Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

During my last dating experience, Karaoke Kris had kidnapped Zee and me, and Jimmy the pixie had massacred a whole bunch of fae—when one or two probably would have sufficed—after which we'd been arrested and accused of mass murder. So there was no way today's date could be worse.

Right?

"What do you think?" Zee asked, beaming from ear to ear. "Pretty fuckin' swish?"

We seemed to be in some kind of warehouse, which was scantily decorated with gold balloons and streamers as though a wedding planner had hired the wrong venue and made the best of a bad situation. Even weirder was the curtained-off area in the middle, probably hiding whatever the warehouse usually stored.

Maybe chic warehouse dining was a thing?

I tasted my complimentary glass of bubbly wine while checking out the other diners around us, and nodded. Nobody else seemed to be concerned about the scenery. "It's nice? "

Most of our fellow diners were human, but there were a few obvious Lost Ones scattered among them. One thing they had in common, however, was how wealth glinted in their gem-studded ears, flashed at their wrists, and oozed from branded handbags.

My suit, borrowed from Reynard's gray wardrobe was a little underwhelming, even though Madame Matase had smartened it up with some size adjustments and nice stitching.

As usual, Zee looked as though he'd just stepped off a red carpet. His suit was a masterpiece of dark purple over a black satin shirt. His smile dazzled, and the industrial-style lighting made his purple eyes shine. To top it off, the gold hoop in his horn winked. The whole package was so stunning I had to stop myself from staring.

"Who did you say gave you these tickets?" I asked.

"Oh, you know." He flopped back in his chair and gave his hand a flick, acting coy and sly. "Friends in high places. Although, she was on her knees the last time I saw her." He fluttered innocent lashes. "She was paying."

Then the tickets had come from one of Zee's special friends. He had a few. They sometimes sent things to the hotel—like underwear or death threats. He shrugged off most of it, but kept the dildos.

"Well, it was very nice of her to invite us."

"I know, right? I doubt even Fancy Pants could get a seat here."

Not anymore, since he'd lost his fortune and we'd killed his queen— allegedly . "You think Victor's alright?" I asked, now Zee had brought him up.

We'd left Victor managing the hotel. Our gremlin fiasco had driven most guests away, but we'd had two new arrivals today. With no recent murders, a fixed elevator, and a gremlin maintenance crew, the hotel hadn't looked so good in years. Hopefully, things were looking up. We sure needed the money.

Zee snorted. "He's probably jerking off to furniture assembly instructions."

I felt bad for leaving Victor behind, even though he'd wanted to sit this one out. For a thousand-year-old vampire who'd tortured people in the past for kicks and pretended to be untouchable, he didn't like to be left alone. Although, he did have several hundred gremlins, Madame Matase, and Tom for company.

There was no reason to worry. Victor could handle himself should any hotel emergencies arise. He'd recently rescued us from Agent Leomaris's snooping. With his Oxford Dictionary vocabulary and some linguistic gymnastics, he'd seen to it that Leomaris couldn't pin any of the recent events at Vampire Mansion on us, including the queen— ahem —losing her head. He deserved a rest.

"He was going to study the accounts and draw up a business plan."

"See, Daddy Vampire is fine staying at home. He loves all that mind-numbing number crunching stuff. No wonder you two get along."

I wasn't the only one getting along with Victor, as the twinkle in Zee's eye confirmed. I smiled back, and was reminded how I'd gone down on Victor while Zee had thoroughly serviced me from behind. A delicious vampire-nonhuman-demon sandwich, and I was definitely on board for more threesome fun later.

"Hm, tasty," Zee purred, sensing my lust. "Keep thinking spicy thoughts, Kitten, and you'll be my main course."

The servers interrupted with offerings of tiny appetizers, which we fussed over then devoured most of in two bites. We chatted some more, steering clear of heavy topics such as murder and kidnappings and how the vampires had to be plotting their revenge. Tonight was all about having fun.

"Oh, there's our benefactor." Zee rippled his fingers in a wave, catching the eye of a glamorous woman wearing a dazzling black dress, her arm looped with a handsome man who everyone seemed to know. Wait, I knew him. I'd seen his picture on posters around town. My heart flopped behind my ribs.

Oh dear.

"Zee, that's Paul Musashi, the police commissioner."

"I know." His eyebrows jumped.

"His wife sent you tickets?"

"What can I say? I left an impression." After turning back to face me, he picked up a little puff-pastry morsel and popped it into his grinning mouth, then spoke around it. "His wife's a fan."

When we'd been arrested, he'd admitted to being paid hush money to keep the commissioner's wife's visits to an infamous sex demon quiet. Having dinner across the room from the couple seemed to be something Commissioner Musashi may not appreciate.

"What if he arrests you?" I whispered. We really did not need any extra attention.

He gulped, and licked his lips. "For what? Looking good? Pfft." Scooping up his drink, he gestured with it. "It's a free fucking country. I think? He's not going to say anything. He can't. If he does, then I might let slip how he snorts like a pig when he spills his load." He sat back, looking smug. "Don't worry, Kitten. It's not like he's gonna come over?—"

"He's coming over." I looked away, down, anywhere.

"Fuck." Zee's eyes darted. He set his glass down and grabbed a napkin. "Act natural."

I was, wasn't I ?

Musashi was getting closer, his strides eating up the distance.

"More fucking natural." Zee waved the napkin like a surrender flag. "Fix your face."

"What's wrong with my face?"

"Smile, Kitten. Gah." He recoiled. "Not like that. You're supposed to be good at being human."

"You're making me nervous." I looked down and toyed with my own napkin, having no idea where to put it. I began folding it and tried to make one of Reynard's origami swans, but somehow created a floppy, very dead-looking duck. "He's almost here. What do we do?"

"What does he look like?"

"Like... I don't know. Maybe five-eight, brown hair?—"

"I know what he fucking looks like, Kitten. Is he angry? Happy? Does he want to punch my smile down my throat and pull it out my ass?"

I peeked through my lashes. "Oh, I don't think that's a pleased face." I lowered my voice, and stared at my dead-duck napkin as the commissioner stopped right behind Zee's chair—and loomed.

He loomed really well.

Like Reynard loomed. With an air of judginess.

"What's he doing?" Zee whispered.

"Erm . . . He's kinda . . . standing?"

"Is he behind me?" Zee whispered louder.

I nodded vigorously.

Zee turned in his chair, and grinned. "Commissioner, what a fabulous fucking sur?—"

Commissioner Musashi took a swing at Zee, and from the feral look on his face he absolutely meant to take Zee's head off. Zee being Zee saw the punch coming a mile off and jerked out of reach, knocking his chair over and nudging our table. My wine glass toppled, the table legs screeched, and every head in the warehouse turned toward us.

So much for keeping a low profile.