“Appetizers?” the waitress asked.
I hit complete decision paralysis. “You pick.”
“Carpaccio,” he said.
I had ordered carpaccio the first time we ate together, in Takara, when he was trying to convince me to work for him. He remembered.
The waitress nodded and we were alone again.
I took a swallow of my wine. The tension of the day slowly seeped out of me.
He reached over and covered my hand with his, lacing his fingers with mine.
“Hey,” I told him.
“Hey.” He smiled and Mad Rogan went away. Connor was looking at me. We might as well have been alone in the whole world.
“Thank you. I needed this after today.”
“Thank you for coming with me. It doesn’t always have to be blood and gore. It can also be this.”
“This is very nice.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
Carpaccio arrived. I ordered a double-thick pork chop, and Rogan went for a dry-aged rib eye.
The carpaccio tasted divine. We ate it with crusty bread dipped in olive oil.
“You were in mortal danger this evening,” I told him.
“Oh?”
“My whole family waited in the kitchen for you to show up. If you stood me up, there would’ve been hell to pay.”
He grinned. “Your family likes me. I would charm them into sparing my life.”
“I don’t know. They were pretty determined.”
He leaned forward. “But I can be so charming.”
Oh yes. Yes, he could. It’s not hard to be charming when you are that smoking hot. I had to pace myself.
The restaurant wavered around me, receding. The light changed, growing soft and golden. I was in bed with Rogan. Neither of us was wearing a shred of clothes. His big hand slid up my thigh . . .
I pulled back from the projection just enough to see him looking at me from across the table.
“Be careful,” I told him, and licked the wine off my lips. His gaze snagged on my tongue. “You might set the tablecloth on fire.”
He looked on the verge of getting up and dragging me out of the restaurant to have incredible sex in the car. And I would totally go with him.
The projection vanished, like the flame of a snuffed-out candle.
Rogan’s eyes iced over. He picked up his glass and leaned back as a man approached our table. Tall and broad-shouldered, he wore a custom-tailored suit with casual elegance. His skin was dark brown, his hair cropped very short, and a precise narrow goatee traced his jaw. I’d only met him once, but he’d made an impression. It was the eyes. You looked into them and knew this was a dangerously smart man.
“Rogan.”
“Latimer,” Rogan said. “Chair?”
Michael Latimer nodded. A chair moved by itself from the nearest empty table and slid to ours. Latimer sat.
“The Harcourts reached out to me today,” he said. “They offered a strategic alliance on very favorable terms. Do I need to worry about you, Rogan?”
True.
“My business with them is concluded,” Rogan said. “Except for Vincent.”
“You have plans for Vincent?”
“Yes.”
“Do those plans hinge on him no longer breathing?”
“Yes.”
Latimer leaned back. The chair creaked slightly. “They’ve given up. They don’t think they can protect Vincent.”
“Agreed. They know they’ll be vulnerable without their biggest gun,” Rogan said.
Latimer raised his eyebrows, thinking. “Good information to have. Enjoy your evening.”
He rose and looked at me. “The offer stands. Any time, any place.”
“Thank you.”
Michael Latimer walked away.
Rogan turned to me. “What offer?”
“When Augustine took me to Baranovsky’s gala, Latimer saw the bruises on my neck and mistook me for a domestic abuse victim. His aunt distracted Augustine, while he offered to walk me out of the gala and take me to a doctor and give me a safe place to stay.”
Rogan leaned to the side to look after Latimer. “Michael Latimer?”
“Mhm. He wasn’t lying.”
“Interesting,” Rogan said.
Our waitress appeared by our table with our food.
My pork chop was incredible. I decided that I didn’t care if I spilled food on myself. I did care if other people saw me shovel the food in my mouth as if I were a cavewoman, so I forced myself to cut painfully small bites.
“We should have dessert,” Rogan said.
I eyed my pork chop. My plate had enough meat to feed me for two days.
