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  Laurel navigated her way through square tables, most of them empty. Several customers were tucked into private booths against the walls, their conversations too low for her to make out. Making a beeline for the counter, she arrived with a girlish grin for the bartender.

  “Hey, Pepper. Slow night?” she asked.

  Pepper greeted her with a questioning arch of her pierced brow. “What's got you in such a good mood? And yeah, it's dragging tonight.”

  “Who said I'm in a good mood?” Laurel didn't bother to try and hide it. Pepper had a sixth sense about that kind of thing anyway.

  Pepper scoffed. “It's that glow you're wearing.”

  Laurel laughed and tucked Sebastian's card into her pocket for safekeeping. “What? I'm not glowing. You've been inhaling too many alcohol fumes.”

  “And don't even try to tell me it's from the cold. So spill it,” Pepper demanded with a 'gimme' gesture of her fingers. She had no shame butting right into the thick of things.

  “Somehow, I knew you'd pry it out of me. But no, this stranger in the graveyard-- you know the one stuck between the buildings a few blocks down? He helped me out when some guy started following me. Went along with this crazy charade I made up about being my husband. I mean, I never thought he'd actually hear me. And then walked me here. He did that whole elbow offering thing, too. Like you see in the movies.” Laurel leaned a hip against the edge of the bar and regarded her childhood friend with frank fondness.

  Pepper was the anti-Laurel; skin dressed in tattoos, face punctuated with steel and spikes and bars. Her black hair, scraped back into a ponytail, had tiny ribbons of electric blue dyed in.

  Blonde and blue-eyed, Laurel had no tattoos, preferred feminine clothes over the black Pepper perpetually wore, and the only piercings she owned were the two in her ears for earrings. Nevertheless, the girls understood each other on a fundamental level. Both born in the same small town in Kansas, Laurel grew up around boys and machines and was known to fight back when pushed into a corner. Pepper had been fighting one thing after another her whole life.

  "Yeah, really? You don't see that very much. Especially around here,” Pepper said.

  "No, never. Maybe I just don't know the right men.” Laurel made a derogatory noise in the back of her throat. That was the understatement of the decade.

  Pepper snorted. "You don't have a lot of luck where they're concerned. Even I've noticed and you've only been here four months. Oh hey, that reminds me. Kyle called again.”

  Laurel pinched the bridge of her nose for a moment. “I really wish he'd stop. He won't take no for an answer.”

  "He's getting real pushy. Even threatened to show up here, and I told him that I'd call the cops the second he walks in the door." A brief look of hostility crossed Pepper's face before she broke out a grin.

  The thought that Kyle might actually follow through made Laurel uneasy. She'd met Kyle Weller two weeks after her arrival in Sperling. At first, he'd seemed like a normal, hard-working young man with goals and ambitions. Their dates, and she'd only gone on three with him, had been typical and fun. Then his ugly, obsessive tendencies started to show through and Laurel put an end to their acquaintance.

  That's when the real trouble began. Late night calls, showing up when she went out, surprising her in the store. He'd come by Mystique twice but James, the other bartender and all around nice guy, had chased him out. Now he was putting the heat on again and Laurel wasn't sure how to handle him.

  Pepper's infectious, toothy smile distracted her and she reached across the bar to 'beep' the woman's nose. An action that made Pepper recoil and swat her hand.

  “I hate when you do that,” Pepper complained.

  “I know. Why do you think I do it?”

  “So what about this guy, huh?” Pepper changed the subject with a smug, crooked smile.

  “He's pretty hot.” Laurel had to call it like she saw it. “And way out of my league. But it's nice to dream.”

  Spilling out of the booth, the last three customers got to their feet. Two men, one woman. Laurel glanced over when Pepper did and gave the trio a polite smile. She wasn't on duty, but that didn't mean she couldn't be cordial.

  The woman, a red-head with eyes so dark they looked black, returned a curve of her lips that didn't seem exactly friendly. In jeans and leather, with skin so pale it looked milky, she wore heavy boots to her knees and seemed too thin to be healthy. Laurel wondered if she imagined the strange grace or the almost feral aura she exuded.

  One glance at Pepper's expression told her she hadn't.

  “Have a good night,” Pepper called to the group.

  The woman walked over to the counter, three stools down from Laurel, and set her empty glass on the bar. “You can count on it.”

  “Night,” Laurel added. She followed the group toward the door with her eyes and glanced back at Pepper when they were gone.

  “Some odd birds in this town,” Pepper said with a decisive arch of her brows.

  “You can say that again. You'll be all right down here? I think I'm going up to get some sleep.” Laurel shook off the odd sensation and stepped away from the bar.

  “You bet. Get some sleep. Hey, we should hit the movies next weekend.” Pepper snapped at her with a rolled dishtowel.

  Laurel swerved out of the way just in time. “You're on. See you tomorrow.”

  An elaborate staircase led up to the second floor and she took the stairs to the landing with one hand on the banister. Two great halls went left and right at the top. A large set of double doors straight ahead led into an expansive ballroom where the masquerade would eventually be held.

