Devil's Gate (Elder Races #4.6)(3)

Seremela was in late middle age, close to 380 years old, and her snakes reached past her hips. She had never felt threatened or afraid enough to cause her snakes to bite anyone. She pulled the mass over one shoulder and worked quickly down their length.

They did not want to be wrapped in the scarf—really, it was like putting children down for a nap—and their agitation increased until she had them all snugly under cover and eased them back over her shoulder again. Once they were tucked in a warm, dark place, they went quiet. Even as she stepped out of the bedroom, she could sense that they were asleep.

She took a deep breath and hurried back to open the door. Duncan, who stood looking down the hall as he waited, turned back quickly to face her. His dark, clever gaze regarded her for a moment. She felt her cheeks grow warm at the open concern in his expression.

She held the door open wider, more to give herself an excuse to back away from his penetrating, too observant attention than to be hospitable, although she did manage to say, “Please, do come in.”

“Thank you.” Hands still tucked in his pockets, Duncan strolled into her apartment.

Her mouth dried as she watched him. In some ways he looked so normal. At five foot ten or so, he stood just a few inches taller than she did. And he wasn’t oversized. He had a neat, compact build, and when he moved something unique and intangible became manifest, as his sharp, quiet intelligence flowed through his body.

All Vampyres had the same liquid, inhuman grace, but not all of them affected Seremela the same way that Duncan did. She ducked her head and shut the door. When she turned around to face him, she found him studying her again. She grew even more self-conscious, too aware of the amount of bare skin exposed by the skimpy, thin material of her red tank top and her shorts. Her toenails were painted a bright, saucy lime green. She glanced down at her bare legs then back up at him.

If only she had her work clothes on, and a dissected corpse on a table between them. Then she would know what to say and how to act.

Still, she had to start somewhere. She said, “I wasn’t expecting company.”

“I hope you don’t mind that I stopped by unannounced,” he said.

His voice moved over her in an invisible caress. She shivered as her mind supplied her with images garnered from her earlier storm-washed fancy: Duncan, dressed in a Bogart suit, stroking long, clever fingers on piano keys, with his dark head bent and a melancholy gaze. Then she steps into the room and he turns to her with fierce joy—giving her a look that says they are the only two people in the world—

Heavy reality thudded into place around her. Gah. Where were they? Oh, he had said something. That meant it was her turn, right? Argh, where was a dead body when you needed one the most? She fumbled for an appropriate response. “No, of course not.”

His gaze had lingered at her head. He gave her a small, grave smile. “I’m sorry to see the little rascals are tucked away today.”

Warmed, she touched the back of her head with a self-conscious hand. Many people were afraid or repulsed by a medusa’s snakes, and at various times throughout history, medusae had been persecuted and killed because of it. The most famous example of a medusa being murdered was in ancient Greece, when Perseus had beheaded a woman who was supposedly so ugly, the sight of her could turn people into stone.

But Duncan wasn’t like most other people. He seemed to enjoy the snakes, and he had treated them with indulgent amusement when they had flirted with him at Carling and Rune’s winter solstice Masque party.

Her snakes didn’t have the slightest problem with social situations—not that they ever behaved appropriately.

Once at a work party, she grew lightheaded and extremely giddy while she talked with the woman who was her boss at that time. When she turned around, she caught several of her snakes lapping at leftover alcohol in the bottom of several glasses on a table behind her. Thankfully her boss had been amused and helped to call her a cab ride home.

“They needed a time out,” she confessed. “What a surprise to see you, Duncan, especially in the middle of the day.”

His smile widened briefly before it disappeared. He said, “I remembered the layout of your apartment building and the basement garage from when I dropped you off after the Masque party. It’s a simple matter to park in the garage and come up the elevator, and the windows at the end of the hallway are quite easy to avoid. This building is very Vampyre friendly.”

“I see,” she said.

Duncan drove a silver Aston Martin V12 Zagato with windows that had been tinted with full spectrum UV protection. The price tag on the car had to be well in excess of half a million dollars, but when you were the founding partner of one of the premiere law firms in the United States that specialized in Elder Races inter demesne law, you could afford some unusually nice perks.

She glanced at the open balcony doors that led out to a wide patio. Not only did she and Duncan stand well away from them, but it was still dark outside and raining hard. Even though her apartment faced the east, there wasn’t any danger of sunshine streaming in the windows until the storm blew away.

No doubt Duncan had already calculated all of that even as he stepped inside her apartment. For him, any contact with the sun would be excruciating and would turn lethal within a matter of seconds. He must be aware of the sun’s position every moment of his life.

She turned back to him and met his gaze. “What can I do for you?”