His smile grew as he leaned forward and offered me his hand. "Harry Stanford, at your service."
His grip was firm, but not overpowering. A vampire who was confident in his own strength and who saw no need to display it—unlike Hunter.
I studied him for several seconds, mulling over our brief conversation, then said, a little hesitantly, "Are you, by chance, on the high council yourself?"
"And where would you get that idea, young lady?"
"It's a guess."
"Then it is a good one." He picked up a pen and began to tap the table lightly.
Unease slithered through me, and my pulse rate began to skip—never a good thing when cornered in a small room with a vampire.
"And, uh, were you on the side of those who thought I could be of use to the council, or one of the ones who thought it would be better for all concerned if I were killed?"
"Neither. I could not see the sense in killing you before we'd explored and discussed all possible outcomes." A half smile touched his lips. "And I would never, under any circumstance, side with Hunter."
"Oh." Great. He hated Hunter, and I was here under her orders.
"Never fear," he said, almost jovially. "There is no point in killing the messenger when it is the master I would rather see dead."
"If you did attempt to harm her," Azriel said, voice flat but nevertheless deadly. He rested a hand on my left shoulder as he reappeared beside me. "You would be dead before you even left your chair."
"Ah, the reaper himself. I was wondering when you'd turn up."
"I am never far away."
"Indeed." He studied the two of us for a moment, then said, "You do realize, don't you, that Hunter has no intention of ever letting you off her leash? Her plans for you are vast, and the keys play only a minor part of that."