Page 4 of Bought for Blood

I raise a hand. “English, Yves. Let’s not be rude to our…guest.” I turn then. “Crowe.”

He fills the doorway, broad through the shoulders, coat heavy enough to be hiding something or just cut for the weather. Leather. Gun oil. Blood underneath both, days old. His eyes move over the room once, quick and complete, then settle on me. Whatever he needed to know, he already has it.

The blood doesn’t interest me. Which tells me exactly how far off tonight’s hunger is.

“Lord Val-Serein.” He shuts the door behind him with the flat of his hand, then sweeps into a bow before stepping into the room. He moves quietly for a man his size, like most of our kind.

“Let’s skip the formalities, shall we? Drink?” I move to the table where the bottle stands and lift it.

“No.” He watches me pour anyway, a fresh glass, not a top-up, my first one sitting half-empty on the chair arm where I left it.

“You never do.” I take the glass and gesture at the chairs across from the one I’ve abandoned. “Sit. You’re making my ceiling look low.”

Crowe picks a chair and lowers himself into it.

“Not there,” I tell him. “That’s Maximilian’s spot.”

His brows rise, but he doesn’t say anything, just takes the chair opposite. Crowe crosses an ankle over his knee and rests one hand on the arm. His fingers are still.

Controlled. Or he’s already decided how tonight goes.

I stay standing, leaning against the mantel, one elbow on the stone, the wine in my other hand. The heat from the coals reaches my back. I don’t feel it warm anything.

“How’s the Court treating you these days?” I ask.

“The Court doesn’t treat me any way.” He looks up at me, unhurried. “I’m not Court.”

“You work for Faine.”

“I work near Faine. There’s a difference.”

“Convenient, that difference.” I drink. Still flat. “She busy?”

“Always.” Crowe doesn’t elaborate.

“Busy with what?”

He doesn’t answer that either.

I push off the mantel and cross to the shelf, lean against it, arms folding. “I heard Marchetti lost his holdings in the south.”

“Marchetti lost his holdings because he couldn’t keep his hands off his own supply.” Crowe shakes his head. “A Turned feeding on his own product. That was a mistake.”

“To get caught, you mean.”

“Not my place to pass judgment.” He uncrosses his ankle, recrosses the other way…the most movement I’ve seen him make since he sat down. “You haven’t been at Court in months.”

“I haven’t had a reason to be at Court in months.”

“That’s what they’re saying.”

“Who’s saying?”

“Everyone who notices when a Seigneur stops showing up.” His eyes don’t move off me. “Some think you’ve gone reclusive. Others think you’re planning something.”

“I’m not planning anything.” I unfold my arms, wrap one hand around the back of my neck, and squeeze. The muscle doesn’t give. “Planning requires interest.”

“And you’re not interested.”