Elemental Assassin 03 - Venom

Donovan Caine. With pure, focused interest—and the determination to get what he wanted. Me. Despite my doubts about him, it was… nice to be looked at that way. Instead of with the cold suspicion that the detective had almost always shown me.
    Owen reached over and slipped his hand in mine. His palm was pleasantly cool against my skin, and I felt a little surge of magic brush against the spider rune scar embedded in my palm. Grayson’s eyes brightened, as though someone had struck a match in his violet gaze. In addition to being a successful businessman, Owen Grayson also had an elemental talent for metal. To be considered a true elemental, you had to be gifted in one of the four major areas—Air, Fire, Ice, or Stone. But lots of folks were magically skilled in offshoots of the four elements, like electricity or water. In Owen’s case, his talent for metal, a branch of Stone magic, let him sense all kinds of metal and ore, control them, and even forge them into whatever he wanted.
    “The silverstone’s still in there,” I said in a wry tone. “If that’s what you were looking for.”
    Owen shook his head. “I’ll admit I’m curious as to exactly how you could get so much of the metal melted into your skin like that—especially shaped like a spider rune. And why you carry so many silverstone knives on you all the time. Curiosity is a trait of mine, I’m afraid. But I was much more interested in just holding your hand.”
    “What are you? Twelve?”
    Grayson flashed me another smile. “Sometimes the most sensual pleasures are the simplest ones.”
    I looked at him a moment. Then I threw back my head and laughed. “Wow. That was lame. Do you try that line out on all the ladies? Or just me?”
    Instead of being insulted, Grayson’s smile deepened, and his violet eyes glowed with warmth. “Just you, Gin. You’re the only one who’s ever called me on it.”
    Owen made me laugh, I’d give him that. So I sat there and let him hold my hand instead of telling him to get lost.
    Grayson’s thumb traced over the circle embedded in my palm, the center of the spider rune that marked my skin. A little tingle of interest sparked to life in the pit of my stomach. A small sizzle of awareness, of potential, of possibilities. I regarded Owen a little more closely, letting my eyes drift over his powerful shoulders, thick arms, solid chest. The warm tingle spread out, rippled through my stomach, and drifted even lower. Hmm. Maybe I should take Owen Grayson up on his offer of sex. Maybe that would help me purge these lingering feelings I had for Donovan Caine and get the detective out of my system once and for all.
    “I’ve asked you before, and I’ll ask you again,” Grayson said. “Go out with me, Gin. Dinner, dancing, a movie. Whatever you want. On me. All I ask is the pleasure of your company.”
    I took another sip of my bitter drink. “And what if I’m not good company?”
    He shrugged. “Then we’ll chalk it up to a failed experiment. What do you say?”
    I opened my mouth to say… something, I wasn’t quite sure what, when a woman stopped in front of our booth.
    “Owen! What a pleasure to see you here tonight,” the woman said.
    I recognized her. Roslyn Phillips. The vampire madam and owner of Northern Aggression. Roslyn was a gorgeous woman from head to toe. Full, perky breasts, tight thighs, curved hips, and an ass that looked like it had been sculpted by Michelangelo. With a figure like that, it was no wonder Roslyn used sex to power up, along with blood.
    Some vamps were like that, especially the ones who worked in the Ashland flesh trade. All vamps needed blood, of course, drinking it down the way humans might swallow a daily dose of vitamins. But many vamps also got a similar high off sex—or feeding off the emotions of others. Those who charged for their sexual services experienced the buzz
and
got paid for their time and expertise. Win-win for them. Which is why a large majority of the hookers in Ashland were vampires. Well, that and the fact they lived so long. Hooking was a skill that would always be in demand, despite the changing times. Always good to have a plan B to fall back on, in case of recession or lousy stock investments.
    Roslyn Phillips was dressed for a night at the club, and the vamp’s silver miniskirt and matching suit jacket showed off all her glorious assets to their ultimate perfection. Now I didn’t look too shabby tonight in my own form-fitting black pants, blue