Slowly, the tension beneath his hand eased, and the woman
sank back down onto her stool. Damien released her
reluctantly. His hand tingled where he'd touched her. For a
moment, her awkwardness vanished, and the woman looking back
at him was every bit as cold and ancient as her dynasty mark
proclaimed her to be.
He wondered fleetingly if playing with a Grigori this way
was wise, then brushed it aside. He'd lived for centuries
doing just as he liked, and it had served him well enough.
Why stop now?
"I'll stay. For now. But I'm not going to entertain
you...cat." Her gaze dropped to the concealed top of
Damien's right collarbone. There, beneath his shirt, was the
mark of his bloodline, a trio of entwined black cats
fashioned into a Celtic circle. It branded him as Cait Sith,
a cat–shifter.
And without looking at it, she shouldn't have been able
to tell so quickly.
"How did you know?" Damien asked.
The woman shrugged, a dainty lift of shoulders exposed by
the sleeveless little black dress she wore. The movement
made him look below her neck, which he instantly knew he
shouldn't have done. He could stay distracted for weeks by
the wonders showcased by that dress. With some effort, he
dragged his eyes back up to meet hers.
"I'm good at indentifying who's who," she said, her tone
defensive. "I studied."
"Really. And what identified me?"
She turned her head to glare into her drink. "Does it
matter? You're just going to make fun of me, whatever I say."
The accusation startled him...more because she was
probably right. And for whatever reason, the knowledge
bothered him.
"I won't. I'm genuinely curious."
She didn't even look at him. "I doubt that. You're just
bored. Go away."
Damien watched her face, seeing the frustration likely
borne of fumbling her way through modern vampire society
without a lifeline for at least a couple of weeks, and
something in him softened. He didn't bother to try and
analyze it, but his voice sounded strange to his own ears as
he sought to reassure her.
"I'm not leaving until you tell me. But I'm happy to drag
this out if you'd rather."
She looked up at him through long, dark lashes with such
world–weariness that he had to fight back the urge to
pull her into his lap and nuzzle her. The idea had some
merit, actually...but Damien was pretty sure that would just
put them back at square one. The longer they looked at one
another, the more Damien had the unnerving sensation that
she was sizing him up, judging him by some measure he
couldn't begin to guess at. The intensity of her focus on
him was as pleasurable to Damien as a caress. To his shock,
he had to swallow back an inadvertent purr. He didn't purr
for anyone. Anyone. And certainly not for something as cheap
as a little attention.
At last, she relented with a sigh. "It's your eyes, for
one thing. The pupils do some interesting things in the
light. They're very feline, if you look close enough. But
mostly it was just the way you move. I'd read about it, but
the words didn't really do you justice."
He lifted his brows, surprised by the simple honesty of
her answer. "Oh?"
She nodded, obviously an eager student of a subject
Damien was inclined to find ridiculously flattering. He
didn't think any woman had ever remarked on the way he moved
before...out of bed, that was.
"Yes," she said. "Very graceful, very sinuous. Very..."
She trailed off, and it seemed she'd been about to say a lot
more than she'd intended. Damien watched her pale cheeks
flush again.
"Well. It's unique anyway. So..." She looked a bit at a
loss, grabbed the martini she'd been nursing, and took a
large gulp. Then she looked at him over the rim of the
glass, eyes glittering in the dim light, and Damien found
himself momentarily lost again. All vampires were beautiful.
It actually got boring after a while. But this one was
damned near a work of art. Sculptors would have carved her
likeness on temples; famed poets would have composed
masterpieces extolling her beauty and then drank themselves
to death over her. He could imagine it easily.
Except that she acted like she'd been locked in a closet
for the last five hundred years.