He hadn’t expected this … so, shit.
He felt a slight movement of air behind him and stiffened. Without looking around he said, “Hello, Darian. How’s tricks?”
He turned to face his co-conspirator, who stood just three feet away and bore a slight sheen on his forehead. Caz smiled. Apparently the man with ambitions to rule two worlds had been forced to work pretty hard to get through the shields Caz had placed all around his hotel room.
Very nice.
Greaves held his right hand in his left and gave his onyx pinkie ring an infinitesimal adjustment.
“Tricks, Casimir?” Darian glanced at the offending sofa and offered a soft grunt of disapproval. He turned away and moved to an uninjured pale cream chair near the window. He sat down, smoothing the back of his tailored wool suit as he did, as though feeling the length of old-fashioned tails.
Caz knew the sensation well. He often regretted the passing of the very best of men’s fashion from the early 1800s.
“Didn’t we all look grand in our waistcoats and breeches?” he asked.
Darian nodded. “The neckcloths. Remember the neckcloths?”
“Three feet of the finest linen. I had Brummell himself teach me how to do the little folds. But then no doubt you did not come here to discuss British fashion.”
Darian splayed the fingers of his right hand. “No. I wish to understand how the devil you sent eighty death vampires to that absurd, weedy outdoor chapel then lost all of them without even drawing blood once against our enemy?”
“I have asked myself that question at least a dozen times.” He crossed to the bar and removed ingredients he’d arranged ahead of time for this little interview: Old Tom Gin, juice of a lime, heavy cream, and a very ripe peach, mashed. It had been just a matter of time before the Commander would come, without the courtesy of an announcement, of course.
Using a stick blender he beat the hell out of the ingredients. He poured the result in a tall fizz glass, added Perrier, and crossed the room to present the result to Darian.
“Do you know what this is called?” Caz smiled down at him, at the man who was called the little peach by the opposition because he had won awards for his peach orchards in Estrella Two.
Darian’s very arched left brow rose as he took the glass in hand. He held it carefully, his left hand supporting the bottom. He sniffed and closed his eyes. “Lovely. Do tell.”
“Peach blow. I would have made it just for the name alone.”
“Yes,” Darian said, “I suppose you would have. It works on so many levels.” He sipped. “Very nice. I had this once in Atlanta, I think, around 1900 or so.”
Caz, sated as he was, did not partake of the drink. He didn’t want to spoil his buzz. The goth’s blood, so full of disease and cocaine and some other mood elevator he couldn’t quite identify, did cartwheels in his head as he fought off the effects of the drugs and syphilis.
He moved to sit in a companion chair opposite Greaves. He didn’t hurry the interview; nor did he rush to deliver explanations, even though he had one. He smiled. Timing was everything.
Greaves licked his lips. “So, as you can imagine, I’ve been asking myself if the price I’m paying for your services has any value at all.”
Caz slipped lower in his chair. He spread his legs a little wider and smiled. He still said nothing.
Greaves tapped the fingers of his left hand over the curved wooden arm of his chair. “Are you flirting with me again?”
Caz shrugged. “Perhaps.”
Greaves sighed. “What happened at the chapel? I suppose it was my own fault for getting my hopes up that in one fell swoop you would destroy the last barrier to the fulfillment of my ambitions.”
Caz stretched his legs out and flexed his hips. He scooted even lower in the chair. He locked his hands behind his head. He knew he had a powerful body, broad muscled chest, heavy thighs, and other considerable assets. “How do you like the blow?”
Darian, to his credit, never let his gaze slip below Caz’s shoulders, even when he flexed his pecs and rolled his abdomen, trying to get Greaves to notice what he had to offer.
“Enough of your games,” Darian said. He split his resonance, which sent a shard of pain splitting Caz’s mind in two.
Exquisite, he sent. That felt wonderful. Aloud, he said, “Are you now trying to seduce me?”
At that, Darian laughed. He set the glass on the marble-topped table at his elbow. “I take it you have something to tell me about the morning’s failed battle.”
Caz could feel the smile tug at the outer reaches of his lips. Ah, yes, timing. “How do you feel about obsidian flame?”
Darian grew very still. Most people, upon hearing such a deadly pronouncement, would start or gasp. Darian merely turned to stone and stared at him with his large, round innocent-looking brown eyes.
“Which variety?” he asked after a long stellar moment. He visibly forced himself to sit back in his seat. He crossed his legs at the knee; such a gentleman.
Caz chuckled. “Gold, but only you would immediately dissect the situation, draw the correct conclusions, and go to the heart of the matter. The woman, Fiona, the one who has been hunting Rith since her escape from blood slavery, issued a warning. At first I thought she was merely hypersensitive to preternatural imprints. But afterward, when I did a careful review, a closer examination frame by frame of my memory revealed her aura. There can be no mistake. She bears the gold mark of obsidian flame. Given the shields I used in order to disguise the death vampire force, except for an obsidian level of power, she should never have been able to discover my plan.
“You know what this means of course. Tell me you comprehend the scope here.”
Greaves’s nostrils flared. “A triad.”
“Yes, a f**king triad.”
Darian shifted his gaze to the thick carpet at Caz’s feet. His jaw twitched. After a moment, he lifted his gaze once more. “Do you know who the other two are?”
Caz shook his head. “Only that while I levitated high in the air to watch the unfolding of my plan, I felt a very powerful feminine energy next to me. This energy was very different from the woman who alerted Warrior Thorne to our presence. I couldn’t get a fix on her, but I believe she may have a connection to our gold obsidian.
“I confess I didn’t make much of it at the time, which might be a flaw I should examine, since my dismissal of the woman’s energy reflected the fact that I don’t have a very high regard for women. Oh, there I’ve said it. Now you will think less of me.”