Nalini Singh - Angels' Pawn

Laughing, the leader of the Fox kiss turned to the female vampire by his side. “Perida, this is Janvier. Don’t trust a word that comes out of his mouth.”

Ashwini decided it was time to make her move.

“A pleasure, darlin’.” Lifting the woman’s delicate hand to his mouth, Janvier went to kiss it.

Ashwini put her own hand on his shoulder, squeezed. “I wouldn’t.”

“ Cher. ” Janvier released a surprised Perida with a languid shrug. “So possessive you are.” Playful words, an intimate joke.

Ashwini looked up in time to catch Callan’s eye. One glance and she knew he’d taken in her clothing, her stance, the scars on her fingers, just above her pulse. So it didn’t surprise her when he said, “Hunter.”

“Vampire.” She leaned into Janvier, let him put his arm around her waist. The touch seared her, made her hunger for more. “We ready to go?”

Janvier played his part to perfection, sending her a charming smile. “Callan is an old friend, cherie. ” A quick squeeze, a cajoling smile. “Surely we can dally a little while? A drink, Callan?”

The Fox leader nodded. “Figures you’d hook up with a woman who might one day hunt you down like a rabid dog.”

“Already tried,” Ashwini said, deciding Callan would likely have that information within the hour in any case. “Three times.”

Callan raised an eyebrow as Perida attempted to hide her surprise. “And will there be a fourth?”

“Depends on how badly he pisses me off.” Sticking out her hand, she offered it to Perida. “Ashwini.”

The other woman shook it, her hold firm, her eyes narrowed. “We don’t associate with hunters.”

“And I don’t sleep with vampires.”

That made Callan grin, and it was so open, so honest, Ashwini could almost believe he was the good ol’ farm boy he seemed. “Let’s sit,” he said, ordering wine from the bar.

Ashwini offered Perida a fry as they sat down, knowing vampires could taste and digest a small amount of solid food. “It’s good.”

The vampire took it. “Mmm. Almost makes me wish I was mortal.”

“Almost,” Callan said, his eyes lingering on Ashwini’s scars.

It was, she thought, a very deliberate reminder that he could survive almost anything she did to him, while she’d die a very final death. But that warning was clearly only on the periphery of Callan’s mind—it was Janvier he was interested in.

“You still friends with Antoine?” he asked after taking a sip of his wine, the question as casual as casual could be.

“ Oui, I’m friends with everyone.” Janvier pressed a kiss to Ashwini’s cheek. “But this one, she doesn’t like . . . what is her name?”

“Simone.” Ashwini ate several fries in a row instead of illuminating.

Perida picked up the bait. “Why?”

“Have you seen her?” Ashwini snorted. “Thinks the sun shines out of her ass.”

Perida’s suspicious expression turned into one of pure dislike. “She’s a bitch, especially for being so pathetically weak. She makes like she’s got power. Bullshit.”

Ashwini raised an eyebrow. “I thought she was on her third century. Can’t be that much of a lightweight.”

“Age is relative.” Perida shook her head. “Only thing keeping that smug smile on her face is the fact she’s got Antoine on a leash.”

“Antoine likes hard women,” Janvier said, an amused cast to his voice. “Remember that one he was with when we were at court together, Cal?”

“That countess with six dead husbands.” Callan shook his head. “You’d think with age would come wisdom.”

“Instead, mon ami ’s got himself in trouble from what I hear.”

Callan put down his wineglass. “Oh?”

“Games, Cal?” Janvier raised a sarcastic eyebrow. “You know of Antoine’s difficulties—word is, you’ve got yourself a kiss.”

“You know a lot for someone who’s passing through.” Cool words, guarded eyes.

Janvier shrugged. “Keeps me alive. I’m staying clear of Antoine this visit—I don’t want Nazarach’s attention.”

The leader of the Fox kiss picked up his glass again. “Where are you staying?”

Ashwini answered for both of them. “We’re not. He promised me we’d be out of here tonight.”

Janvier leaned in close, murmuring just loud enough that the others would hear. “Come, sugar, one night? I will make it up to you.”

Ashwini scowled, let him murmur more promises before nodding with obvious reluctance. “One night.”

“So,” Janvier said, turning back to Callan, “can you put us up, old friend?”

“We were never friends,” Callan replied. “But . . . we could be.”

Ashwini found herself relegated to the guest bedroom in Callan’s fortress of a mansion on the outskirts of Atlanta, while the Fox leader took Janvier aside for a “cigar.” Knowing she was under surveillance, Ashwini locked herself in the bathroom, checked that it wasn’t wired, then tried to figure out if she could make her way through the old-fashioned air vent. It would be a tight fit, she thought, but she could do it.

“No time like the present.” Stripping down to a tank top and boxer shorts, she turned on the shower, and used the cover of noise to unscrew the plate and get herself into the shaft. There was barely enough wiggle room that she could move. Good thing she didn’t have hips to speak of.

Keeping a mental map in her head, she began to crawl through dust and piles of small, round, hard things that she preferred not to think about. Thank God she’d had all her inoculations. The first room she came to was empty; the second full of the murmurs of men and women grabbing something to eat. The third she almost bypassed because it was so quiet, but something made her stop, take a second look.

The woman in front of the vanity was utterly and absolutely lovely. Hair that was stunningly close to true gold, eyes of electric blue, full lips and skin so smooth and flawless, it was almost translucent against the white satin of her thigh-length robe. And she’d only been a vampire a year.

What would Monique Beaumont look like after a century of vampirism?

Ashwini’s lips pursed in a silent whistle. Given that it took decades for most vampires to reach Monique’s level of physical perfection, the woman might just put the angels to shame. But right now, as she brushed her hair, it was a very human smile that flirted with those lush red lips. Nothing about her screamed “captive.”

That fit with what Nazarach had said about Callan treating her well until Antoine was out of the equation. As if the thought had conjured him up, the door opened to reveal the vampire in question, his blunt masculinity at odds with the sky blue and cream décor of what was clearly a woman’s boudoir.

“Callie,” Monique said, her tone husky with reproach. “It’s getting tedious to be confined to this room.”

Locking the door behind himself, Callan leaned back against it, arms crossed, as Monique shifted around on her stool—to display the sleek length of one slender thigh. The gesture was sexual, but it was the look in the woman’s eyes that interested Ashwini. Predatory . . . but also, aroused?

Feeling like a voyeur, she continued to watch as Monique ran her hand down her thigh. “Has my father agreed to your ransom?”

Callan’s eyes locked on Monique’s fingers as she touched herself with slow, hypnotic strokes. “I haven’t asked for a ransom.”

Monique pouted, all sex and a sweet, dark hunger. “Are you planning to kill me, Callie?”

“You’re not that good, Monique, so stop with the seduction act.” Hard words, but his voice had dropped, his face tight with strain.