“I thought he threw you out today.”
“He did.” Bruiser’s gaze met mine above the rim of his cup, his eyes filled with amusement. “Unlike Grégoire, who chose to keep his Onorios with him, and they chose to stay, I am no longer part of Leo’s personal servants. He will not have a live-in whom he cannot bind.”
“Leo has trust issues?”
“He’s stayed alive for five hundred years because of those trust issues. So, yes. However, I know more about the ins and outs of Leo’s personal household and the council’s day-to-day activities than anyone alive. For that knowledge, I am still a valuable employee to the New Orleans council and to Clan Pellissier, and I was sworn to that service from an early age.” He sipped, thinking, and shrugged. “As Onorio, I have other, less specific uses and great value. So, after you left, Leo and I struck a bargain, one I found exceedingly beneficial financially. I will continue to be employed by the clan, under one-year contracts, for a period of three years, at which time we may renegotiate the terms of my employment or I may choose to leave the clan entirely.”
“Fancy words for he offered you a lot of money and you took it.”
“Essentially, yes.”
“Sooo, you go to work there every day but you sleep somewhere else?”
“I have a small apartment on St. Philip Street, just around the corner.”
“The Saint Philip Apartments?” I was getting to know the Quarter and the businesses and people who comprised it.
“Unit eleven,” he said, sounding wry. “I rented it the last time Leo threw me out. I moved the last of my everyday things into it this morning.” He shrugged. “It’s only nine hundred square feet, but it’s one of the few units to be completely renovated. It isn’t quite the exquisite accommodations of a lair of the Master of the City of New Orleans, but for the moment it’s mine, and comfortable enough.”
“Ah.” There seemed to be not much of anything to say to that.
He seemed to notice the uncomfortable silence that followed, and said, “And on that pithy note, I’ll take my leave. I’ll see myself out. Until tonight.” Bruiser left his mug on the small table beside the couch and strode toward the door. He left me sitting sleepily on the sofa, a cooling mug in my hands, and a glorious memory of his backside clenching in the lightweight cotton pants as he left. Bruiser had a really great butt. “I’ll pick you up at six for an early dinner. Wear a dress.”
As the door closed, I murmured into my mug, “You could move back in here. We have an empty room upstairs.” And felt how the words tasted, how they felt on my tongue, the texture of the invitation, and the faint thrill that ran along my skin. “Or maybe not. Maybe I’m not ready for a man in my life again.” And then I heard his parting words. Dinner? In a dress?
My cell vibrated and I looked at the screen to see a text from Soul. Must rearrange current case. Will be in NOLA soonest. Which told me little, but did at least indicate that she was taking me seriously.
A moment later, I smelled Eli on the stairway. He moved like a cat on his bare feet, and he’d lived here long enough to avoid the squeaky spots on the old stairs, but there was nothing he could do about the air currents, and with the AC on, his scent preceded him. “Hey,” I said.
He leaned around the corner. “Is it safe to come in?” I nodded, and Eli went straight to the espresso maker. He was wearing jeans and layered T-shirts, and managed to look deadly even without shoes. Moments later, he sat across from me in the chair he favored, his hands holding his own mug. “You want to talk about it?”
I don’t know what I’d expected, but an offer to dish wasn’t it. My eyes widened in reaction and Eli flashed me a quick glimpse of teeth. “I overheard part of that. The floors are uninsulated, you know. And that was a proposal if I ever heard one. Which is interesting since I believe you two will be having your first official date tonight.”
“No, it wasn’t.” The words said themselves before I could think them through. “It’s not a date. I mean, no ring, no lovey-dovey words, no—”
“Flowers. Catnip. Food. Tea. And a knife that might be worth thousands. Dinner and a dress. Proposal and a date night.”
My eyes stayed wide and I hunched my shoulders. “No,” I breathed. “He didn’t propose. He didn’t. I don’t want him to propose. I don’t want him to love me. I’m not ready to be shackled into a relationship.”
Eli’s grin widened, taking on a teasing twist. “A proposal tailored just for you. Thoughtful, reasoned, romantic. As much as food, flowers, and knives can be.” When I said nothing, Eli added, “Maybe it wasn’t a marriage proposal. But it was a something proposal. I think you just have to decide what that something is.” He stood and moved silently to the stairs.
“You are an evil, evil man,” I said. Eli just laughed.
A nap was out. No way could I sleep when I had a date . . . a date . . . with Bruiser and martial arts practice afterward at fanghead HQ. Was I supposed to wear a dress and bring sparring clothes to change into? And clothes suitable for a vamp meeting afterward? What kind of dress was I supposed to wear? Something I’d put on for a security gig for the vamps? I wandered into my bedroom and opened the closet. It was . . . full. Or nearly so.
When I moved here, I’d arrived with the clothes on my back and a change of undies, my few other clothes and boots sent on by the postal system in a big brown cardboard box. Back then I’d had more weapons than clothes. I’d lived in jeans and tees and leather. Now. Crap. Now I had a girl’s closet. Full of clothes. Girl’s clothes. Long dresses suitable for vamp ultra-formality. Shorter skirts for the more casual occasions. Pants for the same. Dancing skirts. A fuzzy purple T-shirt with a dragon on it, the shirt charged with healing by a witch friend. It wasn’t a pretty dragon, either, but one of the toothy, village-terrorizing dragons, its body striped like a coral snake, wings spread wide, covered with striped red skin and feathers. So ugly the dragon was beautiful. I had jackets, and a turtleneck sweater made of silk knit. I had shirts. Lots of shirts, some made of cotton that had to be starched, and some of silk, and some that could be tossed in a washer and dryer and looked perfect immediately. I had boots and boots and more boots, and two sets of fighting leathers and three pairs of dancing shoes. Of course I still had guns and knives and the small box of vamp-killing charms that Molly had made for me before I came to New Orleans. I reached onto the top shelf and my fingers found what my eyes didn’t want to see, the box hidden by an obfuscation charm. The box was smooth and beautiful, once my eyes could finally focus on it. I clutched it to me and looked back into the closet.
I had . . . stuff. My heart was beating wildly. The tea I had just drank rose in an acidic swirl. Choking. Burning. I pulled the box tighter against my chest, the wood corners pushing painfully into my flesh, but not grounding me. Not giving me ease.
I had a dry cleaner. A grocery store that delivered. I owned a house.
Holy crap. I had put down roots.
I dropped onto the bed, clutching the box of charms to me, and stared at my closet. A closet full of dresses.
Somehow I had become a . . . a girl.
CHAPTER 5
I Needed That Head Slap
I banged out of the house, needing to be gone. Badly. Or maybe I just needed to get away from the person I had become. Once upon a time, and not that long ago, that would have meant a ride on Bitsa, fast roads, weaving in and out of slow traffic, wind in my hair. Well, under my helmet, but it was the same feeling of freedom. Unfortunately, Bitsa was still in repair, and that meant the SUV.
Which was better than nothing. At first. Then I got stuck in New Orleans’ horrible traffic. Worse, I was pretty sure I was being followed by a black SUV. When I made turns, weaving through the one-way streets to avoid fender benders and snarls, it always showed up again. Or one like it. Fingers banging on the steering wheel in frustration, I pulled out and headed for the river. If the vehicle showed up again, I’d know it.