Demon Night

rubbing the side of his brow. His smile widened and formed a slash beside his mouth that might have been a dimple in a softer face.
    Her first impression of him had been a neat and precise man, but now she revised it. His coat stretched a little tight across the shoulders, the sleeves edged a little high on his wrists.
    Or maybe not. Vin appeared at the end of the bar, and by the time she filled the order and returned, everything seemed to fit just right—though he was still bigger than she’d first thought.
    He’d lost the light mood, too, frowning down into his scotch, his expression that of a man telling himself he shouldn’t be doing something, but not quite convincing himself of it yet.
    Charlie laid her forearms on the bar, leaned in. “So I’m guessing the remainder of that drink isn’t for a fish.”
    “No.” His brusque response seemed to end it, but after a moment he pinched the bridge of his nose and said abruptly, “My brother. I thought he’d had a second chance—maybe had a family. A woman to hold on to. Unlike your friend on the computer, he had a way with them.”
    She worked it over, chose her words carefully. “You hadn’t heard from him in a long time?” Hopefully, it had just been that—his brother getting in touch, and the shock of discovering he was in bad circumstances.
    “No. And won’t again, I figure.”
    Dead, then. And the news had been recent and unexpected. He didn’t sound like a man who’d had time to get used to the idea.
    She watched him finish off his drink and hoped he would hear the genuine sympathy in her voice, see it on her face when she said, “I can’t give you another, not right away. But if you want some coffee or—”
    “No.” He stood, took a beaten leather wallet from inside his jacket, slipped out several folded bills. He didn’t throw the money to the bar, but held it out. “The balance is yours. For the story.”
    She deliberately let her fingers rest against his before sliding the money from his grasp. His hand was steady as a rock, his gaze clear and focused, but drunk didn’t always show. “You aren’t driving?”
    His smile was slow and warm. “No, Charlie. But I’m grateful for your concern.” He leaned forward.
    Oh, Lord, did he have moves. Smooth and quick. His mouth pressed softly against hers. Charlie stood frozen, her forearms crossed on the surface of the bar. He lingered for the space of a breath, then pulled away.
    For a long second she couldn’t respond, couldn’t do anything but stare into his eyes. Thin lines of amber striated the green, like a starburst of gold on a field of emerald.
    Finally she shook herself, licked her lips—and tasted alcohol.
    His gaze followed the movement of her fingers as she wiped away the smoky flavor of the whiskey before she could begin to want more. His voice roughened. “I apologize, Charlie. That was awful forward of me.”
    She should have been enraged, or upset, or—something. But she only said, “I stole a kiss from someone tonight, too.”
    “I doubt he thought it was thievery.” He looked at her for a long moment. “And I’m hard-pressed to feel true shame for stealing one from you. That was also for my brother—I’d have died for him to have something so sweet.” He glanced over her shoulder. His face hardened, his eyes cooled to emerald again. “I’d have killed to give it to him, too.”
    She was too breathless to form a strong farewell when he turned, and she watched him walk through the lounge with her heart pounding far too quickly. She’d completely misjudged his size when he’d been sitting: as he passed the hostess’s podium, he was a head taller than Melody. And unless he’d been standing on the brass rail, he must have been at least six foot two or so to lean over the counter and kiss her.
    She blinked when he finally moved out of sight, and glanced down at the five twenties in her hand, then at the ice melting into the pale amber liquid at the bottom of his glass.
    Definitely not a port.

CHAPTER 6
    That had been about the most damn fool thing he’d ever done.
    His mouth a hard line, Ethan stared out over the city, contemplating the speed with which he’d lost his hold on that shape.
    Usually, he could shift into his father’s form for much longer. He looked down at his hands, concentrated on an image of them smaller. They shrank, sure enough, but it was a damned unsettling feeling.
    He was just too comfortable in his own skin; putting on someone