"I'm sorry," she yelled across the room, then checked herself. "I should have saved you some."
He turned and looked at her, and relaxed. Okay. Baby was catching on to how this game was played. Everything said aloud was part truth, part lie, the language of the masters of deception. Then she needed to play this to the bone. Let the host think they'd been caught off guard. That his snit over the bedroom thing was because it assumed he needed the extra boost in there - challenged his virility, thus offended him highly. Carlos smiled, placed his finger to his lips. Wanna really hug them out?
Damali smiled, and he loved that it was that wicked one from the old neighborhood when they'd game and bait other street racers into losing bets when they were kids.
He waved his arm and banged a chair against the suite's hallway door. He winked at her and crooked his finger, and she quickly walked over to him. Then he kissed her hard. "That thing had adrenaline all through it - pure adrenaline!" he bellowed. "You toyed with it long enough before you drained it dry, then didn't save me any?"
"Aw, baby," she said calmly, "I'll make it up to you later, I promise."
"Make it up to me now."
She covered her mouth and ran from him when he reached for her, and squealed when he sent the sofa crashing into the bar as he came after her. The sound of her heels clacking against the polished sandstone and her giddy laughter was music to his ears. He wanted her to loosen up, play, shake the nerves, because some seriously tense shit was about to go down soon - and baby had to be able to work the environment to her advantage. Then, again, truth be told, he needed the tension release just as much as she did.
"Now you're running from me?" he said, laughing hard, and trying to shake the image of the child in Damali's arms out of his head. Yeah, he had to keep moving. The way she'd held it so naturally, her eyes so tender, so intense, so ready to give her life to protect it. Just as he'd always imagined she'd hold his child...
He exploded several blood bottles at the bar, making her shriek, loving the sound of her voice.
"You know I don't play that!" he hollered across the room. "You're putting me in a bad mood for my meeting, woman."
"I'm so sorry," she said, her voice escalating in false alarm.
"I don't want any other vamp in here while I'm gone, or I'll take a limb! Go to bed. Wait for me. Don't even call the maid to clean up this mess!"
"Yes, baby," she said, winking at him and slinking into her bedroom, blowing kiss over her shoulder. "I know I've been a very bad girl."
"Councilman," the Aussie said, standing as Carlos swept into the study. "Can I offer you a skein?"
Carlos nodded and sat heavily in the leather wingback chair before the man's huge, polished mahogany desk. "Absolutely, and thank you for the lovely surprise in my room," he said. "My wife thoroughly enjoyed it."
Carlos leaned forward and smiled, watching the nervous tension ease away from his host's face. His line of vision scanned the room, quickly sensing for any danger among the large stuffed animal heads, heavy walnut bookcases that held an extensive library, and across to the crackling fireplace that had an opening the height of a man. The room looked like it had been modeled after a combination of old European libraries and smoking rooms.
"She sounds like a handful," McGuire replied as he slowly assessed Carlos. He walked over to the long bar behind his desk to pour Carlos a drink. He peered over his shoulder, seeming unsure if it was safe to turn his back on his guest, then quickly uncapped a crystal decanter.
"She is," Carlos said, his awareness taut as he sensed for poison, his olfactory capability keened, while his drink was being prepared. Just a bit of colloidal silver would eat his insides out, but his expression remained amused. "She's feisty, still has a lot of Neteru in her," he said, knowing it was the most prevalent and tempting question in the Aussie's mind.
He watched McGuire sit down slowly, unabashed curiosity glittering in his moss green eyes. Carlos could see the man breathe in slowly, as if trying to control his inhales, as the scent of Damali coming off Carlos's body lit him up. Excellent.
"How on earth... Mr. Councilman... if you don't mind me asking?" The Aussie leaned forward and handed the drink to Carlos with caution, tilting his head, sniffing hard as he withdrew. He raised his skein in a gesture of respect, and then took a quick swig from it.
Carlos returned the gesture with a smile. "Crazy woman was fighting were-demons in Brazil, took a mortal wound, had almost bled out when I found her. Was still trying to swing the Isis at me when I got to her. Her immune system was compromised as her body went into death shock, but timing of the bite is everything. I beat death to the punch while her defences were down." Carlos shook his head and chuckled. "Neteru to the bitter end."
His host nodded, and took a long, deliberate sip from his skein. "She's trailing it all through the house," he whispered, swallowing hard.
"Yeah," Carlos said, standing, going to the window. "Died with it in her system... will, at times, make you do foolish things梑ut that's part of her allure. She wears it for me now as a signature fragrance that she conjures." He glanced at McGuire over his shoulder, and looked down at his drink. Yeah, they had to get this shit straight so it was clear. Reach for her and you're dying for placebo. "That's why I don't travel with an entourage anymore. Gets too messy; a waste of energy, and my dogs were becoming gorged." He looked up at McGuire. "I would hate to have an incident in the castle. While I'm sure you understand, we do have a few older foreign ambassadors who might not. Let's not have any confusion."
McGuire hesitated, fully comprehending the threat. "Oh, the castle is a sure sanctuary for you while you visit, sir."
"Good." Carlos nodded and came back to his seat and gestured for the Aussie to relax. "Do you have any particular regional problems that you'd like me to bring to the council table after my visit?"
The Aussie stood and began pacing slowly near his desk with his hands behind his back. "Of course, you're busy, and I'm honored that you've even asked, especially after your long travel here, but, uh, the Aborigines, their prayer lines have carved up my territory so badly. It's an old regional problem, but my previous entreaties to the council have gone ignored as a low priority for them. I've been lobbying council since the nineteen-eighties, when our drug traffiking operations really needed to cross those lines at will. When flying, you had a butcher at it, right?"
"That's a bitch," Carlos said, raking his fingers through his hair, while trying to sound empathetic. Now came the bargain for the shaky promise of support. "I saw them - just crisscrosses your whole region, and so old they glow." Carlos stood and went to the window.
"My point exactly. They're like electric fences. I need to annex some well-trod areas where the lines are not as lethal. Lost two good vamp drivers last week and was mad as a cut snake. My pilots have all gone blind; they have to sense their way in. Makes transporting lucrative products overland a shipping hazard." The Aussie went back to his chair and sat with a thud and waited as Carlos slowly found his seat.
Both men's eyes locked across the desk. Carlos could feel the Aussie siphoning information from the Dananu language before speaking. It morphed daily, and it took lower levels a moment to calibrate to it - lest they offend a higher rank by misspeaking even in the smallest way. So he waited, watching strengthened respect dawn in his host's eyes as McGuire picked up the new strand of Spanish that ran through the negotiation syntax.
The Transylvanian's territories are vast, and have been coveted for a long time by many. The Aussie didn't blink as he spoke slow and easy.