I frowned as I walked warily into the darkened room, wondering how someone could be a thrall and yet not. But the question went unanswered. Either Azriel didn't know or he wasn't saying.
The former, he said, voice full of censure. You really need to start trusting me more, Risa.
I do trust you—to watch my back and keep me alive. What I don't trust is that you're ever going to be completely honest with me.
I have never been dishonest with you.
No. But you never tell me everything you know, either.
Sometimes it is better that way.
And that is why I trust you to keep me safe but not to keep me informed.
A shadow loomed in front of us, forming into a long stick of vampire. He had carrot red hair and the eyebrows and beard to match, and his eyes were a merry blue. He smelled faintly of lilac and soap, which was a damn sight more than could be said about the other vampires in the room. It seemed they were upholding Aunt Riley's pet peeve about certain sections of the vampire community—or the great unwashed, as she tended to call them. They were usually younger in vampire years, although—again according to Aunt Riley—there were a few guardians who apparently had an aversion to cleanliness, too.
"Risa Jones," the vampire said, stopping in front of us and holding out his hand. "I'm Brett Marshall. Pleasure to make your acquaintance."
"I'd love to say the same," I replied, noticing that his flesh was cool and his grip without real strength. Maybe Hunter hadn't told him that I was half werewolf, so he was adjusting the handshake accordingly. I had certainly expected someone capable of curtailing any wayward actions of the better part of a dozen vampires to hold more physical strength than what he'd just shown. Maybe Hunter had meant something other than physical strength. "But that would be a total lie."
He laughed. It was a pleasant sound, but sat oddly against the tense, almost needy atmosphere in the room. "I would have questioned your sanity if you'd said anything else." His gaze flicked over my shoulder. "I see you have brought along a rather impressive guard."
"His name is Azriel," I said, "and can you blame me?"
"Certainly not. Please, follow me."
He turned and walked down some steps. The darkness seemed even deeper here, a blanket that was lifted only by the flickering of Valdis's fire. It was hard to see anything, but I could smell booze and blood under the stink of vampire. Another shiver ran down my spine and my pulse rate jumped a little—never a good thing in a room filled with needy vampires.
I followed Marshall across the room. Tables and chairs gradually became visible as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, but the vampires remained curiously out of sight. They had to be shadowing, because the scent that surrounded us indicated that some of them were quite close.