  Laurel turned left and stopped in front of her door, unlocking it with a key she fished from the pocket of her jacket. Closing it behind her, she engaged the deadbolt and the chain. She always locked herself in, even though Pepper sometimes liked to make late night raids. Something about the creaky old house set her nerves on edge.

  All in all, the upper rooms of the mansion were large, with big walk in closets and intricate crown molding. The employees were responsible for their own furniture and it was obvious, at least to Laurel, that she was the less privileged of the lot. One bed, a pathetic nightstand with the paint chipping off, and several cardboard boxes made up the entire contents of her room. She'd gotten creative, or maybe it had been an act of rebellion, and lined up the boxes so that she'd have a flat surface to use as a 'dresser' top.

  The clothes in her closet were all sale items or from second hand stores. These were the sacrifices she made to get to where she really wanted to go; New York City.

  Pushing away from the door, she walked to the edge of her bed and picked up one of three magazines lying on the comforter. The pictures were glossy and chic. Sophisticated. These were the same type of pictures that had wooed her away from her hometown and away from her doting parents. In Salina Kansas, she'd been a farmer's daughter, tired of the small town life. Tired of small towns, period.

  She wanted to get lost in a maze of skyscrapers and endless rivers of humanity, wanted to hear the buzz of life at every hour of every day. She craved bright lights, Broadway, the famous and the infamous-- or notorious.

  Sperling was only a stop over, a place to reconnect with Pepper, who'd moved here a year before to see an aging and ill aunt. Best friends since childhood, they had plans to leave for New York together when they'd saved a modest nest egg and could afford their own apartment.

  Bringing her fingers to her nose, she smelled the expensive cologne lingering on her skin from Sebastian. The material of his suit had been so fine. She wondered what he did for a living, what kind of a house he called home. He seemed such a man of means. Controlled, austere. Maybe a lawyer or a small business owner.

  Tossing down the magazine, she unbuttoned the red coat and peeled it from her shoulders. She laid it over the corner of the bed and pulled her abused, old cell phone from the pocket. Kicking off her stilettos, she thumbed through the menu for the voice-mail.

 
She had three messages:

  Laurel, it's really great of you to return my calls. Pick up the phone! Jesus. Kyle hung up before he could really get a rant going.

  Hi honey, it's mom. I was just calling to check on you. You didn't sound so good when we talked last. Call me when you can. Laurel smiled. It was too late to call her mother back tonight. She made a mental note to do it tomorrow after work.

  You're really trying my patience, you know that, girl? No, I mean it, Laurel. This is like the tenth, shit I don't know how many calls that you've ignored. I-- She cut Kyle off that time and deleted all the messages. The only one that mattered was her mother's.

  She flopped down diagonal across the mattress, staring at the ceiling, wondering what she was going to do if Kyle decided to make an appearance at Mystique.

  If you need anything...Sebastian's offer slipped through her mind. Like an unbidden whisper, she heard his voice as clear as if he was standing right next to her. Of course he wasn't, but Laurel had a good imagination and for the next two hours, she put it to excellent use.

  Sebastian had watched the world advance from the era of kings and courtiers into this age of technology. He had seen all but the most remote places on earth. Of men, he had seen the darkness of their cruelty and perversity, and the shining nobility of their goodness. Crawling along the underbelly of human society, he had met every manner of creature from a princess of the Fae blood, to packs of man-wolves, to the ancient mummies who preyed on mortal society.

  There was so little left in the world to surprise him.

  It was not so much that Laurel had surprised him. He knew women, mortal and immortal alike. Beautiful women. There was never a shortage of them flocked around his kind, looking for the danger and excitement they could glean from mingling with predators. It was his response to her that surprised him, the way the scent of her quickened his blood and haunted him with strange familiarity.

  When she walked away from him earlier, he had to restrain the urge to stop her. To turn her around and sweep her into his limo. His instinct to protect her surged so strong, so powerful that he’d had to stand there with his hands clenched until it passed, gaze boring into the wood of the closed door between them.

  Over a woman.

  A mortal.

  It wasn't precisely a vampire law that they not involve themselves with mortals. Most of his kind realized the futility in such a relationship.

  Vampires could and did live in mortal society, blending in with their human counterparts in order to preserve the secret of their existence. Many, of course, found their food source in the sweetness of human flesh and blood. Some even made vampire thralls or servants from mortals they found particularly deserving.

  Intimacy between vampires and humans was another thing altogether. Some of his brethren found themselves attracted to mortality, though most--like Sebastian--understood that crossing the line was both dangerous and fruitless. Still, he could not deny that there had been … something. A sense not unlike déjà vu that created a low-level, electric thrum each time their eyes met.

  “You have been preoccupied since your return.” Isabella’s quiet voice interrupted his thoughts. His sister in blood, she was one of the few people who would have dared interrupt him unannounced. Sharing a maker and subsequent centuries together had erased the need for formality between them.

  Sebastian turned the leather chair away from the window.

  “Isabella.” He tacked on a subtle smile that never reached his troubled eyes. “Forgive me. I had a call to return.” It was not a lie, but they both knew it wasn’t the whole story.

  Rising, he indicated a chair, watching as she approached.