“What’s your favorite dessert?” he asked.
“I don’t know what it’s called. I had it one time when I was maybe nine or ten. Mom was deployed, and Grandma Frida and Grandpa Leon took my sisters and cousins to Rockport Beach for three days. I was supposed to go, but I got sick and spent the first day throwing up in Dad’s office. I was so miserable. Everyone was at the beach, and here I was sleeping in the office next to a bucket. On the morning of the second day I kept down some crackers and by the evening I was so hungry. Dad closed a big case, and he took me to some restaurant to celebrate. I don’t remember what I had for dinner, but Dad said I could have whatever I wanted for dessert. So I ordered something called the treasure box. They brought it out and it was this big cube made of chocolate. I tried it with the spoon and the top broke. The chocolate was paper thin. There was this amazing cream inside mixed with raspberries and blueberries. It was the best thing I’ve ever eaten.” I smiled at the memory. “Your turn.”
“Chocolate mousse,” he said without hesitation. “I craved it in the jungle. No idea why. Never liked chocolate much before. Some days when we were starving, I’d wake with the taste of it in my mouth, thinking it was real. When we walked out, they put us into helicopters and brought us to Arrow Point, the base in Belize. I stayed awake until they got us to the hospital. All these people were running around, frantically trying to make sure I didn’t die on their watch. At some point someone asked me what I wanted. I must’ve told them, because when I woke up in the hospital bed, it was waiting for me.”
I wanted to hug him. I had to settle for reaching out and gently stroking his hand with my fingers. “Was it good?”
“Yes. It was.”
A young woman walked up to our table on tall needle heels. She was about twenty, with light blond hair, twisted into a complicated arrangement on the back of her head. Her skin was flawless and her makeup expertly applied. She wore a black cocktail dress, but unlike my simple number, hers consisted of artfully sewn strips of ghostly black silk, each strip shot through with a streak of gold. The dress screamed money. She knew she was beautiful and she was used to taking it as her due.
She ignored me, her gaze fixed on Rogan. “My name is Sloan Marcus of House Marcus.”
Rogan pondered her.
“We’re the third largest telekinetic House in Texas,” she said. “I’m a third-generation Prime. I’m twenty-one, in good health, and free of genetic diseases. I’m a graduate of Princeton. You interest me. My profile will be available to you on request.”
She just propositioned him right in front of me.
Rogan nodded. “My companion is much too polite to explain the facts to you, Sloan, so I’ll have to take it upon myself. She and I had a rather trying morning, and, having washed off the blood and gore, we came here for a quiet meal. You’re interrupting it.”
Color tinted her cheeks. She wasn’t embarrassed. She was angry at being rebuffed. “I don’t believe you understand. I said, my profile will be available to you.”
“I don’t think he wants to see your profile,” I told her. “He hasn’t even looked at mine, and we’re sleeping together.”
She condescended to look at me. “Primes marry other Primes.”
I smiled at her and kept eating.
Sloan raised her chin. “Nobody says no to me.
”
“Lie,” I said.
“How dare you?”
“It’s a fact,” I told her. “Someone says no to you a lot. You lied about being twenty-one as well, but it was a good speech, so I didn’t interrupt.”
Rogan laughed quietly.
“Who do you think you are—”
“Leave us,” Rogan said. His voice had a tone of unmistakable command to it.
Sloan opened her mouth. Rogan’s magic splayed out around him, an invisible but violent current. The dragon had opened his wings.
Sloan stumbled back, her face shocked, and hurried off on her impossible heels.
Rogan’s magic vanished.
“Have you ever checked if you and I are compatible?” I asked.
He frowned. “I’d have to get Tremaine records for that. Do you think your grandmother would give me access?”
“I doubt it. Although you never know with her. Didn’t she promise me to you?”
“Yes.”
Now was as good of a time as any. “Garen Shaffer came to see me today.”
Rogan’s face was relaxed, almost casual, as he cut his steak. “The heir.”
