“Hi.”
Taking his time to respond to the soft greeting, he found himself looking into a pair of uptilted brown eyes made up with glittering green and black kohl, her cheekbones sharp under glowing brown skin and her hair a sheet of ebony. “Hi.” He kept his tone deliberately cool, reading her like he would an open book—the kitten, it seemed, wanted to play with a wolf.
Sinking her teeth into her plump lower lip, the gloss she wore a sheen of wet, she slid her hand down his biceps. “I saw your girlfriend leave.”
When he didn’t shake her off, she stepped close enough that her breasts pressed into his body, her fingers curving around his upper arm at the same time. “She didn’t treat you right.”
“She’s passionate.” A woman who loved and fought with her heart and her soul, unrestrained and furiously honest.
“I can be passionate.” A husky invitation. “And I have friends.”
Shifting to face the group toward which she’d nodded, the three others ensconced in an intimate seating area, he found enticing smiles pointed in his direction. “Are your friends accommodating?” He leaned back with his elbows braced on the bar.
“Oh, yes.” The kitten brushed her fingers over the pulse in her neck. “Very.”
Janvier found her attempts at manipulation amusing; she clearly had no idea of exactly how big a wolf she’d approached. “I don’t move on the claimed.”
“We aren’t with anyone.” A hair flip, both hands now holding on to one of his biceps. “We like our freedom.”
Translated, they liked the high of fangs at the vein but didn’t actually want to get into a relationship with a near-immortal. Allowing his lips to curve into a slightly predatory smile that made the woman’s breath catch, her pupils dilate, he straightened and, drink in one hand, walked with her to her friends.
They’d left a spot for him in between Louis’s fantasy twins. He should’ve taken the invitation, but he didn’t. He didn’t want anyone pawing him, male or female. The deception he was playing didn’t alter the truth of his nature—Janvier had given himself to Ash and that was it. Playing hard to get, he sprawled in an armchair across from the twins, the male donor to his right. Green Jumpsuit perched herself on the arm of his seat, silky thighs within effortless reach.
He didn’t reach, didn’t stroke, but his cool attitude seemed to make the foursome even more eager to please. Before long, the entire group was clustered around him, breathless and excited and ready to go with him into one of the private booths in the back. “Unless you want to feed here,” the blonde on the left said in a sultry tone. “That’s okay, too.”
“Only they don’t allow nudity on the main floor,” the other blonde added, her palm on her chest, above the low-cut neckline of a bustier of incongruously innocent white lace. “We’d like to please you in every way.”
The male’s pale white skin filled with a flush of color when Janvier glanced at him. “Are you as compliant and eager?”
An immediate nod. “Anything you want.”
Putting down his glass, Janvier forced himself to place his hand on the thigh displayed to him, though he felt more like telling the group to get the fuck out of this life they were in. It wasn’t the random fang-and-fuck lifestyle that worried him—it was the fact that a strong vampire could incapacitate all four within seconds. Janvier could do it before a scream escaped even one throat. He didn’t think they understood that, believing themselves safe in a group.
It was an ignorance he’d rectify before he left, especially given how many vampires he’d noted in the room whose tendencies echoed Khalil’s. Louis’s meat market was becoming more deadly with each passing minute, the hum of bloodlust below the surface troubling.
“Yes.” Throaty seductiveness from the girl beside him. “We’re ready to be your toys. Shall I ask the bartender for a booth key?”
“I think no one has taught you the value of patience,” he said in a deep purr of a tone that had the blondes squirming and the male erect beneath his tight-fitting pants. “Has no one ever spent hours with you? Taking a sip at a time, drawing out the pleasure until it is part insanity, part pain?”
“No,” the blondes breathed.
“We . . . we could go to a hotel if you want.” Flushing, the green-jumpsuited girl put her hand over his and rubbed her thumb gently across the back of his knuckles.
Janvier battled the violent urge to wrench it back—he didn’t want to be known as available. He wasn’t available, hadn’t been since the day he’d met Ash, and he wanted the entire world to know that. But he was also loyal to the Tower and to Raphael, and this crime threatened the stability of the city. More, he knew his hunter would not rest easy until they gave their victim the dignity of a name.
So he played the game, eased the conversation toward the victim without alerting the four donors of his intent. He made them believe she’d fed him the last time he’d been in this club, that he couldn’t quite remember her name, intimated they’d been too involved in other things to bother with exchanging such mundane information.
It was the male who said, “I think you mean Felicity.” He went to his knees beside Janvier’s armchair, put his hand on Janvier’s own knee. “I was with her when she got her tat a couple of years ago. I got one, too. See?” He pumped up a muscle to show it off.
“It is excellent work.” Janvier examined the blue-green dragon, to the boy’s pleasure. The male didn’t go back to his seat afterward, leaning instead against Janvier’s leg like an affectionate pet.