And as the chest came closer, he felt it.
“My lord,” said the steward, opening the chest to reveal a set of pewter goblets, identical to the one Voss had given him, that Dimitri had drunk from and still held in his hand. “I found these in the front alcove. Hidden behind the curtain.”
With the coffer lying open, Dimitri was assaulted by the presence of a ruby. His chest became heavy, his breath thicker, his limbs slower. It took him only an instant to realize what Voss had intended. He’d been swapping the cups, refilling each new one with brandy, all in an effort to see which cup caused him to display some weakness. Fury rose inside Dimitri as he turned his attention to Voss.
The other man lifted his glass in salute. “A gift for my host. A collection of a dozen of the finest craftsmanship.”
“So that’s what you’ve done,” Dimitri said. It took incredible effort for him to move and speak as if nothing was wrong, despite the fact that his companion was watching him closely. “I wondered. And you expected to trick me thus?”
It was just the sort of thing Voss did, purely for amusement.
Which was precisely why Dimitri had never fully trusted the man.
And why he would not, simply would not show any weakness. The ruby was far enough away, and obviously of an insignificant size, so that he wasn’t completely paralyzed or weakened. Which implied, at least, that Voss meant him no real harm.
And then suddenly, Dimitri saw something else that drew his attention from the chagrined man in front of him.
Cezar Moldavi had just entered the chamber, surrounded by five of his companions.
Another problem to attend to, but one that much more delicate.
Silently Dimitri cursed Voss even more viciously. Not only was he impaired by a good portion of excellent brandy laced with salvi, but also by the presence of a ruby.
“I would throttle you but I’m afraid I have more imminent concerns to deal with. But you are no longer welcome here, Voss. See that he leaves,” he added to the steward, forcing the words out as smoothly as he could.
Voss stood and gave a short little bow. But Dimitri no longer had any interest in him.
“Who allowed that child-bleeder entrance?” he growled, still in his seat. Even Lerina shifted away, seeing the warning in his face as he looked around for his manager. Where the bloody hell was Yfreto? “I gave strict instructions—”
“Dimitri,” said Moldavi, sweeping toward them boldly. “Your place is quite accommodating.”
The other man was slight of build, but neatly groomed. His unwigged and unpowdered dark hair was combed straight down over his forehead in the old style of a Crusader. He had a wide jaw and full lips, and he carried himself as if expecting to need to defend an attack at any moment. His shoulders hunched slightly, but his eyes never seemed to rest in one place for long.
Dimitri merely looked coolly at him. He made no move to rise, nor allowed any inflection into his voice. “I hardly expected to see you here, Moldavi.” Especially since Dimitri had dissolved their business partnership over a year ago, buying out his would-be partner while the building was still in the early stages of construction. “There aren’t any children about.”
“More’s the pity,” said Moldavi. His voice had a bit of a sibilant hiss due to an accident wherein his jaw hadn’t healed properly. Rumor had it he’d been beaten and left for dead by a band of his schoolmates. “Children have the sweetest, purest blood.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Dimitri replied, still concentrating on his breathing. The chest with the goblets was still on the floor nearby, but he would not give Voss—who was taking his time leaving the chamber—the satisfaction of confirming the man’s trick. Revealing one’s Asthenia was akin to acknowledging a flaccid c**k or any other private weakness. Not to mention dangerous. “I don’t recall sending you an invitation, Cezar.”
The other man smiled unpleasantly, and a tiny gold fleck glinted in his left fang. “I was certain it had been an oversight. You’ve always been so inclusive of all of us. Which is why I brought a gift for you.” He stepped aside and revealed a cloaked figure behind him.
Dimitri had never met Cezar’s sister before, but there was no mistaking her, for her beauty was legendary among the Dracule. Narcise Moldavi was easily one of the most striking women living—or immortal, as she happened to be. Her skin was smooth and ivory, and she had violet-blue eyes that were disconcertingly empty. Long, shiny black hair fell in lush waves over her shoulders. And her violet gown was made of some material that clung to her as if molded in the wind, revealing taut ni**les, the jut of her hip bones, and even the swell of her mons venus. Other than a bracelet encircling her upper arm with a feather dangling from it, she wore no other adornment.
It wasn’t because of Lerina—or even Meg—that Dimitri was unmoved, however. “I have no interest in your leavings, Moldavi,” he said. Despite the lure and lull of the salvi, there were a variety of reasons Narcise’s presence had no impact on him, including the emptiness in her face. Although he’d seen the brief flash of shame and anger in her eyes, Dimitri saw that it was clear she was under her brother’s control. “Especially your sister. Although, she’s not precisely your type, is she? You prefer to let others partake while you sniff out other amusements.” Such as hard cocks and little children.
“You dare to insult my family?” Moldavi’s eyes burned with fury. His companions closed ranks, showing their fangs.
“On the contrary. The insult was directed to you alone,” he replied. “Now if you’ll excuse me.” He made it a statement, not a question, and turned away from the repugnant man. Dimitri didn’t trust himself to stand, but he had no fear of putting his back to Cezar Moldavi.
At that moment, another of Dimitri’s acquaintances, Lord Eddersley, approached, and took Voss’s vacant seat.
“Is all well?” he asked Dimitri, eyeing Moldavi over his host’s shoulder and then meeting his eyes.
Dimitri felt the shift in the air and the change in smell as Cezar Moldavi and his group moved on. He had no illusions that the man was actually going to leave the premises, but Dimitri wasn’t inclined to make a scene. Not tonight.
He didn’t need to prove anything, and Moldavi had obviously wished to make the point to his companions: that he could enter uninvited and disrupt Dimitri’s evening. Engaging with the man would only fuel Moldavi’s fire, and give him more attention than he deserved.