Deathtrap (Crossbreed #3)(11)

I snorted, still talking to him through the reflection in the mirror. “Why? So when I slip in the bathroom and hit my head, he can nibble on my remains?”

“At least he’ll be well-fed.”

“What makes you think I’m twenty-five?”

When he shifted to face me directly, I felt more comfortable looking into his hazel eyes than through a mirror. They were inquisitive and friendly, and his dark eyebrows sloped down in the middle just enough that it made it look like he was concentrating. “I’m an excellent guesser. When you’ve been around as long as I have, it comes naturally. By your manner of speech, I’m going to guess you’re newly made, but you’re more seasoned than most.”

“You’re assuming I’m a Mage?”

He propped his elbow on the bar and played with the ear stud in his left lobe. “Chitahs and Vampires are automatically ruled out. You mentioned having a boss, so that means you’re not likely a Relic since they work with partners and don’t waste time at social events, like the dinner you mentioned back at the salon. Most Sensors are self-employed traders. You could be a Shifter, or maybe something else.”

“What else is there?”

He winked. “Lots of things.”

Two women grinding against each other caught my attention. Their eyes scanned the bar, and it was clear they were searching for a third party to join in on the action. I was dressed down, and my body language wasn’t inviting anyone over to play. So why was this guy wasting his time with me?

“You should go talk to them,” I suggested.

He turned all the way around to admire the women, his elbows resting on the bar. “Eh. Same tits, different night. I never thought I’d be so sick of looking at tits.”

“Maybe women aren’t your thing.”

“Maybe flagrant misuse of sexuality and wielding it like a toy isn’t my thing. We’re immortals, and look what we’ve become. Could you ever have imagined that men who have been around since before the Roman Empire would be doing this with their time?”

“Better this than bringing back gladiator fights.”

He finished off his drink. “I think I’d prefer that.”

When the music switched to a slower beat, I studied him for a moment. He had a friendly face. Not overly handsome or particularly ugly, just somewhere in the middle. His nose was straight and narrow, giving him a regal look that made him seem out of place in this century. Most of the time, his eyes narrowed as if he were squinting from a bright light or smiling. And for a man, what pretty lashes he had.

“What’s your name?” I asked, wondering if that would shed any light on whether or not he was an ancient.

He slowly turned to face the mirror again and met my gaze in its reflection. “Let’s keep it simple.”

“Fine by me.”

“What’s your name? What do you do? Where do you live? How old are you, and what is your Breed? You’ll eventually learn that none of those questions matter. Not one of them helps you to know a person better.”

I gave him a sardonic smile. “How many men have you killed? What was the last crime you committed? Would you rather be good or evil?”

That must have been my drink talking.

His brows sloped down, and when he grinned, deep lines etched on the sides of his face. “Now you’re getting the hang of it.”

I played with the napkin in front of me. “Questions no one will answer, so we’re back to square one.”

“Ever want to break the rules?”

“Sometimes.”

“Why do people make rules?” he asked conversationally.

I shrugged.

“Control,” he answered. “And why do people need control?”

“Power?”

“Exactly.”

“Rules keep us from turning into animals. If this club had no rules, no one would pay for their drinks, and the owner would go out of business because of broken bottles and rowdy customers.”

The man folded his arms and tilted his head. “In Greek mythology, Chaos was the first thing to exist. Without Chaos, there would be nothing.”

“That’s fiction.”

“Maybe you should go home and read about the chaos theory.”

“You mean the butterfly effect? Bugs can’t create hurricanes. I’m not buying it.”

“You can’t know that, and it’s beside the point. Nothing in this life would ever change without chaos, and I’m not talking about revolutions and the downfall of the higher authority. Chaos isn’t about good or evil; it’s about unpredictability. Aren’t you ever inquisitive about the effect of your actions, no matter how small?”

“My job lets me see the results of my actions.”

He ticked his index finger back and forth like a pendulum on a metronome. “That’s not the same. That’s predictability. The same way coming in and ordering a drink is. But what if instead of drinking that glass of wrath, you left it on an empty table? Those drinks are spiked by Sensors. Maybe all someone needs to do the unexpected is a little nudge.”

I chortled and looked at his empty glass. “I think that’s the treachery talking.”

“Why don’t we give it a try?”

“Swapping someone’s drink?”