“I don’t mean the town.” His fingers brushed my arm. “I mean you.”
“Friends don’t let friends flatter unnecessarily.” I popped his hand. “Bad vampire.”
“I braced for the worst.” He made a vague gesture. “I expected you to be…”
“Bitter? Reclusive? Insane?”
“Yes,” he agreed with a wince.
“Finish your thought.” I waved him on. “I can take it.”
“I came to you prepared to sacrifice myself for my clan, but I see now I was a fool to doubt my master’s wisdom. What he asked of me is no sacrifice at all.”
“I’m broken, Danill.” As a maybe friend or possible ally, I owed him that truth. “I’m held together with bubble gum, and the next time life chews me up and spits me out, this sanity thing might not stick.”
He clasped my hands between his much larger ones. “I can’t protect you from the teeth—life grinds us all down—but you will discover in time I am exceptional when it comes to sticking around.”
“We’re friends until you do something jackassy that makes me break up with you. Or I do.” I extricated myself from his grasp before I gave him the wrong idea. “There’s a solid fifty-fifty chance one of us will blow this.”
“I’ll take a fifty-fifty shot over none at all.” He settled back against the seat, content. “Who will you bring with you to the inauguration? The friend I met?”
“Boaz?” I imagined him on my arm, his warmth thawing the chill in my heart, but the image flickered into him vaulting from the amphitheater’s lush marble floor into the stadium-like seats, where he’d strangle the new Grande Dame with her own pantyhose. “No. Definitely not.” I had already lost him to the draft. I wasn’t about to let him commit treason. “I plan on going stag.”
“Would you consider a formal escort rather than a date?”
“Call me paranoid, but I’m ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure tomorrow night will spell my doom in all caps.” A date, escort, whatever, would also get in the way of her negotiating with me for Keet’s safe return. “You don’t want to get mixed up in this, not when she has pull with your clan and can make your life miserable until she kicks the bucket.”
“What is one century in the span of my lifetime?” The tips of his fangs, lengthening with his desire to protect—probably another side effect of wearing his blood as a fashion statement—pressed into his bottom lip. “Let me prove my worth. Let me show you the value in my offer. Let me give you, at least for one night, the comfort of having a clan at your back.” His voice lowered. “You don’t have to face her alone, and unlike your friend, I can behave.” He rolled a wide shoulder. “Within reason.”
Arriving with Volkov on my arm would make a statement, and it would be nice not to face the firing squad alone.
“Okay.” I stuck out my hand, and his engulfed mine when we shook. “It’s not a date.”
Seven
My stalkerpire failed to put in his threatened appearance, but that likely had more to do with the two slabs of beef Volkov ordered to stand guard at my front door the rest of the night and into the next day than any change of heart. Neither male would meet my eyes, but when I checked on them before bed, they addressed me with a quiet reverence that unsettled me.
Apparently my value was a well-known commodity to everyone.
Except me.
Or, I had to allow, it was possible they merely protected that which their heritor deemed valuable. They might have done the same for any woman who found herself in Volkov’s crosshairs. How awkward that must make dating for him. I could stand the cage he’d lowered around me for now, until I got my answers at the inauguration, but I would suffocate beneath such precautions over time. Having known the inside of a cell intimately, I had promised myself never to return to one. No matter how well-intended the protection might be.
Plus, it was downright humiliating when the bodyguards stampeded up the stairs and bulldozed into my room at dusk after they heard me screaming in my sleep. Waking up to two vamps—fangs out—hissing at shadows in my room was almost worse than traversing the dark and twisting dreamscape of my mind.
Well, I had warned Volkov I was broken, right? Maybe evidence of exactly how shattered would send him running.
An all’s well chime rang out, and I fought a losing battle with a grin as my company arrived.
“Damn, girl. This is your house?” Neely gawked on the front porch. “It’s gorgeous.”
“Thanks.” The porchlight near him flickered the tiniest bit as Woolly preened, and I cleared my throat loudly to remind her not to show off in front of our very human guest. “Come on in.”
“What’s the deal with your bookends?” he asked once the door shut behind him and his rolling bag. “They look like bodyguards.” His eyes rounded. “Are they bodyguards?”
I winced and told a half-truth. “The guy I’m dating is overprotective.”
