Chapter Fifty-two
On some level, Assail could not believe he was walking into a restaurant. For one, he didn't frequent human haunts as a rule, and two, he had no interest in eating in the dive: The air smelled like fried food and beer, and from what he saw on the trays of the waitresses, he was uncertain whether the entrees were graded safe for non-animal consumption.
Oh, look. Across the way, there was a stage that had a wall of chicken wire in front of it.
Classy.
"Well, hello, there," someone purred at him.
Assail cocked an eyebrow and glanced over his shoulder. The human woman was dressed in a tight shirt and a pair of blue jeans that had clearly been stitched onto her legs. Hair was blond and stick straight. Makeup was heavy, with the lipstick shiny enough to qualify as an exterior oil paint.
He'd rather spoon his own eyes out then engage in any fashion with the likes of her.
He willed her to forget she'd seen him and turned back around. There was a heavy crowd, with more people than there were tables and chairs, so he had good cover as he went over to a corner and scanned. . . .
And there she was.
His little burglar.
Cursing under his breath, he dimly recognized the waste of time this all was - especially given that the cousins were, at this very moment, making a deal with that lesser again. Unfortunately, however, as soon as he'd gotten an alert that that black Audi of hers had gone on the move, he'd been compelled to find the thing and follow it.
He had not been prepared for this.
Whatever was she doing here? And why was she dressed like that?
As she found one of the few empty tables and sat down alone, he found himself not approving of the way her hair was down around her shoulders, the dark weight curling about her face. Or the formfitting shirt that was revealed as she took off her coat. Or - she had makeup on, too, for godsakes. And not like that woman who had just oiled her way up to him. His burglar had kept things light, in a way that magnified her features. . . .
She was beautiful.
Too beautiful.
All the men in the restaurant were looking her over. And that made him want to kill each and every one of them by ripping their throats out with his teeth -
As if they were in agreement with that plan, his fangs tingled and began to descend into his mouth, his body tensing.
But not yet, he told himself. He needed to find out why she was here. After having followed her to Benloise's mansion, he had expected any number of destinations. . . although never this. What was she doing -
Her head turned, and for a moment, he thought she had somehow sensed him, even though she was not a vampire.
But then a very tall, very well-built human man approached her table.
His burglar looked up at the guy. Smiled at the guy. Got to her feet and wrapped her arms around the guy's big shoulders.
Assail's hand went into his coat and found his gun.
Indeed, he saw himself going over and putting a bullet between the man's eyes.
"Hey, you ever been here before?"
Assail's head cranked around. A rather large human male had approached him and was staring at him with a certain aggression.
"I asked you a question. "
There were two responses, Assail decided. He could verbally reply, thus entering into some kind of dialogue that would consume his attention - arguably not a bad idea, given that his hand remained locked on his gun, and his impulses had not shifted from those of a homicidal inclination.
"I'm talking to you. "
Or he could. . .
Assail bared his descended fangs and growled deep in his throat, redirecting his wrath away from the scene of his burglar with that human fool for whom she had dressed and made herself up.
The guy with the questions threw up his hands and took a step back. "Hey, it's cool, whatever. My bad. Whatever. "
The man disappeared into the crowd, proving that in certain circumstances, rats without tails could dematerialize as well.
Assail's eyes returned to that table. The "gentleman" who had taken a seat across from his burglar was leaning in, his eyes locked on her face even while she examined the menu and glanced around.
Something was going to have to be done about this.
Sola closed the menu and laughed. "I never said that. "
"You did. " Mark Sanchez smiled. "You told me I had nice eyes. "
Mark was exactly what she needed on a night like tonight. He was really easy to look at, super charming, and as long as he didn't make her drop and give him ten thousand, she had nothing to worry about: As a personal trainer? He was a demon. She should know.
"So is this a way to butter me up?" He eased back as the waitress brought them both beers. "Try to get me to go light on you in the gym?"
"I know better than that. " Sola took a draw from the thick, ice-cold rim of her mug. "No quarter given. That's your policy. "
"Well, to be fair, you've never asked for any special treatment. " There was a pause. "Not that in your case, I wouldn't be willing to cut you some slack. . . in some areas. "
Sola ducked the eye contact that was flashing her way. "So you don't date clients, huh. "
"No. Not usually. "
"Conflict of interest. "
"It could get messy - but in certain cases, it's worth the risk. "
Sola glanced around the pub. Lot of people. Lot of talk. Air that was hot and thick.
She frowned and stiffened. In the far corner, something. . . someone. . .
"You okay?"
She shook herself free of the paranoia. "Yes, sorry - oh, yes, we'd like to order," she said as the waitress returned. "I'll have a cheeseburger. Assuming my personal trainer doesn't throw an embolism from disapproval. "
Mark laughed. "Make that two. But hold the fries. On both plates. "
As the waitress took off, Sola tried not to look in the direction of that dark, back corner. "So. . . "
"I didn't think you'd ever take me up on this. I asked you out how long ago?"
As Mark smiled, she noticed that he had fantastic teeth, straight and really white. "It's been a while, I guess. I've been busy. "
"So what do you do for a living?"
"This and that. "
"In what field?"
Ordinarily, she got pissed quick when people became nosy. But his affect was calm and easy, so this was just date conversation.
"I guess you could call it criminal justice. "
"Oh, you're into the law. "
"I'm very familiar with it, yes. "
"That's cool. " Mark cleared his throat. "So. . . you look really good. "
"Thanks. I think it's my trainer. "
"Oh, somehow I think you'd be doing fine without me. "
As they fell into an uncomplicated back-and-forth, she actually started to relax - and then their dinners arrived and they got another round of beer. It was so. . . normal being in the bar, doing the one-on-one thing, getting to know somebody else.
The exact opposite of what she'd played witness to the night before.
Sola shivered as images came back to her. . . the candlelight, that black-haired man looming over the half-naked woman like he was going to devour her, the two of them unleashed and uninhibited. . . . Then those glittering eyes looking up and meeting her own through the glass as if he'd known all along that she was watching.
"You okay?"
Sola forced herself to focus. "Sorry, yes. You were saying?"
As Mark resumed talking about his training for the Iron Man, she found herself back in the cold outside of that cottage, watching that man and that woman.
Shoot. She'd engineered this date only because she'd wanted an outlet. It wasn't because she particularly cared about Mark, as nice as he was.
In fact, maybe she had done this because her personal trainer happened to be really tall, and really well built, with very d
ark hair and very pale eyes.
When guilt rang her bell, she thought, oh, for chrissakes. She was an adult. Mark was an adult. People had sex for all kinds of different reasons - just because she didn't want to marry the guy didn't mean she was breaking some cardinal rule. . . except, crap. Her grandmother's morality aside, and his shiny, pearly whites and big shoulders to the contrary, she wasn't actually attracted to Mark.
She was attracted to the man Mark reminded her of.
And that was what made this wrong.