Guild Hunter 02 - Angels' Flight

voice. “Remember that one he was with when we were at court together, Cal?”
     
    “That countess with six dead husbands.” Callan shook his head. “You’d think with age would come wisdom.”
     
    “Instead,
mon ami
’s got himself in trouble from what I hear.”
     
    Callan put down his wineglass. “Oh?”
     
    “Games, Cal?” Janvier raised a sarcastic eyebrow. “You know of Antoine’s difficulties—word is, you’ve got yourself a kiss.”
     
    “You know a lot for someone who’s passing through.” Cool words, guarded eyes.
     
    Janvier shrugged. “Keeps me alive. I’m staying clear of Antoine this visit—I don’t want Nazarach’s attention.”
     
    The leader of the Fox kiss picked up his glass again. “Where are you staying?”
     
    Ashwini answered for both of them. “We’re not. He promised me we’d be out of here tonight.”
     
    Janvier leaned in close, murmuring just loud enough that the others would hear. “Come, sugar, one night? I will make it up to you.”
     
    Ashwini scowled, let him murmur more promises before nodding with obvious reluctance. “One night.”
     
    “So,” Janvier said, turning back to Callan, “can you put us up, old friend?”
     
    “We were never friends,” Callan replied. “But… we could be.”
     
    A shwini found herself relegated to the guest bedroom in Callan’s fortress of a mansion on the outskirts of Atlanta, while the Fox leader took Janvier aside for a “cigar.” Knowing she was under surveillance, Ashwini locked herself in the bathroom, checked that it wasn’t wired, then tried to figure out if she could make her way through the old-fashioned air vent. It would be a tight fit, she thought, but she could do it.
    “No time like the present.” Stripping down to a tank top and boxer shorts, she turned on the shower, and used the cover of noise to unscrew the plate and get herself into the shaft. There was barely enough wiggle room that she could move. Good thing she didn’t have hips to speak of.
     
    Keeping a mental map in her head, she began to crawl through dust and piles of small, round, hard things that she preferred not to think about. Thank God she’d had all her inoculations. The first room she came to was empty; the second full of the murmurs of men and women grabbing something to eat. The third she almost bypassed because it was so quiet, but something made her stop, take a second look.
     
    The woman in front of the vanity was utterly and absolutely lovely. Hair that was stunningly close to true gold, eyes of electric blue, full lips and skin so smooth and flawless, it was almost translucent against the white satin of her thigh-length robe. And she’d only been a vampire a year.
     
    What would Monique Beaumont look like after a century of vampirism?
     
    Ashwini’s lips pursed in a silent whistle. Given that it took decades for most vampires to reach Monique’s level of physical perfection, the woman might just put the angels to shame. But right now, as she brushed her hair, it was a very humansmile that flirted with those lush red lips. Nothing about her screamed “captive.”
     
    That fit with what Nazarach had said about Callan treating her well until Antoine was out of the equation. As if the thought had conjured him up, the door opened to reveal the vampire in question, his blunt masculinity at odds with the sky blue and cream décor of what was clearly a woman’s bou-doir.
     
    “Callie,” Monique said, her tone husky with reproach. “It’s getting tedious to be confined to this room.”
     
    Locking the door behind himself, Callan leaned back against it, arms crossed, as Monique shifted around on her stool—to display the sleek length of one slender thigh. The gesture was sexual, but it was the look in the woman’s eyes that interested Ashwini. Predatory… but also aroused?
     
    Feeling like a voyeur, she continued to watch as Monique ran her hand down her thigh. “Has my father agreed to your ransom?”
     
    Callan’s eyes locked on Monique’s fingers where she touched herself with slow, hypnotic strokes. “I haven’t asked for a ransom.”
     
    Monique pouted, all sex and a sweet, dark hunger. “Are you planning to kill me, Callie?”
     

5
     
    “Y ou’re not that good, Monique, so stop with the seduction act.” Hard words, but his voice had dropped, his face tight with strain.
    Getting up off the stool, the beautiful vampire crossed the thick cream-colored carpet. “Liar. I’m