  Isabella came forward, her regal bearing more pronounced by the ethereal grace all their kind possessed. She was, as ever, the embodiment of elegance and poise. Her dark hair was secured into sleek knot at the nape of her neck, and the sophistication of her black dress suggested a label on par with Dior or Donna Karen.

  Sebastian waited until she was seated before resuming his chair behind the mahogany desk. His study, a theme of dark wood, rich leather furnishings and tasteful antiques matched a motif seen throughout the mansion.

  “How was your visit to the graveyard?” she asked.

  Sebastian didn’t miss the slight strain around her mouth, but neither did he call attention to it. He knew she mourned William in a different way than he did. She had never been able to bring herself to visit the graveyard with him in all these years, despite that he made an annual pilgrimage of it.

  Strange that he attached such human significance to what remained of their maker: ash and a box now rotting beneath the dirt. A reminder that though his kind were immune to many things, they were not immune to the hopelessness that had eventually led William to greet the dawn. He had, he wrote in his final letter to Sebastian, simply grown tired of the business of being immortal.

  “There was an incident. A young woman was being harassed and I intervened on her behalf.” Sebastian leaned back in his chair as he spoke, loosening the Windsor knot at his throat with a practiced tug. He and Isabella shared a prolonged glance. It was a dance they had perfected over time; reading the things that went unsaid.

  “I hope she was not hurt," Isabella said. She phrased the question like a comment, but in either case he knew her interest was in his mood rather than the event itself.

  “She was not injured. I saw her home. -- I trust things here have been quiet?” His graceless topic change was enough to make her curious, or so he thought when her gaze sharpened. But he was unwilling to discuss his strange reaction to Laurel when he had not made sense of it himself.

  “Sara is here. She and Bernard have been playing chess for the last two hours," she said. "And Caleb returned an hour ago from his visit with Luceph."

  He smiled faintly at the first and arched a brow at the second piece of information. "I will see Caleb shortly. Does he say Luceph has a handle on the trouble in New York?"

  "He did not speak of it. I assume so, considering he has come home." Isabella rose from her chair. After a brief pause, she asked, "Was she mortal, this young woman?"

  "Yes." Sebastian clipped the word and leaned back in his chair, looking out the window. He didn't tell her that he had left the mortal in possession of his private number, for reasons even he couldn't name. Only that he hadn't been able to let her go without some thread--however thin--to connect them.

  He felt Isabella's searching stare, knew she wanted more information. His silence on the subject spoke volumes.

  "I will send Caleb in," she said and turned to leave the room.

  "Thank you, Isabella." Sebastian forced his mind away from thoughts of Laurel to business at hand.

  As his liaison, Caleb had gone in his stead to speak to Luceph Saminigo, the current Prince of North America. Recent outbreaks of vampire violence in New York had been vicious and bloody and Sebastian, Prince of the European territory, liked to stay informed of any serious uprisings. His maker, William, had once ruled North America and Sebastian felt a keen sense of duty to preserve William's legacy.

  The opening and closing of the door drew his attention away from the window and his thoughts.

  “My Prince.” Caleb bowed his head in deference as he entered and Sebastian rose to clasp hands with him.

  Not unlike Sebastian, Caleb was dressed in a well-tailored black suit with a silk tie the same moss color of his eyes. Both men stood several inches over six feet, but Caleb's build was leaner and less muscled in comparison to Sebastian's.

  Observing the pleasantries, Sebastian poured two crystal tumblers of scotch and pushed one across the desk toward where Caleb sat in the chair Isabella recently vacated. When they were both seated and had sampled the fine single-malt, Sebastian wasted no time in addressing business.

  "Caleb. Tell me how Luceph is." Sebastian regarded the man across the desk with sharp intensity. Although they did not share a maker, they had apprenticed under William together long years before and there
was little need to stand on ceremony.

  "He seems to have scoured New York clean of the trouble makers. At least the worst of them." Caleb stretched out his legs and rested his hands on his belt. "I saw little evidence of any uprising."

  "Good. I wasn't looking forward to offering my services." The offer of aid, no matter how well intended, was always tricky. It suggested a Prince was too weak to take care of his own territory and that was an invitation for trouble.

  Caleb laughed. "Yeah, well. Luceph assured me that he had it under control. He even invited you to come to New York at your leisure."

  Sebastian knew he would have to make an appearance at some point, no matter how casual the invitation. One Prince did not turn down another's request for a visit. When it came to politics, vampires and humans were not so different.

  "Perhaps after my trip to Madrid," Sebastian said. Despite that he retained heavy ties and business interests in Sperling, not to mention his maker's estate, Madrid was the city he ruled the entire European territory from. It was a city he had come to love and his control extended deep into the human governing body, though he pulled those strings from the shadows.

  Caleb nodded and stood up, tossing back the last of his scotch before placing the tumbler on the desk. "I'll let him know closer to the time you'll be leaving."

  "Excellent. Thank you, Caleb." Sebastian watched the man depart the study. Swiveling his chair, he regarded the evening beyond the windowpane. Inevitably, his thoughts swerved back to Laurel.

  I will not see her again, he resolved that night.