is.”
Claude craned his neck. “Are you sure it’s the same woman?”
“Pretty sure, unless blond hair with black bangs is the latest trend in your salon this season.”
“You slay me.”
When I rose from my seat, Christian snatched my arm. “You’re certain it’s her?”
I nodded.
He regarded Claude for a moment and discreetly pointed at his own eyes. Claude gave a curt nod and stood up, ambling over to the bar and turning to face the crowd.
Christian quickened his pace when the woman steered toward the dance floor. I fell back a few steps and let him take the reins.
“I’ve had enough of this nonsense,” he said to her, irritation in his voice.
The woman looked warily at him, as did I. That was certainly a way to get a woman’s attention, but not the route I would have chosen.
“I was sitting across the way and noticed you standing alone.” He looked at her with smoldering eyes and turned on the charm, his voice sticky-sweet. “I’ve not seen eyes that lovely in a hundred years.”
I snickered. “Do you say that affirmation to yourself in the mirror every morning?”
Christian heard me but was putting on a performance. He seemed quite adept at playing a role to get what he wanted in almost any given situation. He’d left his jacket in the car, and he had on one of those threadbare T-shirts with a wide V-neck that showed off his chest. He placed his hand on a pillar and leaned against it, forcing her to take notice of him.
“I’m not interested in a drink,” she said.
“A lovely lass such as yourself deserves more than a drink. What you need is a luxury car. That’s how I treat a lady.” As he spoke, it dawned on me that his eyes never looked away. He was drawing her under his spell but making the conversation appear innocuous to the crowd around us should anyone be listening. “Would you like to know what the inside of a Porsche feels like?”