Lover Beware

of coffee.
    “Something amuses you?”
    “I have an odd sense of humor,” she said apologetically. “I thought of those ads—you know, the public service ones?—where parents of teenagers are told to nag them about where they’re going, who they’ll be with, all that. And I pictured one aimed for the parents of teenage lupi: ‘Where are you going? Who else will be there? Have you eaten? I expect you back before the moon rises, young man!’ ”
    He burst into laughter. “You’re not that far off.”
    A bubble of happiness lodged beneath her breastbone. She liked the sound of his laughter, the way his head went back to open his throat to it, the smooth line of his throat… uhoh , she thought, the bubble popping. What’s happening here?
    She poured more creamer into her coffee so she could stir it around. A light touch on her cheek made her look up, startled.
    “Hey. The light suddenly turned off in your face. What happened?”
    She could have told him again to keep his hands to himself, but it would have been dishonest. Somehow, between one grin and a moment of shared laughter, they’d stepped outside their proper roles and entered undefined territory.
    But the very lack of definition made complete honesty impossible. She couldn’t refer to a relationship that hovered over them only in potential, a heavy cloud that might hold storm and lightning—or might pass on without shedding a single drop. She certainly couldn’t tell him that his promiscuity repelled her.
    Lily chose her words carefully. “You have two sons yourself, I understand.”
    “It seems you do read the Tattler .”
    “Like I said earlier, after the first killing I did some research.”
    “On me?” His mouth twisted. “What exactly is it you suspect me of?”
    She shrugged, uncomfortable but unwilling to apologize for doing her job. “You’re very well known. You live in the enclave—”
    “Clanhome. We don’t call it an enclave.”
    “All right, then, you live at Clanhome, but you have a condo here in the city and you travel all over the place, partying with the Hollywood crowd, meeting with policy makers in Sacramento and Washington. You’ve made yourself into a public figure, and I have to think that’s intentional—you’re trying to replace the old stereotypes with an image you’ve consciously created. Of course I found out what I could about you.”
    One corner of his mouth tipped up, more in irony than humor. “You’re perceptive. Has it occurred to you that if I’ve been creating an image, whatever information is available about me would be part of that image?”
    “And not necessarily true, you mean? But the image tells me things, too. Like what you want people to believe about lupi. Why does your father so seldom appear in public?”
    He studied her for a moment, his mouth drawn into a thin line, as grimly expressive as those remarkable eyebrows. “You should ask him that. He prefers not to come into the city, however. You’ll have to go to Clanhome.”
    “I tried that. They wouldn’t let me inside the gates. I’ve called. A very polite young woman told me she’d pass on my message. You can get me in, though.”
    “I could get you in, yes, but just getting inside the gates won’t do you any good. No one would answer your questions. You need the backing of the Lupois. Give me a few days to arrange things.”
    Or to hide whatever needed to be hidden. “What needs arranging?”
    “My father is away right now. Wait until he returns.”
    The muscles along her cheeks and jaws tightened. He was concealing something, and doing a clumsy job of it. “Why can’t you arrange for me to speak with people at Clanhome yourself? Aren’t you in charge with your father gone?”
    “It doesn’t work that way.” His fingers stroked up and down the mug absently.
    “How does it work, then?”
    “I’m not like a vice-president, able to step in if the real leader is unavailable. I’m the prince and the heir, and…” His smile flickered. “A poster boy for my people. I have no authority of my own. I simply uphold the Lupois’s authority.”
    “Okay.” He seemed to think he was telling her something significant, but nothing he’d said so far was startling. “How do you get to be prince, anyway? Is it strictly hereditary?”
    “To be named prince, I had to prove three things. That I was of royal blood, yes, though we do not follow primogeniture. My father has two other sons, both older than I am.”
    “I