“He asked to have dinner with me tomorrow.” I cut another tiny slice of the pork chop. “I said yes.”
Something crunched. Rogan kept eating, his expression perfectly calm. The thick window glass beside us developed a hairline crack all the way across the top corner, just above Rogan.
“Thinking about the future is important,” Rogan said, his voice neutral. “I understand why you want to keep all possibilities open.”
Oh, you idiot. “A truthseeker was involved in breaking through the hex and helping Pierce to find the artifact. A truthseeker also created a barrier in Harcourt’s mind. We haven’t yet been confirmed as a House, but the moment our profile went up, Shaffer jumped on it. I’d like to know more about him.”
“That’s as good of a reason as any.”
“If he’s working with Harcourt, he may know where Brian is kept.”
“Sounds logical.” He was cutting his steak with surgical precision.
“I’d like you to watch.”
“Of course.” He froze with his fork in midair. “Run that by me again?”
I spoke slowly. “I’m going to record the conversation with a hidden camera and send live feed to Bern. I’d like you to watch it.”
He just stared at me.
“Going to see Shaffer carries a risk. He did something today in my office that made it difficult for me to recognize if he was lying. He was testing my magic. There is some possibility that he will try to do the same thing with me as I did with Augustine. If you hear me start to confess things, please call me. I’m hoping a phone call will be enough of an interruption, but I can’t be sure.”
“So you don’t mind if I listen in on your date?”
“It’s not a date.”
“Your dinner appointment.”
I sighed. “If I minded, I wouldn’t ask you to monitor the conversation.”
He came to life like a shark sensing a drop of blood in the water. “What if I come with you and just get a different table?”
“No.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re clearly concerned. I’m also concerned about your safety. If you allow me, I can be near in case things go wrong.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because the moment Shaffer puts his fork down the wrong way, you’ll storm in there and slice off his head with his silverware. Or some loose change in your pocket.”
“I won’t need silverware or anything else. If he hurts you, I’ll wring his neck with my hands.”
I pointed my fork at him. “And this is exactly why you will give me your word that you will maintain some distance.”
“How much distance?”
“Lots.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“Rogan, stop.”
He took a swallow of his wine. His expression didn’t change, but his eyes did. They grew guarded.
“Sturm,” he said quietly.
I pulled my magic to myself and let it out, drenching the table in it.
A man walked up. He was about six feet tall, lean, and pale, with eyes the color of coffee grounds. His dark brown hair framed his face in soft waves, long enough to brush his neck. He’d shaved that morning, but now stubble peppered his jaw, and he didn’t seem to care. He had an attractive face, but not handsome. Where Augustine’s features had the perfection of beauty, and Rogan’s spoke of power, Sturm’s telegraphed focus. He was a man who would patiently plot and think of a strategy. His eyes said he’d be ruthless in its implementation. Watching him wasn’t really a choice, it was a compulsion. He tripped some instinctual alarm deep inside my brain that said, Danger, and my survival dictated I had to keep an eye on him to see what he’d do next.
“Rogan. Fancy meeting you here. What a lovely surprise,” Sturm said. His voice had a slight rasp. If wolves could assume human form, they would sound just like that. Come to think of it, he looked like a wolf too. A patient, vicious, smart wolf.
“Sturm,” Rogan said, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
Sturm landed in the spare chair. I drank my wine and moved my magic, one thin strand at a time, to wrap around him.
“I thought you became a complete recluse,” Sturm said. “A hero damaged by war and withdrawn from us ordinary mortals. Yet here you are having a steak at Flanders’, in presentable clothes even, and your date is wearing the Tear of the Aegean around her neck. How wrong I was.”
The Tear of the Aegean?
“Assumptions can be dangerous things,” Rogan said.
“Indeed. A man can often assume that he is in the right, only to find himself unexpectedly on the wrong side of history.” Sturm smiled. “I’m glad to see you out and about, Rogan, enjoying the finer side of life. This is, after all, what being a Prime is all about. Comfort. Wealth. Power.”
