A thousand possibilities went through my mind. I imagined street gangs, giant bludrats, open manholes into the catacombs, and the slavers themselves in their dark cowls and plague masks. But then I imagined the damage one angry Bludman could do and the fact that it took an awful lot of bloodwine to render us stupid. And of course, the fact that Cherie had been directly taken, had never gotten so far as to take a single drink in Mortmartre. She was more than some silly drunk girl, stumbling into a dark alley with the wrong man.
I shook my head. “Sounds like something different entirely. Can I draw a poster for you to show them, perhaps?”
He shrugged, a sad thing. “If it will make you feel better. But . . . have you not noticed that having a Bludman in a cabaret is big news? Whoever has your friend is keeping her secret. Especially after your debut, I imagine that any other cabaret hiding a Bludman with any contortion skills whatsoever would instantly set up shop to take advantage of your popularity. And believe me, bébé, if I hear anything of the sort, I will be in the front row to steal her back for you.”
That finally softened me up, and I let the smile spread over my lips. Putting a gloved hand on his shoulder, I looked into his eyes, soothed by their golden glow, so like a cat’s. “Thank you, Vale. She’s everything to me.”
“Everything?”
The possessive hardness in his eyes made me angry again. “Of course. She’s my best friend, my partner, the closest thing I have to family. Just because I go through the motions here and get sent to that blasted elephant with dukes doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about her constantly.”
“The pachyderm?” Anger twisted his fine features. “You’ve been to the pachyderm?”
“Last night. With the duke. And you can’t say a damned thing about it.”
We were nose-to-nose now, each filled with fury and breathing hard. His nostrils flared, and the anger writhed off his skin, sharp as cinnamon.
“Oh, I have something to say, bébé.”
I opened my mouth to tell him exactly how much he could say, but he grabbed my shoulders and kissed me, hard. His tongue forced its way past my lips and raked me possessively, and I let out a little moan and curled my fingers into the front of his shirt, unable to resist his pull. His mouth claimed me, his hands moving to my waist and pressing me close.
When he changed angles, he murmured, “Watch the teeth, bébé. Can’t have you going mad.”
“I’m already mad. Shut up and kiss me.”
“I like you when you’re angry.”
“Shut. Up.”
I gave him no choice, kissing him hard but without fangs, mouth wide and eyes closed. As cold as the duke’s practiced attempts at wooing had made me feel, Vale filled me with passion, half furious and half hungry. I took a step backward, pulling him with me, still kissing him. Step by step, we stumbled toward the towering, soft bed, his thighs brushing against mine as our tongues danced and licked. With my back to the bed, and one more nudge from his thighs, my butt hit the mattress. His controlled fall took me to my back and brought him over me on his elbows, the kiss never breaking.
“Mm. You’re good,” I murmured.
“You’re better.”
I took his lip, gently but as a warning, in my teeth. “What are you implying?”
He drew back, raised an eyebrow. I let go of his lip. “That you’re a good kisser. Every word out of my mouth isn’t a fight, bébé.”
I grabbed his chin in my hand, licked his lips. “Then stop talking and kiss me.”
“Normally, I’d argue, but you’ve made it clear that you are a woman who does what she wants.”
With a growl, I hooked a leg over his and rolled him over onto his back so that I straddled his hips, my skirts cascading around us in a puddle of black ruffles. “Damn right I am.”
I leaned down to kiss him again, and he didn’t resist at all. His hands found my hips, and I settled in to take whatever I wanted, slow and deep, my fingers tracing the buzzed stubble of his hair. When the knock came, I hissed at the door and hoped that whoever had interrupted that kiss was human and edible.
“Mademoiselle?”
I sighed and quickly arranged my skirts so that Vale was barely visible. His bemused smile told me that he looked forward to seeing how I handled the sticky situation. “Yes, Blaise?”
The door creaked open, and the young daimon cleared his throat. “Madame Sylvie asked me to tell you that you’ll be in the pachyderm again tonight with another very important guest. The great Lenoir wishes to paint you.”
Vale shifted beneath me as if he might rise up and argue, but I planted a hand against his chest and let my talons prick, just the tiniest bit, through my gloves.