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I thought I knew all the bloodsuckers in town, but here were two new ones in less than two minutes. “How many new vampires are in the city?” I asked.

“A few,” Jean-Claude said. “This is Damian. Damian, this is Anita.”

“I feel silly in this outfit,” he said.

“But you look splendid, doesn’t he, ma petite?”

I nodded. “Splendid is one way of putting it.”

Jean-Claude walked around the new vampire, flicking imaginary specks of lint from the coat. “Don’t you approve, Anita?”

I sighed. “It’s just . . .” I shrugged. “Why do you make everyone around you dress like they stepped out of a sexual fantasy with a high costume budget?”

He laughed, and the sound wrapped around me, tugged at things lower than he’d ever gotten to touch. “Stop that,” I said.

“You enjoy it, ma petite.”

“Maybe, but stop it anyway.”

“Jean-Claude has always had a killer fashion sense,” Damian said, “and sex was always one of his favorite pastimes, wasn’t it?” There was something about the way he said that last that made it not a compliment.

Jean-Claude faced him. “And yet, for all my foppish ways, here you are, in my lands, seeking my protection.”

The pupils in Damian’s eyes were swallowed by a rush of green fire. “Thank you so much for reminding me.”

“Remember who is master here, Damian, or you will be banished. The council themselves interceded with your old master, rescued you from her. She did not want to give you up. I spoke for you. I ransomed you because I remember what it was like to be trapped. To be forced to do things you didn’t want to do. To be used and tormented.”

Damian stood a little straighter but didn’t look away. “You’ve made your point. I am . . . grateful to be here.” He looked away, then to the floor, and a shudder ran through him. “I am glad to be free of her.” When he looked back up, his eyes had returned to normal. He managed a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Wearing a few costumes is not the worst thing I’ve ever done.”

There was a sorrow to his voice that made me want to ask Jean-Claude to let him change into a pair of pants, but I didn’t. Jean-Claude was walking a very fine line here. Damian was over five hundred years old. He wasn’t a master, but that was still a hell of a lot of power. Jean-Claude might be able to handle Liv and Damian, but if there were more, Master of the City or not, he wasn’t up to the job. Which meant these little dominance games were necessary. The others couldn’t be allowed to forget who was Master, because once they did, he was done for. If he’d asked for my vote before he put out the invitations, I’d have said no.

A door at the far side of the room opened. It was a black door in the black walls, and it seemed almost magical as a woman stepped out. She was about my own height, with wavy, waist-length brown hair that foamed over the shoulders of her ankle-length black coat. She was wearing a pair of hot turquoise exercise pants with a matching sports bra. Crisscrossing straps went from pants to the bra, emphasizing her small waist. Black vinyl boots reached to her knees, with a small projection that covered the knees. She walked down the steps and strode across the floor with a free-swinging walk that was almost a run. She entered the room like it was her room, or maybe she was her own room, comfortable wherever she went.

She stopped by us, smiling, pleasant, hazel eyes greener because of the strip of turquoise around her neck. “What do you think?”

“You look lovely, Cassandra,” Jean-Claude said.

“You look better in yours than I do in mine,” Damian said.

“That’s a matter of opinion,” I said.

The woman looked at me. Her eyes flicked down the length of Damian’s body. She met my eyes, and we both laughed.

Damian looked puzzled. Jean-Claude looked at me. “Share your humor with us, ma petite, please.”

I met Cassandra’s eyes again, swallowed another laugh, and shook my head. I took a few deep breaths. When I was pretty sure I could speak without laughing, I said, “Girl humor, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Very diplomatic,