I rose without really meaning to. Gliding with unnatural grace to the half wall, I pulled the curtain back a fraction and peeked out.
I know I was careful. The curtain barely twitched. But Kevin’s voice rang out from downstairs only seconds later. He sounded more cheerful than he had the night before, almost actually welcoming. “Morning, Celia. ’Bout time you got up. Breakfast is at the foot of the stairs, along with a change of clothes. You need to hustle. We’ve almost got everything set up.”
“Thankth.” God, that lisp! And my voice was about an octave lower than normal. Kevin’s head shot up at the sound, his eyes narrowing and seeming to glow. A fellow predator who knew what I was feeling.
“Eat. Now,” he ordered, then called to someone I couldn’t see. “Guys, we’re delaying the video conference. Celia has to feed.”
Feed. He’d used the word I refused to use. I fought through the rising fog of bloodlust. Food. I needed food. There were humans downstairs, filled to the brim with blood. I could hear their heartbeats, smell their sweat—patterns that hinted how each of them would taste. Glimpse the bands of color that spoke of their emotions: warmth, fear, worry. But I knew I’d have to get past the wolf to get to any of them. The wolf was a threat. I began trying to figure out how to get rid of him.
Kevin gave a low growl, blocking the stairway. He knew. The wolf could sense what I wanted.
I fought my inner bat for control and won, but it wasn’t easy. “I need … food.” The words sounded sort of strangled, my struggle reflected in my voice.
“There’s a tray at the bottom of the stairs.” Emma stepped into view and patiently repeated what her brother had already said. “Kevin didn’t think it was a good idea for anyone to bring it up.”
Kevin was so freaking right.
He pushed Emma back. “Get away, Em. She’s right on the edge.” He looked up at me with an expression that mixed anger and respect. “I’ll be barricading the door.”
I forced myself away from the half wall as he closed the door and locked it audibly—making it very clear that I would have to go through him to get to anyone in the room beyond. I flowed down the staircase to a tray that couldn’t possibly hold anything that would compare to what my body really wanted … needed at that moment.
I guzzled the diet shake on the tray first, hoping it would take the edge off. It did, but not enough. My hands were still shaking hard enough that it was all I could do to get the lid off a jar of strained-beef baby food. I couldn’t seem to get the spoon into the jar. In the next instant I wrapped my lips around the opening and poured it into my mouth, sucking at the goopy contents and swallowing as fast as I could. I stabbed and slashed at the glass, feeling my fangs slide uselessly against the sides of the jar. Only then could I make my fingers work right. The shakes finally stopped after the second serving of baby food. By the time I finished the third—peaches—I was actually able to think clearly.
I sat down on the bottom step, breathing hard, as if I’d been running. What the hell was wrong with me?
Slowly my brain started to focus. Had Kevin said video conference? I’d asked him to set one up, but hadn’t really thought he would. He’d been so damned uncooperative last night.
I knocked gently at the door. I couldn’t smell him anymore, but I bet the wolf in him could smell me. Hopefully he’d realize that it was safe—that I was safe, now. He opened the door a crack and peered in at me, estimating the threat, while I squinted past him at the living room. My plain human vision showed me that he’d set up video equipment in the center of the main room. All right then.
“I’m going to hit the bathroom and change so I look presentable for the camera.”
He nodded, pleased that I didn’t press to go to the others right away. Vampires are tricky, so my backing down hopefully helped him realize I was probably back to normal. At least I thought I was.
Bruno had brought the bag sitting at the bottom of the stairs. I could tell by what he’d packed—all things he could pick up at my office, including a change of clothes. He’d even brought my spare makeup kit, which I kept in my desk. Best of all, he’d brought weapons—not mine, he couldn’t have gotten into the safe, but a sweet little Glock with an ankle holster. And people wonder why I love him.
Twenty minutes later, after a shower and makeup, I was fit to step in front of a camera. The front room was already buzzing, but I easily spotted Bruno, who looked like he’d been through the wringer. There were dark circles under his eyes, he had beard stubble, and his eyes had darkened to almost black, the way they do when he’s really, seriously angry. He smiled when he saw me, which softened the harsh lines of his face a little. But only a little, and only for a minute. He was wearing black jeans and a black Bayview college sweatshirt that had the sleeves chopped short and had a vertical slit cut in the neckline.
“Morning, sunshine.” Bruno tried to shake off his weariness for my benefit. He came over to give me a hug and a quick kiss. “Mnn. You taste like peaches.” He licked his lips.
“Baby food,” I admitted, giving him a quick squeeze. “Better than snacking on you guys. What’s up?” I asked. He shook his head. Apparently he didn’t want to talk about it, at least not in front of the others. Okay, we’ll go with a safe topic. “What have I missed?”
He opened his mouth to respond, but didn’t get the chance as Dom Rizzoli tapped me on the shoulder. He’s the only FBI agent I know well enough to be friendly with. Short, dark, and as Italian as pasta, he was wearing his “fedley” suit: nice, dark gray suit coat and pants, white shirt, blue tie, and black shoes with a high gloss.
“We’re on.”
I didn’t want to leave Bruno’s side, but there was no arguing with Rizzoli when he used that tone. Besides, he was most likely in the thick of things, and I needed to know what was going on. So I gave my sweetie another hug and walked over to the video setup. Kevin pointed to a masking-tape X on the floor and I stood on it.
“Good morning, Princess.” On the monitor in front of me, Hiwahiwa bowed at the waist. “It is good to see you well. Princess Adriana will be joining us in a moment.”
I dipped my head and shoulders slightly in return. “And good morning to you.”
“Hello, Celia.” King Dahlmar’s voice. The video screen in front of me now split into four sections. Hiwahiwa was in the upper left, Dahlmar in the lower right. I spotted Creede standing next to him. I hadn’t expected him to be there, but should have. After all, John Creede has saved the king’s tail more than once. It would make sense for the king to call on him for such a special occasion as his wedding.
John’s a handsome man, with a strong jaw and good cheekbones. His eyes are the color of honey, his hair a warm light brown with golden highlights. He keeps it cut short, or it would fall in unmanageable and unmanly curls. His nose is sharp, not quite a beak, though there is something like a bird of prey about him.
“Your Majesty. You look well.”
He made a small scoffing sound that most kings wouldn’t be seen making. “My future wife was nearly killed. Her mother is in the hospital. My country is turmoil and terrorists are plotting. Hardly well, I’m afraid.”
There wasn’t much to say to that, so I didn’t respond. Creede gave me a brief nod. His expression was odd. Part teeth-gritted anger; part sad, puppy-eye regret. He looked good, but like he’d already been through a long day. As usual, both he and the king were wearing splendid suits.
I wasn’t thrilled at my own image, in the fourth segment of the screen. I didn’t look great. Nobody had mentioned it yet, but only because they were all too polite. If it’s true that television adds twenty pounds, I was in real trouble. I’ve been dropping weight for a while because of my nearly all-liquid diet and it was really starting to show. I’d gone from fashionable to gaunt in the last six weeks. But at least I was dressed in my own clothes, which mostly fit. For a moment I imagined what I’d look like in Emma’s duds—we are so not the same size or body type—and my stomach turned over.