Blood Noir - Laurell K. Hamilton [85]
It was Ashley, who had the most elaborate hairdo of the bunch, like she’d gone to a beauty shop and had help, who said, “Don’t go, Anita. Please, you have to stay. We want to be your friends. If you go now, you’ll think we’re terrible.”
Kris raised a tear-streaked face. “Stay, Anita, stay and enjoy the party with us. Please.”
I leaned in and whispered to Jason, through gritted teeth. “I am not staying here alone.”
He put an arm around my waist and kissed me. “Wouldn’t dream of leaving you alone.” He gave me that look at the end of the sentence. I realized that if I’d asked him to leave with me, he would have, but I’d in effect asked him to stay with me. Was it too late to do a take-back?
37
CHUCK CAME THROUGH the door, scowling. I wondered who had gotten his panties in a twist. Then I got a glimpse of the man behind him. He was tall, tanned to a nice even brown, with medium-brown hair cut so short on the sides that you got a glimpse of paler skin underneath. His eyes were gray, and looked almost white in the dark of his face. He was around six feet, built slender but with the bulk that a weight room will give you to cover a build that might have been willowy otherwise. He was wearing a white tux that gleamed against his tan and made everything darker and lighter, at the same time.
Two uniformed guards came next, carrying a large trunk between them. Jason tensed beside me, and a second later I felt it, too. A prickle of energy breathed into the room. A second later, the reason for it glided through the door.
He was as tall as the first stripper, but with short curls that fell around his ears, so blond his hair was white. His eyes were blue with an edge of some other color dancing in them. I’d have to be closer to know what that second shade was, and I didn’t plan on getting closer. Not if I could help it.
Then I felt another kind of energy. A cooler energy.
A second set of guards came through with another trunk, and the last dancer was the cherry on top of this bad idea. He was the same height as the other two, like they’d been chosen for it like a matched trio of horses. His brunette hair was almost black, but I had mine and Sanchez’s to compare it to, so it was only brunette. It fell in soft waves to his shoulders, framing a face that was more handsome than pretty, but it was a nice face. There was even a dimple in the chin, and another at the corner of his mouth when he smiled at the room. He smiled delicately, so as not to flash fangs.
“No vampire strippers, huh?” I said.
Jason put his arms around my waist and drew me against his body. “My mistake.”
Jason breathed against my ear, rather than whispered, trying not to be heard by the other preternaturals who had just strolled into the room. “I’ve seen his pictures. This is the vampire that pretends to be Jean-Claude in Vegas.”
What Jason meant was that this was the lead performer in a vampire strip revue in Las Vegas. The master of their city, Maximillian—Max for short—had petitioned Jean-Claude to allow him to do a Vegas show that was based on some of the acts at Guilty Pleasures. Some negotiations later and we had our first spin-off show.
Since they couldn’t have Jean-Claude, they found a vampire that looked like him. To me, it was a superficial resemblance, but from a seat in the audience it might do.
Jason’s arms tightened on my waist, and he breathed against my ear, “He calls himself Lucian.”
I whispered, “Calls himself?”
He kissed the side of my neck, and whispered, “Stage name.”
Ah. Part of me wanted to leave, but part of me was curious. And, at least, the men getting groped by the women wouldn’t be any of my sweeties. Which meant I wouldn’t have to work at the whole jealousy issue while the show was going on. That’d be almost relaxing.
I settled my back more securely against the front of Jason’s body. He snuggled the side of my face and said, “Busman’s holiday for me.”
I turned so I could see his face. “You want to go?