Their hostess, Colette, moved with a quiet swish of her skirt to stand on the other side of the flower-heaped table from them, arms folded, gaze assessing. “Introduce your friends, Nikita.” Softer, smile tugging at her mouth: “Hello, Sasha.”
He smiled at her. “Hi.”
Nikita rattled them off. “This is Roland Webb, Jamie Anderson, Alexei Romanov – yes,thatAlexei Romanov – and Trina Baskin.”
Many people would have gotten stuck on the tsarevich, and with good reason. Colette looked right at Trina, eyes widening. “Baskin?”
“My great-granddaughter.”
She whistled. “Damn.” Then her gaze narrowed and slid over to Alexei. “You one of Rasputin’s, too?”
Alexei nodded, and his features looked unmistakably royal at the moment, accentuated by the haughty tilt of his head. “What if I am?”
Collette grinned and her fangs showed. “Oh, child, don’t bother goading anyone three centuries older than you.” She glanced away from him, dismissive. “Disrespect my hospitality and you won’t like what happens.”
Nikita smirked.
“And you two,” she said, looking now at Lanny and Jamie. “You’re just young ones.”
“Cancer,” Lanny said.
“Wrong place wrong time,” Jamie said.
Colette sighed. “What is happening to this city?” Shetsked. “Well, I supposed there’s a story. Anyone want any tea?”
~*~
The first floor was dedicated to her business, Colette explained as she led them up to the second, which boasted a toned-down version of the storefront style, as well as a chef’s kitchen and a sprawling living room that was clearly the work of thoughtful renovation. She sat them all down at a long plank table and made tea, which gave them a chance to decompress a little.
Trina didn’t realize how tightly her nerves were wound until she heard the creak of a step and a man appeared at the foot of the stairs that led to the third level. She jumped, and Nikita, on her left, laid a hand on her arm. “Colette’s boyfriend,” he explained in a whisper.
Trina relaxed a fraction, but silently thought Colette’s boyfriend – tall, broad, bearded, and wearing a flannel bathrobe – would look more at home felling trees in Wisconsin than in a psychic’s eclectic kitchen, with its herbs drying on string over the sink.
“We have company,” Colette said as she pulled tea mugs down from a shelf.
“I see that.” The boyfriend tightened the sash of his robe and shuffled into the room, took a seat at the end of the table next to Lanny. He grinned, then. “Oh hey, it’s you. And Nik! Hi. How’d the blood work out?”
“Fine, David, thank you,” Nikita said.
“This is your vampire girlfriend?” Lanny asked the lumberjack – David.
“Lanny,” Trina scolded.
He snorted in response.
Colette brought a wide tray with seven mugs, tea bags, and a steaming kettle to the table, setting it down in the middle. “It’s alright. I am a vampire, and I am a girlfriend.” She shot Trina a conspiratorial smile as she settled at the head of the table. “I learned long ago that you can’t make men tactful, no matter how you try.”
“Hey,” Lanny and David protested in unison.
Colette lifted her brows, but no one contradicted her. “Okay,” she said as she began pouring. “Tell us, Nikita.”
He did.
Listening to it like this, in an unemotional summary, somehow made the situation seem scarier than Trina had thought it was. By the time Nikita was finished, she felt every inch the helpless mortal. What options did she have? She couldn’t tell her captain what was really happening; couldn’t arrestwerewolveswho hadeatenpeople; couldn’t hope to defend herself, really.
She was fucked.
When he was done, Colette stared at him a moment, then said, “And you decided to bring that threat to my doorstep.”
