"I'll have one of my men get it," Slater said. "Until then, you can stay right here next to me where it's warm."
Roslyn stared past Slater at me. Emotions whirled in her dark eyes. Panic. Fear. Hate. Disgust. Rage. So much rage. The vampire dropped her gaze from mine and shuddered out a breath. For a moment, I thought she might give in, might go with Slater and erode a little more of her soul in the process.
Roslyn huffed out another breath. Her whole body stilled, as though she'd been frozen alive by an Ice elemental. Another breath, this one so shallow that her shoulders barely lifted. Then, her spine slowly straightened, and her whole body lifted up, as though she was gathering her strength for what was to come. Roslyn raised her head last. For a moment, she swayed side to side, like a delicate flower tracking the movement of the sun. Then her eyes snapped open. Hate made Roslyn's dark gaze burn as bright as any Fire elemental's.
"Don't put your hands on me."
Slater frowned. "What did you say, baby?"
"I said don't put your f**king hands on me!" Roslyn screamed.
She shoved the giant as hard as she could. Like all vampires, Roslyn had above-average strength. But Slater was a giant, and a big one at that. He took only two steps back. But Roslyn didn't care. Everything that she'd been suppressing these past few days-all the anger and rage and fear and helplessness-all of it just erupted. Spewed out of her like foul venom from a copperhead's pointed fangs. And Roslyn finally let out the heavy, terrible secret she'd been carrying.
"You're never touching me again!" the vampire screamed. "Never! Do you hear me, you sick bastard? You're never putting your filthy hands on me again! I'd rather die first!"
All conversation on the deck stopped. All the drinking, all the gambling, everything. Everyone in attendance focused on Roslyn Phillips. With her clenched fists, trembling body, and hard mouth, the vampire resembled some beautiful Valkyrie or goddess, angered beyond the point of all reason.
Roslyn realized that everyone was watching her. But instead of being cowed into silence by the attention, the hate in her eyes blazed even brighter, a bonfire burning out of control.
"Do your rich friends know what a bastard you are?" Roslyn screamed. "How you've been stalking me? How you've been coming to my club every single night and making me fix your stupid drinks and kiss you like a lover? Does your boss know what kind of sick f**k you are? How you made me come here tonight and pretend to be your f**king girlfriend even though I hate you, even though I loathe you?"
A lot of bad things happened in Ashland on a daily basis. Robberies, beatings, murders. Still, shocked gasps rippled through the crowd at the vampire's words. Every eye landed on Elliot Slater. The giant turned his head this way and that, feeling the heavy judgment of all in attendance, before his gaze snapped back to Roslyn.
"Calm down, baby."
Slater's voice was soft, but his eyes were cold, flat, hard. His right hand clenched and unclenched into a massive fist, and his knuckles cracked with the movement. The pale, chalky skin of his cheeks turned a mottled red with rage, and his thin mop of blond hair bristled with anger. Roslyn had just called Slater on his predilections in the most public and humiliating of ways. The bastard was seconds away from hitting her-or worse, snapping the vamp's neck outright.
I palmed one of my silverstone knives and got ready to move. He wasn't going to touch her. Not as long as I still had a breath left in my body.
The giant stretched out a hand to do something to Roslyn. Hit her, draw her closer. But Roslyn didn't give him a chance. Even as he reached for her, the vampire picked up her long skirt, turned, and ran away as fast as she could. Her heels clattered against the deck and then the gangplank, the echo growing fainter with every step.
Slater stood on the deck, momentarily stunned. Then, he shook his head and started after the vamp. I shifted my weight forward, ready to follow him-
"Elliot."
That single, breathy word was enough to stop Slater and make him jerk back like a dog on a leash. The crowd parted, and Mab Monroe stepped forward. The swish-swish of her black silk dress sounded as loud as a vacuum cleaner in the absolute silence. The Fire elemental stopped at the giant's shoulder and patted his arm. Mab's black eyes seemed to suck in all the available light as she studied her number-one enforcer.
"Let her go, Elliot," Mab said in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear. "You know how troubled poor Roslyn is. All those pills she's on for her mood swings and depression. I'm sure she'll come to her senses. When she does, she'll be quite embarrassed about those horrible things she just said. I'm sure she'll offer you a very sincere, very public apology."
At this point, Mab was speaking to the crowd as a whole, rather than to the giant. The Fire elemental was letting everyone know that Roslyn Phillips was persona non grata, as Finn would say. As for all the talk about Roslyn being troubled, I imagined Mab would trot out those same tired lines when the vampire's body was pulled out of whatever dark hole Slater was planning to plant her in.
Because that's what the giant had in mind. Whatever twisted obsession or feeling he'd had for Roslyn was gone, burned away by her bitter truths. Now, only hate filled Slater's face. Pure, simple, murderous hate.
Mab looked at Phillip Kincaid first, since the riverboat was his gin joint, giving him the courtesy of at least pretending to defer to him on his home turf. After a moment, the handsome casino owner nodded at her, accepting her statement, even though he knew it was all so much bullshit, just like everyone else did. But there was nothing he or anyone else could do about it.
The Fire elemental stared at one person after another, daring anyone to challenge her phony words. After a few seconds, all but the bravest souls dropped their eyes from Mab's and went back to whatever they'd been doing before. Talking, drinking, gambling. Slowly, the noise level returned to normal. Mab pulled Slater toward the back of the deck, where Jonah McAllister stood. The three of them put their heads together and started talking to each other once more.
I waited, but Slater made no move toward the gangplank, and he didn't summon over any of his men to go chasing after Roslyn. Well, that was something at least.
I tucked my silverstone knife back up my sleeve and turned to Owen Grayson. The businessman's eyes were dark and hooded, and I didn't feel like reading the emotions swimming in the depths of his gaze. Time enough for that later. Right now, there was only one thing to do.
"C'mon. Let's get out of here," I whispered to Owen.
He stared at me a moment before replying with a single word. "Gladly."