No reaction. He knew I had insulted him, but he wasn't sure exactly how.
Saiman chuckled.
Mart still stared at me. His skin was perfect. Too perfect. No scratches. No cuts. No
imperfections, no pimples, no blackheads. Like alabaster polished to light gloss.
«What brings you to our table, gentlemen?» Saiman's voice was relaxed. Not a shadow of
anxiety. I had to give it to him-Saiman had balls.
The tattooed man crossed his arms. His frame was lanky, his limbs very long in proportion to his
body. Definition showed on his arms, but his muscle was long rather than thick. He fixed Saiman
with an unblinking stare.
«You will lose.» He pronounced the words very distinctly, his deep voice tinted with an accent I
couldn't place.
I reached over slowly to touch Mart's face. He grabbed my hand. I barely saw his hand move
and then my fingers were clamped in his. Grip like a steel vise. Fast, too. Possibly faster than me.
This should be interesting. I kept my fingers limp. «Oh, you're strong.» He was strong. He also left
himself wide open. I wondered if he would be fast enough to block a champagne glass if I broke it
and shoved it into his throat. That would be a very tempting theory to test.
«Mart!» Saiman's voice snapped like a whip. «You break her, you buy her.»
Mart swiveled his head toward him. It was a very odd gesture: only his head turned. Like an owl.
Or possibly a cat. He released my fingers. He had probably discounted me because I was a woman
in a brightly colored dress.
A dark-haired woman entered the deck. She was young, barely eighteen if that. Her features
would've made her at home on the streets of Delhi: deep dark eyes, round, full face, sensuous lips,
dark hair that streamed behind her. She wore plain jeans and a dark long-sleeved shirt, but the way
she walked, rolling her hips slightly, shoulders held back a little to showcase her breasts, made me
want to picture her in a sari. An exotic Indian princess. Men watched her move. Three to one, this
was Livie, the intended recipient of Derek's note. I had no trouble seeing how she would inspire a
young male werewolf to lose all common sense.
She reached our table and halted a couple of feet away, keeping her gaze down. «Asaan,» she
murmured to Mart. «Mistress wants you.»
The tattooed man bared his teeth. She had interrupted their intimidation routine.
The woman bowed her head in submission.
In a moment the Reapers would leave and my chance to pass Derek's note would leave with
them. What to do?
Across from me two women excused themselves and headed to the corner of the room, where a
small sign pointed toward bathrooms.
«I need to go to the ladies' room!» I announced a bit too loudly, got up, and stared at the dark-
haired woman. «Come with me. I don't want to go by myself.»
She looked at me as if I were speaking Chinese. You stupid idiot girl.
«I don't want to go by myself,» I repeated. «There might be weirdoes in there.»
The tattooed man jerked his head toward the bathroom and she sighed. «Okay.»
As we departed, I heard the tattooed man's voice. «When you die, your woman will scream.»
«Is that a threat?» Saiman chuckled.
«A promise.»
We stepped into the bathroom. The moment the heavy door closed behind us, she turned around.
«There you go, all set. Unless you want me to hold your hand until you sit on the toilet, I've got to
go.»
«Are you Livie?»
She blinked. «Yes.»
«I'm Derek's friend,» I said.
The name hit her like a punch. She reeled back. «You know Derek?»
I pulled the note from the wrist guard. «For you.»
She snatched it from my hand and read it. Her eyes widened. She crumpled the note and dropped
it into the circular hole in the marble counter.
«Are you in trouble?»
«I have to go. I'll be punished if I stay too long.»
«Wait.» I grabbed her by the forearm. «I can help. Tell me what's going on.»
«You can do nothing! You're just a slut.» Livie jerked her arm out of my hand, ripping her
sleeve, punched the door open, and took off.
There are times when strenuous mental conditioning comes in handy. It helps you to keep going
when you're wading through the sewers up to your thighs in human excrement hacking at an
endlessly regenerating Impala worm. It also keeps you from screaming when two young idiots
intend to commit suicide by Reapers and resist all attempts to be saved.
The note. She'd thrown the note away. I gave my word I wouldn't read the note before giving it
to her, but since she had read it and tossed it into the garbage, the note was now the property of the