A stab of shock zinged down Alessandro's spine. He remembered Holly's remark about Ben selling the Carver house if he could. Is she talking about Ben Elliot?
"What an unusual situation." Pierce had the woman's hand in his, stroking his thumb over her fingers. His tawny hair and sculpted profile had the same cruel, feline beauty that had won him lovers and enemies since the time of the Tudors. "What did you do next, Miranda?"
She gave a tiny shrug. "I faxed the estimate to him, but I doubt I'll ever hear back."
"No?"
"If the girlfriend's smart, she'll hang onto the property. In a few years that oceanfront area's going to double in price." She gave a derisive laugh. "You never know—she might bite. And, y'know, Ben's a pretty persuasive guy."
That is Holly's house! Is he insane? No witch would ever sell her family home.
"I like the way you think." Pierce lifted her fingers to his lips, dusting the buffed nails with kisses. "A cool business head is one grace that will never fade."
"And I have one tight little portfolio." She preened beneath the warmth of his flattery, sipping a pale green martini with her free hand.
I should kill Elliot. But indulging that aggression was pointless. When she found out about Ben's plans, Holly would want that pleasure for herself. An amusing thought, except she will be hurt by this piece of stupidity. Then I will kill him, and, unlike Stephan Pierce, I know how to cover my tracks.
Alessandro impatiently waited for them to get back to the discussion about the house, but now they were making calf's eyes at each other. Come on, come on, I have things to do. He pulled out his phone, texting Omara to say where he was, and that he was leaving if Pierce did nothing illegal in the next sixty seconds. He left out any mention of the woman. Another man's bedroom escapades were his own affair.
Then Pierce slipped a ring off his left index finger and depressed a button hidden inside the band. Alessandro nearly dropped the phone. He hadn't seen one of those ring gadgets for years.
From where he sat he could just barely see a sharp, needle-thin barb spring from the top of the carved gold. Miranda held out her hand, the fingers curled in a gesture of languid supplication. Pierce jabbed the tiny blade into her wrist, holding it above his wineglass. Her only response was a short, silent jerk of pain.
Blood dripped and trickled into the wine, but still Miranda made no sound. Her head lolled forward, and then she tossed her hair back, baring her throat. Gradually she began to shudder, gripping the table hard as the venom on the blade took effect. "Oh!"
"Easy, darling." Pierce chuckled.
It was fortunate the high-backed seats hid the pair from almost every angle—none of the human patrons could see what was going on—but Alessandro could see it all. The muscles on Miranda's neck corded as poison raced to her nerve endings on crest after crest of pleasure. The blood ran faster, splashing the sides of the glass with a transfixing scent and sound. The tiny noises she made, the merest catch of breath, nearly pushed Alessandro over the edge.
"Enjoying the show?" Omara slipped onto the couch beside him, leaning over to kiss him full on the mouth. He hadn't seen her coming, but then Omara was a mistress of surprise. Alessandro gripped her tiny waist, feeling the slide of her thigh against his. She had fed, the stolen warmth rising from her cinnamon flesh like perfume.
"Pierce just pulled out a bleeding ring," Alessandro murmured in Omara's ear, strangely unmoved by her touch. Usually she knew how to arouse him, but the queen's lips seemed stale after the kisses he had shared with Holly.
Omara slithered away, straightening the lapels of her elegant pantsuit. Her hair fell in dark sheets around her, diamonds shimmering at her ears and in the notch of her throat. Her attention was fixed on the neighboring table, her eyes growing wide as she took in the tableau.
Her nostrils flared. Jealousy, thought Alessandro. I guessed right. She wants to keep Pierce for herself.
"And here I thought the best vintage I could get was a perky cab franc. I never dreamed the locals were on tap." Omara glared at Pierce from under her lashes, almost as if willing him to look and see her there—but the object of that scathing stare was oblivious. "Interesting that he should be using one antique artifact, when we pursue a murderer who uses another."
Alessandro studied his queen. Her pupils widened with Desire as she watched the couple, energy gathering around her like a storm. Then she gave an elegant shake, flicking it off like chance rain, but the anger stayed, simmering low. Alessandro sipped his wine, keeping quiet.
"I am fascinated by the possibilities here. Rings, tokens, antique hunting rituals. He plays at sorcerery from time to time. Could John Pierce be our murderer?" She said it with relish, as if the novelty of solving a crime were delightful, or perhaps she simply wanted Pierce's head on a platter.
"The murders were the work of the changelings. I'm sure of it," he said. I can't believe I'm defending the worm.
"Who is to say that they acted alone? Stealth and planning have been beyond them in the past. It would make sense if there was a proper vampire in the mix to do the heavy thinking."
Would Pierce work with changelings? He wasn't sure. "What do you want to do?"
A bitter look crossed Omara's face. "Bring John to me. And his food."
John, is it? How close are they? Alessandro bowed his head. Poor bastard. "As you wish."
Alessandro slid off the black leather of the couch, grateful to be released from its claustrophobic embrace. The noise level in the lounge had risen, but he saw only the wait-staff flitting to and fro. The patrons were all invisible, tucked into their private, high-backed havens.
When he reached Pierce's table, the wineglass was empty, dribbles of red clinging to the insides. The vampire had his mouth to the wound on Miranda's soft white wrist, licking it clean. She was watching, her face flushed from venom and fascination. Slowly she raised her eyes to Alessandro's, the look in them a pitiful blend of terror and adoration. She stood on the road to death, and was high on the view.
An addict. A rich one.
Alessandro had seen that look too many times to count, but once in a while it still staked him where he stood. He slapped the back of Pierce's head, none too lightly. The vampire lifted his mouth from Miranda's wrist, lips curling to show fang. That shot the pretty-boy image all to hell.
"What?" Pierce snarled.
"The queen wants a word with you both." His glance took in Pierce's meal. "Now."
Pierce sat straight, wiping his mouth on the restaurant's damask napkin. It left a scarlet smudge. "Where?" Panic.
Alessandro indicated Omara's table with a facetious sweep of his arm. The queen was peering around the edge of the couch, a come-hither smile flickering on her lips. Pierce swallowed hard. The lines in his face spoke of dread, but he would be dignified about it.
Pierce waited while Miranda rose and steadied herself. She seemed light-headed from venom and the loss of blood, but the wound on her wrist had closed. Vampire saliva had healing properties, all the better to keep a food source from wasting precious fluids.
When he returned to his seat, Alessandro saw that Omara had ordered a bottle of cabernet and fresh glasses. The server, nervous in the company of vampires, fumbled the corkscrew and barely managed to draw the cork without opening a vein.
Impatient, Alessandro took the bottle away from him. "I will pour. You may go."
The man fled, leaving Alessandro in the role of waiter. He filled the glasses while they waited for Omara to speak. The queen regarded Pierce as if he were an incontinent dog.