Deathtrap (Crossbreed #3)(18)
Christian walked his chair in a circle until he was facing the desk. “Tell Spooky to hurry up in the toilet. I wasn’t hired to surf the Internet.”
I gave Viktor a tight grin. “Maybe Christian needs some computer courses at the local college.”
Christian gave me the finger. “Only if you sign up for the cooking class.”
Chapter 7
As much as I balked about going to a private dinner, I enjoyed the idea of having a free meal cooked by professionals. Viktor made Shepherd wear a sports jacket over his white T-shirt and jeans. He looked presentable, and there wasn’t much else he could do to glam up his appearance. Shepherd was tall, tan, and tough. The two lines etched in his forehead told me he’d led a hard life, and stubble seemed to live on his face. He had intense bone structure, and the buzz cut did nothing else but draw more attention to his menacing face. At least the jacket covered the bold phoenix tattoo on his right arm and the scars on his body.
My black jeans and button-up didn’t exactly complement the occasion, but the jeans didn’t have holes, and my shirt didn’t have bloodstains. Meeting Viktor halfway was the best I could do. Neither Shepherd nor I was putting on any airs, and this hadn’t been presented as a black-tie event but an informal dinner.
The valet took the keys to Shepherd’s Jeep, and another man escorted us inside to a private room.
“He’ll be right with you. Have a seat, and help yourself to the wine.”
I looked around the room, slightly horrified. I had imagined us in a large dining room with about fifty feet of table between us as a buffer. This was… intimate.
“Does he know I’m coming?” I asked, eyeballing the table that seated eight. “Maybe you two would rather be alone.”
“You stay the fuck here,” Shepherd growled, stalking past me toward the liquor table.
I folded my arms. It wasn’t even an open room but one with four walls and a door. A champagne-colored tablecloth covered the table, and two candelabra adorned the center, each with five burning candles. The table sat close to a wall with a painting so massive that it spanned the length of the table itself. It depicted a foxhunt.
I bet that went over well for any guests he might have had who were fox Shifters.
“Here. This’ll smooth out the rough edges.”
I accepted the wine Shepherd offered. “If it dulls them, pour me another.”
His glass clinked against mine in agreement, and he gulped down half the wine. “I hope this ain’t one of those dinners where they bring out twelve courses.”
“You better eat up and enjoy every bite. It’s my week to cook, and don’t expect me to order pizza every night. This might be your last chance to eat real food for the next few days.”
“Nah. Your breakfast wasn’t all that bad. I’ve had worse.”
I nudged his shoulder. “So you’ve been to prison?”
He chuckled, and we branched apart to opposite ends of the room. Long tables lined two walls, one filled with alcohol and the other with silk flowers. Our shoes were noisy against the wood floor underfoot, though the dining table sat atop a giant gold rug. We didn’t say anything, just kept walking around and admiring the décor. Shepherd hefted an empty crystal vase and tossed it up in the air before catching it and putting it back on the table. I spotted a bottle of tequila and quietly unscrewed the cap. After a quick glance over my shoulder, I took a swig and set it back down.
“I heard that,” he said, amusement in his voice.
I needed something to settle my nerves, and the weak wine wasn’t cutting it. Men like Patrick Bane were way out of my class. What the heck did I have in common with rich guys?
I reached through the gap in my blouse and adjusted my bra. Viktor picked the wrong girl to make an impression.
“Forgive me. I was held up with business,” Patrick said as he coolly entered the room. He was a lanky man who looked around fifty, but the Mage carried himself in a manner that indicated he’d been around for a long time. He had both frown lines and laugh lines, and his fading red hair was short and nicely groomed. In his vest and dress shirt, Patrick looked every bit a politician—counterfeit smile and cocksure personality included.
He approached Shepherd first and bowed. “Patrick Bane, at your service.”
“Shepherd Moon.”
I almost expected Shepherd to say “not at yours,” but he remained polite.
“This meeting is long overdue,” Mr. Bane said in that melodic Irish accent of his. His friendly manner put me instantly at ease. “I’ve thought back to that night many times,” he continued. “It’s appalling how many of my guests made no attempt to catch the child. If you hadn’t been there, it would have been a grim outcome indeed.” He put his hand on Shepherd’s shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. “The world could use more men like you.” Then his eyes skated over to me. “I don’t believe I’ve had the delightful pleasure of a formal introduction.”
We’d met before, but I guessed this was part of the dinner dance. “Raven Black.”
He glided over and took my hand. “Charmed.” His lips brushed across my knuckles as he looked up at me with those green eyes.
“I’m the one your progeny tried to kill.”