“We’re still checking it out, but as far as we can tell, it’s good,” Juro replied. “The biggest question is whether most of it is still relevant. Mathilde had intended for Duvall to work with Hubert, and he did go to Mexico to meet with him initially, but he’d already blown Hubert off by the time Mathilde died. If I were Hubert, I’d have changed things up by now, just in case.”
“Send it to me anyway. I’ll see what we can make of it.”
“On its way,” Juro confirmed.
“Fantastic. Now I’ve got a party to get back to.”
“If you’ve got time to party, things can’t be too bad, mi amigo,” Jared joked. He and Vincent had known each other long before Vincent became Lord of Mexico.
“It’s Lana’s birthday,” Vincent told him. “And it’s almost time for presents.”
“Tell her happy birthday!” Cynthia Leighton spoke up for the first time, although Vincent wasn’t surprised to discover she was there. Raphael’s mate was a fighter in every sense of the word. Just like his own Lana.
“I will,” Vincent told her. “And, Raphael, I’ll tap my sources in Texas, and let you know if anything interesting crawls out. See you in Houston.” He punched the disconnect button, then turned to Michael. “Or maybe not. It sounds like the challenge might be over before it gets started. You know anything about Christian Duvall?”
Michael closed the computer and stood. “Not a thing. But that’ll change by morning. I’ve set up some searches.”
“Excellent. Party time.”
The noise level swelled as Michael opened the heavy door to a combination of music and laughter, and multiple conversations all going at the same time. But as Vincent stepped into the room, his gaze tracked unerringly to the birthday girl. Lana Arnold, human, bounty hunter, the love of his life. She was wearing a dress tonight. The short, playful skirt made her legs look even longer than they were, and the killer high heels made his dick hurt. The dress was red, a color his Lana had been born to wear. It added a warm glow to her gorgeous mocha skin, and contrasted with the black silk of her hair. He thought about ripping the dress off her later on. Thought about all that long, silky hair sliding over his belly as she—
“Does she know?”
Vincent turned to find his “sister” Camille standing next to him. They’d been nest mates for decades under Enrique’s tutelage, and had believed themselves to be vampire siblings. Until Vincent had discovered, just recently, that Enrique was not, in fact, his Sire. But that hadn’t changed anything about his relationship with Camille. She was his sister in every way that counted, and he loved her. She was one of the very few vampires he trusted absolutely.
“Does who know what?” he asked her.
Camille smiled. “You look at Lana with such hunger in your eyes, manito. Does she know you love her?”
“Of course, she does,” he scoffed, bristling a little at the question. “You were there the day I fought Enrique. I crawled through a soup of my own blood and bones to get to her after I dusted that bastard. I gave her my wrist, even though I was gushing so much blood, she could have lapped it up with a spoon instead.”
Camille shook her head, then reached up to cup his cheek. “Idiot. Tell the woman you love her.”
Vincent smiled confidently. Covering Camille’s hand with his, he brought it over to his lips and kissed her fingers. “Have a little faith.”
He made his way across the room, the partygoers clearing a path ahead of him automatically. He could have cleared the room with a touch of his power, but that wasn’t necessary here. These were his people, his friends. Lana turned to watch him approach, eyes bright with excitement, her mouth turned up in a smile that was just for him.
Hell, yes, he loved her.
“Dance with me, querida,” he said, lowering his head to brush his mouth against hers.
“The music is—” She started to protest that the music was too fast. Lana was a graceful woman, but she’d never learned to dance, and didn’t believe she could. But at that moment, the music changed to something slow and sexy. She rolled her eyes at his smug look. “Lord of all he surveys,” she muttered.
“Not all,” he murmured, pulling her into his arms. “Just the playlist.”
She laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Sexy beast.”
“That’s me.”
Their bodies fit together perfectly as they swayed to the music, her breasts warm and soft against his chest, his cock swelling where it rubbed against her belly. Lana closed her eyes and rested her cheek against his, as other couples moved onto the dance floor around them.
“This is perfect,” she whispered, lifting the fingers of one hand to trail through his hair and around to caress his bearded jaw.
“You are,” he agreed.
She smiled and kissed his neck.
“Lana.”