Page 39 of The Biting Bargain

"Sir, club policy only allows bets with money…" the dealer interjects, but Stellan waves him off like an annoying bug.

Andboooonggg!! (Apparently I’ve spent too much time in front of the TV as a kid, watching western shows with Grandma…)

"And why would we do that?" Vincent doesn't bat an eye.

"To spice things up a bit." Stellan puts an arm around the waist of his companion. She lets herself be pulled dutifully against him. A kind of foreboding panic rises in me that almost makes me turn on my heel and run for it, as fast as I can. But I am rooted to the spot. Watching the drama unfold.

The finalboooooongggsounds through the deserted western town in my mind.

Vincent tilts his head. I stare at him, then at Stellan, whose smirk widens as he says, "Let's bet our companions."

ChapterSeventeen

Vincent

That insolent bastard.

A century ago, I would have challenged him to a duel for this provocation. Because that's all he does — provoke me. Stellan DiAngelo has always been a dick. Why should tonight be any different?

"That's rather inappropriate," I retort after a rather long beat in which everyone at the table has stared in matching dismay.

The companion of a vampire is taboo. Just suggesting it is probably breaking all kinds of rules — and vampires are big fans of rules.

But, technically, Stellan proposed a loophole. It is truly old fashioned, but as long as some kind of bargain is involved, it is possible to trade your companion.

Like, say, in a game of cards.

I grit my teeth. That slimy bastard will do anything to rile me up.

Stellan tuts. "Never thought I’d see the day when a Renard runs from a challenge."

I control myself enough to not let my temper show. I reach out, snaking an arm around Polly's waist, gently pulling her closer. She is stiff as a board, but follows my command willingly enough. Good. Because for what Stellan is obviously up to, I need her obedient.

Of course, there is no way I will let Stellan win. But I can’t let this slide, either.

"Looks more like Stellan DiAngelo has finally stumbled onto something he cannot have," I say.

The air is charged. Stellan smirks.

"Gentlemen, be so kind as to leave the table to us." He doesn't even raise his voice; his tone deceptively kind. The two remaining players at the table rise at once, not without giving Stellan a scowl, and shuffle off, mingling into the circle of spectators that slowly forms.

I grit my teeth. This scumbag has just rendered the next game a whole lot more complicated. A head-to-head duel. Instead of fifty-two cards distributed among four or more people, it’s only him and me.

My mind races to calculate all possible permutations, with the probability of getting a higher hand than him dropping by several degrees of magnitude. Winning at poker, however, depends on probability more than skill, and only to a certain degree. Stellan knows this just as well as I do. There’s a certain quantum of cold-bloodedness required.

Stellan looks like he doesn't give a fuck if he loses his companion in this or not. But the undisguised lechery with which he rakes his gaze over Polly —my companion!— is infuriating.

That upstart won't touch her, and if he does, I rip off his nouveau riche arm. But I can't leave this challenge unanswered, either. Not on my first night at the club. Not when all eyes are on us. Just waiting for me to turn tail and run.

I narrow my eyes. "Let's play."

Polly flinches, giving me an utterly horrified sideways glance. All color has drained from her face. But my human employee's sensitivities have to take the back seat right now.

This is personal.

The dealer deals out the cards. More than a hundred years of training prevent me from blinking when I look at my hand.

Three of Spades.

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