“Duty,” Rogan said.
Sturm rolled his eyes. “You’re no fun. What do you think about all this, Ms. Baylor?”
“It’s nice. My pork chop was delicious. The wine is also excellent.”
Sturm bared his teeth in a sharp grin. “Your pork chop. That’s priceless. You’re delightful.”
“That’s right. Have you ever met Vincent Harcourt, Mr. Sturm?”
“Of course.”
I wrapped the strands of magic tighter around him. “Does he strike you as an erratic man? The kind who can ruin a carefully structured plan by failing to follow simple orders?”
Sturm laughed his lupine raspy laugh. “You haven’t even been certified as a Prime, Ms. Baylor, but you play the game so well. Doesn’t she, Rogan?”
Rogan didn’t answer. He took another small swallow of his wine.
“A man in our position has to play the game well, as Rogan will tell you, Ms. Baylor. Otherwise we risk losing everything. People who work for us. People we love. Before you know it, we find ourselves cowering in a tiny bunker while the tornados of fate roar overhead. But then sometimes the tradition of losing runs in the family. How is your nephew doing, Rogan?”
Rogan smiled. The window beside us cracked with a lovely musical crunch.
That smile meant murder. I reached out and put my hand on his wrist. “Please don’t.”
“Ah.” Sturm smiled again. “The civilizing influence of women. What would men do without it?”
I turned to him. “Some men are too thick to realize that when they push too far, other men may murder them without any thought of consequences. Such men would be wise to remember that consequences won’t matter to them, because they would be dead.”
Sturm glanced at the window. The hairline cracks framed extremely sharp glass shards. If the window shattered, the shards could slice him to ribbons, especially if they were precision-guided by a Prime telekinetic.
“I see I’ve overstayed my welcome.”
“No,” Rogan said. “Stay. Chat a bit more. Le
t’s catch up.”
“Sorry, but I do have to be going.” Sturm rose. “Think about what I said, Rogan. It’s not too late to walk on the right side.”
He walked away.
“What am I wearing, Rogan?” I asked.
His face looked pained. “A shiny rock.”
True. Fine. I pulled out my phone and typed “Tear of the Aegean” into the search window.
Tear of the Aegean, a diamond measuring 11.2 carats and rated as Fancy Intense Green Blue, was recently discovered in an ancient shipwreck off the coast of Argos. The Tear of the Aegean is only the third of all known diamonds to possess a blue-green hue, others being Ocean Paradise and Ocean Dream, making it one of the rarest diamonds in the world. (Blue-green color is common in artificially enhanced diamonds and achieved via various irradiation methods; however, it is exceedingly rare in nature.) The Tear of the Aegean was recently sold to a private collector for $16.8 million.
I choked on empty air.
“Do you want to stay for dessert?” he asked.
“No.”
Our waitress appeared, as if summoned.
“We’re ready to go,” Rogan told her. “Put the window on my bill.”
We walked out of Flanders’ and got into the car. Rogan drove through the night city.
“Why?” I asked finally.
“Because I love you.”
“Sixteen million dollars.”
He didn’t say anything.
Houston’s glowing lights slid past the window.
“I wanted to show you the other side of being a Prime,” he said. “The benefits of it.”
“You mean the benefits of a stuck-up asshole in an Armani suit threatening us or the part where some random woman throws herself at you?” Ouch. Okay, that wasn’t fair.
“The difference between her and Garen is practice. She’ll get better with experience.”
“Garen didn’t come on to me.”
“He will.”
I sighed.
“I wanted tonight to be just about us,” Rogan said. “Free of killing and gore. Just you and me. No Prime business.”
And instead there was a never-ending parade, at the end of which Alexander Sturm came to gloat. And I pointed it out. Oh, Connor.
“It can be peaceful,” he said. “We’re at war right now, but we won’t always be.”
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