Persephone Alcmedi 00 - Wicked Circle

can’t hurt my chances.”
    Admittedly, I examined his backside as he leaned down and rambled around a shelf. He had a very nice, round ass. When he stood straight, I inspected the rip on my blazer more studiously. “Tell me your plan.”
    “It begins with these.” He held up a bottle of wine and a small plate bearing slices of marbled cheese, salami, and little crackers. Seeing my dubious expression, he added, “Fear not. You do not overindulge, and I am not a lecher, so getting you drunk and taking advantage of you is not part of my plan, though it is a wildly good idea that I have entertained. Tonight, however, your shaking hands belie a need that I am well acquainted with. A drink would help.” He retrieved a glass from the cupboard and set about uncorking the wine.
    “Telling me what your plan is not is not telling me your plan.”
    “True.” He poured. “You are not materialistic, so pretty things will not sway you, but I will woo you with time, Persephone.” He set the bottle aside and presented me with the glass. “It is the one thing I have that dear John does not.”
    Johnny. I did not accept the slender stem. Could I ever trust Johnny again?
    I relived the rooftop attack.
    After scenting my blood, his beast had conquered his man-mind. But even in human form, he was losing control when we had sex at the den. He’d recovered, but. . . . Do I want to bear the scars—both the emotional and the physical ones—of him relearning his self-control? I had to believe that he could regain control.
    “Persephone.” Menessos put power behind the whisper and warmth fluttered down my spine, down my legs, and echoed back up with a fine resonance that hinted at the kind of thrills this vampire could induce. “Drink the wine.”
    I drank the wine.

CHAPTER THIRTY

    M eroveus Franciscus sat separate from his guests aboard the plane, assessing them. Aware that he would need someone to give the sisters use of a modern language, he’d reviewed the files on their colleagues in Athens on the plane before the dawn had claimed him. He’d wanted someone who was generally naïve, who served with an excessive amount of adoration, and who had more than average debt. Zevon was part of the arrangements that had been made.
    In addition to language, the sisters now knew what Zevon knew of the world.
    He hadn’t wanted them to know too much. Zevon did not have much use for current events, international politics, or the names or locations of world leaders. It would not bode well for the shabbubitum to know such things. Their reputation indicated they could not resist powerful temptations . . . so, better to shield them from it.
    But he could not shield them from the novelty and comfort of a limousine. He could not keep them from seeing the modern city of Athens or the ruins that made them cry. He could not keep them ignorant of the machine that carried them into the air, or the impressive nightscape of New York City as the Gulfstream landed.
    He could, however, make them remain on the plane while it refueled.
    Mero checked his messages. An assistant had left him a lengthy voice mail about the Zvonul having announced the confirmation of a Domn Lup, and followed it with the public details. Not good for Menessos if Giovanni has his way.
    Minutes later, the shabbubitum grew excited as lights streaked toward the plane, and they chattered to themselves seeing that it was another limousine. It was no surprise when the cabin door was opened and Giovanni boarded.
    He had to see. Like a child, he must poke at the dead things he has found.
    The sisters remained in their seats, attentive but quiet as they considered Giovanni. Ailo and Talto reacted to his exposed scars and warped skin with unmistakable revulsion. Liyliy’s expression revealed only a wary curiosity.
    Giovanni visually inspected them as well, obviously noting with predictable male appreciation the curves beneath the gray silk. His gaze lingered on the eldest. “What is your name, my beauty?”
    At the sound of his voice, her curious expression fell into a repulsed sneer. She stood. “I am Liyliy.”
    Giovanni’s admiration dissolved with her revulsion. “Has Mero told you the purpose of your freedom?”
    “He speaks little.” She lifted her chin. “But he is more pleasant to hear.”
    Features hardening into a scowl as rigid as the flesh of the disfigurement he flaunted, Giovanni spun to the doorway behind him and barked, “Bring him.”
    Mero knew what was