not only incredibly rude in vamp circles, it was dangerous.
In a society where people were constantly jockeying for position, appearing weak was an open invitation.
Louis-Cesare didn’t answer. But, this time, there was a pregnancy in the silence that hadn’t been there before. He was finally listening, and he was thinking. I just wished he’d do it out loud, so I could figure out how his mind worked.
But my hubby was not a talker.
“If we do this,” he finally said. “If we hunt him together . . .”
“Yes?”
“I take him down. When I tell you to back off, you back off, no questions asked. You do not engage him yourself—”
“Is this about his magic? Because I know about magic—”
I suddenly found my wrist grasped in a hold of steel. “This is about you doing as I ask! Promise me!”
There was something in his face that stopped the response that trembled on my lips, something that kept me from pulling back and telling him off. It wasn’t anger, or even the wounded pride of a master not used to being challenged. It was worse.
It was fear.
I searched those blue eyes, but couldn’t tell if it was fear of Jonathan or for me, or a combination of the two. I only knew that this issue frightened my husband when nothing else did, so it frightened me as well. Which only made me more determined that, whatever had put that look in his eyes, he would not face it alone.
“Of course. He’s your kill.”
“I mean it, Dory. I know how you are—tenacious, brave, stubborn. But no arguments. Not on this. When I say you leave, you leave. Immediately.”
I sat there for a moment, wanting to ask what the hell Jonathan had done to him, what there was that I didn’t already know. But I bit my tongue. He would tell me when he was ready, or he wouldn’t. He’d already made a big concession tonight, one that he obviously did not want to make.
It was enough.
“I promise,” I said.
Chapter Sixteen
Dory, Cairo
Finding Hassani, I realized, might be harder than I’d thought. The party that we joined after a quick trip upstairs had spilled out onto multiple rooftops, with vamps casually jumping from one to the other on a whim. That wasn’t such a big deal in some cases, where the buildings were basically sitting cheek by jowl, but with others there was a significant gap. Giving me the visual of men in tuxes and women in sparkly, high fashion gowns leaping through the air like gazelles.
Not that everybody was all dressed up. I’d worried about my outfit being too touristy or too spangly or too something, but it would have been hard to pick something that wouldn’t have fit in here somewhere. Because each rooftop seemed to be doing its own thing.
One had sleekly dressed people in mostly Western clothing holding champagne flutes, although they were probably filled with the same nasty, non-alcoholic stuff we’d been served since we got here. Hassani did not approve of the devil’s brew, despite the fact that vamps can’t get drunk, at least not off Earth hooch. But the partiers made it look good, quietly talking or slow dancing together as if they were at a high-end supper club or a refined house party.
Another gathering, right next door, had the vibe of a bunch of old friends, casually attired and sitting on plastic chairs, playing cards, smoking hookahs, and relaxing. Well, except for the three guys in the back. They were trying to hide the keg they’d smuggled in by nonchalantly throwing a tablecloth over it and planting a candlestick in the middle.
Damn, I thought enviously.
Should have brought the cognac.
Their group, in turn, were bordered by some pretty raucous, nightclub type celebrations, one playing jazz, one with a thumping disco beat, and a third blasting Top 40 karaoke, while a vamp who ought to know better tried to hold a tune.
Our roof was somewhere in the middle, with a bunch of musicians with colorful tablah drums and a dozen female belly dancers in bright yellow and gold spangled outfits. And, okay, what the heck was the rule, I wondered, sizing up the low-cut bras and bare bellies of the dancers. I thought we were being restrained!
But all bets were off tonight, it seemed, because there was some serious shimmying going on.
“It is an interesting art form, is it not?” Louis-Cesare asked, watching one girl’s impressive undulations.
She had smooth golden skin, washboard abs, and a belly button piercing. She also