Page 10 of Bought for Blood

I sit while he pours me a drink and hands me a heavy glass. I take a sip.

“Is the brandy to your taste? We keep it for a small number of clients.”

“The brandy is the best thing in your building. Present company excepted. And one other.”

He laughs, warm and easy, and takes the chair across from me. Practiced. Comfortable. He’s good. No leer, no wink, none of the oiliness of the flesh trade. Whatever’s underneath the mask, he hides well.

“The exception,” he says, settling. “Yes. My floor manager told me. You indicated the fair blonde.”

“Yes. That one.” I turn the brandy, let it catch the fire, and don’t drink it. “When I said I’d like her shipped, your man went pale, which I assume is not standard training. Tell me the difficulty.”

The warmth stays in his face. The ease leaves it, just slightly, professionally.

“Most of our clients do not buy outright, Lord Val-Serein. They visit for a tasting.”

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

“My lord, you understand I say this with the greatest regret. That asset is designated. Sangrey line.” He says the name slowly, watching to see if it lands.

It doesn’t. I’ve never heard it.

I turn my glass a quarter turn. The brandy really is excellent.

“A rare classification,” he goes on, when my face stays expressionless. “I’d venture the rarest we have handled. The yield is under a standing arrangement. Committed. If it were mine to unmake, for you, tonight…” a small motion of the hand, palm turning up, empty, “but it is not mine. There are levels to this house. She’s not for sale, my lord. She’s reserved stock.”

Reserved.

I consider this carefully.

“Every house I’ve bought from plays this game,” I say. “One bottle kept back. Never for sale…until the number’s big enough.”

Vasile spreads both hands, wounded. “My lord, if I may—”

“You may not. I know how the game works, Vasile.”

He has the sense not to respond to that.

Except my mind keeps snagging on the girl herself, moving down that line with her heart at a dead sprint and her face dead calm. She didn’t drop her eyes once. Not when the others did. Not when I looked at her.

“Am I supposed to beg? I’ve forgotten how.”

Nerve. I like it.

People have always performed something for me. Fear, worship, hunger, or a good copy of one. She didn’t perform anything.

What are you?

Something special. I’m certain of it.

So. He’s inflating something that’s already worth inflating, and neither of us knows exactly what it is.

“Reserved for whom?”

“I’m not able to say.”

He means he doesn’t know. There’s someone above him, and someone above that, and at the top of it, somebody who’s decided she isn’t for sale. Yet.

“Then I’m not buying. I’m dining.” I set the glass down. “A tasting. Tonight, and we’ll see whether your rarest classification lives up to the experience. If she’s what your sales pitch says she is, we’ll discuss terms worth both our time.”