Page 3 of Shift in the Blood
That moment was one of my favorites.
This woman did not disappoint with her emotions. Unlike many humans, she masked her thoughts quickly. No doubt a byproduct of the world she inhabited. Thieves and forgers had to be steely and strong. Sentimentality had no place in their world.
And this young woman, who looked like a mere babe to me, was rumored to be one of the best. I studied the back of her head, taking in the almost-neat chignon she’d pulled her dark hair into. Her dress was tasteful, understated, but fitted her form well, highlighting that she was indeed a woman, and one with generous curves. She had creamy skin, golden brown eyes, and dark hair. Given the size of her chignon, it was long. Down past her shoulders if I had to guess. She was beautiful although not in a classic sense. It was more than merely her appearance.
She had that something else, that ‘it’ thing that was considered so valuable now.
A thread of desire ran through me.
No.
I couldn’t mix business and pleasure. At least not until the business side of things was finished. The last time I’d done so, it had not ended well for anyone. No one died—nothing that bad. But feelings were badly hurt, and there was a great deal of bitterness on the part of my former partner. I had no interest in such doings anymore. I paid for my pleasures and found that I was quite content.
However, something about Clara Manning stirred a part of me that hadn’t been stirred for a long time.
“You’re planning to steal all of them?” her voice was low, so low that no one around us could hear, but that my vampire hearing picked up easily enough.
“Yes,” I said. “These paintings are some of his most personal work and I want them.” I didn’t bother to give reasons or excuses. After this many years as a vampire, gathering resources that I never lost—I was used to getting what I wanted.
“How do you plan to do it?” Clara whispered, even more softly than before.
“That is something I don’t care to discuss, particularly not here. Not until,” I moved next to her, our shoulders almost touching, “I know that you are going to be part of what I’m doing.”
“How can I say no?” Clara’s voice held a note of despair. “You have made it impossible for me to refuse.”
I wondered at the change in her voice, at the feeling of desperation I sensed. Normally, this would be a plus for me, but I felt a sense of concern. Why? I put the questions aside for the moment.
“The best kind of offers,” I said, smiling. I crossed my arms as I looked at the painting on the wall.Woman in repose, indeed. It was my mother. And she was relaxed in a way that I’d rarely seen her growing up. We were a working family, from sunup to sundown, as Maman used to say.
“Easy to say from your side of the table,” Clare said, her lips turned down in a frown.
“I must disagree,” I said. “It’s either a good offer, or it’s not. I have made you a good offer. It’s up to you to decide whether or not it will be beneficial to you. But that doesn’t mean it’s not a good offer.”
“It works.” The words came slowly.
“Excellent. I’ll ask that you come to stay with me,” I began. “That way, you can study my collection up close before beginning your work.”
“Really?” Clare faced me, her eyes wide and her anticipation shining.
“Yes,” I said. “These must be perfect. More than perfect.”
“What sort of time frame—” Clara started.
A movement along the edge of the room caught my eye. I put my hand out, touching Clara’s arm to stop her. “Wait,” I said, moving my head with vampire speed to figure out what was going on.
The man was dressed all in black, and he edged along the room with a speed that was not solely human. Not vampire… shifter? Wizard? There were spells that could make humans faster for a time. Whatever he—I was pretty sure it was a he—was doing, it wasn’t going to be something that worked out well for the people here.
“What is it?” Clara’s head swiveled, searching for whatever it was that caught my attention.
“I’m not sure. Someone is stalking in the crowd,” I said.
“Oh, hell,” she groaned. “Maxim.”
“What? Maxim Popov?”
“Yes,” Clara made an impatient noise. “He is—he has been my most steady employer. He wouldn’t be happy if he thought his pet forger was looking around for other gigs.”
“How did I not know that you worked for him?” I couldn’t believe my staff missed this rather important point. If there was a stereotypical bad guy in the art world, it was Maxim Popov. Worse, from my perspective, he reveled in the manner others saw him. Wallowed in it, one might say.
