"Yet," he said. "But if I find myself suddenly giving you a pedicure, I might suspect otherwise." He winked.
I lifted my hand. "Trust me, there isn't a file strong enough for these nails."
"Let me see your nails, Moon Dance."
"No."
"Please."
I sighed and held out my hands. He took them gently and did not flinch at the extreme cold of my flesh like most do. Indeed, shivering and smiling, he seemed to revel in the iciness. He next tapped the tip of my index finger. I felt like a horse being sold at auction. "You could disembowel a rhino with these things."
"Or a bartender who lets my secret out."
He grinned again. "I didn't realize how feisty you were, Moon Dance."
"We never had this much at stake, Fang."
"We both hold equally damaging secrets. I, too, am trusting you to keep my secret safe."
"You're a convicted murder and an escaped prisoner."
"And you're a blood-sucking fiend."
I studied him. The corner of his mouth lifted in a small smile, along with some of his beard. "Fair enough," I said, sitting back. "So what's this mind control business you're talking about?"
He finished his drink and waved the waitress over. I had barely touched my own wine. When she was gone, he sat forward, resting his weight on his sharp elbows. "You have already mentioned your sixth sense, Moon Dance. You have even mentioned that you felt it is getting stronger."
I nodded; it was.