And the vamps, after my screaming episode, had refused to budge from their posts during Neely’s visit. They were already dead. It wouldn’t have killed them to hide in the bushes for a couple of hours.
“Are we talking celebrity protective? Political-figure protective?” He glanced over his shoulder like he could still feel their eyes on him. “Or are we talking mob protective?” He lowered his voice. “Do you need help? Tug your earlobe once for yes and twice for no.”
“Neely.” I burst out laughing. “Danill Volkov is a lot of things, but a mob boss is not one of them.” I twisted the truth, an ugly necessity around humans, yet again. “A strange man was spotted on my property after our first date. Considering who he is, he’s concerned for my safety is all.”
“Volkov?” he squeaked, dropping his bag’s handle and grabbing me by the shoulders. He shook me until my eyes rattled. “Are you insane? Volkov House is a shrine to that family’s obsession to acquire what they want at any price. And that was just a charred pile of lumber.”
Chills blasted up my arms for reasons I couldn’t pinpoint. I was aware of the house’s bloody history, and I had an inkling of Volkov’s clout, though it would help if I could access Woolly’s basement to get at the library, but Neely’s perceptiveness had switched on a light in my head that wouldn’t fade anytime soon.
Before I wrapped my mouth around a defense of Volkov’s honor, Woolly chimed again. This time there was a trill of excitement in the sound I hoped Neely would blame on bad wiring.
“Hold that thought.” I scrambled to the front door, half-expecting to find one of the siblings Pritchard, but a third vampire stood on the porch wearing a familiar jaunty hat with a garment bag slung over his shoulder. It’s official. Woolworth House is infested. “Hi. Can I help you?”
“Mr. Volkov sends his regards, miss.” He slid the bag down his arm then offered it to me. “And this.”
“What is…?” Through the peephole near the zipper, I spied silky blue fabric. “He bought me a dress?”
“Apologies, miss, if this seems too forward.” He extended his arms farther, careful not to reach across the threshold. “The invitations went out late by the usual standards, and he worried you might not have had an opportunity to shop for the occasion.”
Or the funds for a dress as extravagant as my former rank required. None of the gowns in my closet still fit. Not even a corset could save me. Borrowing from Amelie had been my only option, but the simple cut and serviceable materials were the Low Society equivalent of a uniform, albeit a lovely one, and I would have stood out like a sore thumb amid the High Society glam.
With one thoughtful gesture, Volkov had spared me from cutting remarks hidden behind jewel-encrusted hands and mocking laughter they wouldn’t have bothered to hide at all. I didn’t want to like him for it, not when I knew he had an agenda where I was concerned, but I appreciated his thoughtfulness all the same.
“Tell Mr. Volkov I appreciate his generosity.” I accepted the bag before the driver could drape it over my shoulder to be rid of its responsibility. “I look forward to seeing him tonight.”
The driver executed a tight bow, turned on his heel and left.
I shut the door and bounced off Neely’s chest. The little eavesdropper.
“He bought you a dress.” Neely snatched the bag and hung it on a coat hook. “You don’t find him dressing you a tad bit, oh, I don’t know, possessive? Have you ever watched Pretty Woman?”
“I’m broke, not a hooker.” I shouldered him aside and glided down the zipper. “Volkov is saving me from embarrassing myself—and him—by showing up in hand-me-downs.”
A clatter drew my eye to the kitchen. Amelie stood there with a rose from my garden in one hand, its petals the same pink as the dress she’d loaned me, and one strappy shoe dangled from the other. Its mate must have slipped through her fingers when I insulted her generosity.
“Guess you won’t be needing these.” Voice tight, she tossed the rose on the coffee table and collected the fallen shoe. “I’ll be around later in case you want to talk when you get home.”
“Amelie…” I reached for her, but she bolted, the door slamming behind her. “I didn’t realize she was there.”
“She knocked on the back door while you were talking to the driver. I didn’t think you’d mind if I let her in.” He crossed the room and lifted the rose to his face. “She took the back way around so she could trim a boutonniere for your date.”
I hung my head as shame washed through me. “I didn’t mean it to come out like that.”
The difference in our classes had never mattered to me. I didn’t mind the dress so much as I hated that I couldn’t provide for myself, let alone on the level I had grown accustomed to as Maud’s heir. Borrowing reminded me of all I had lost, but this… There was no excuse for hurting Amelie. None.