Vampire Debt - Supernatural Battle (Vampire Towers #2) - Kelly St. Clare Page 0,19
through him as I said his name.
I’d have to feel this—him—for the rest of my existence. The thought made me want to crawl into a hole. One where he’d be waiting. Naked.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“I’m going out tonight. Just across the road to a wine bar. I only want Laurel, Kelsea, and Josie to accompany me so the other patrons aren’t weirded out. If the rest of my crew is on standby, is that good with you?”
It wasn’t. I knew it before he spoke.
I gritted my teeth. Damn vampire. I just spent three days setting this gig up, and that wasn’t easy. If he said no, I was going to find a baseball bat and end him.
“Just across the road?” he clarified.
Ha!
His need to find the spy was outweighing his assholery. “Yep. Yellow Otter.”
“I know it.”
That wasn’t a yes. I focused on my frustration and shoved it at him—or the world. I had no idea how this emotional telepathy shit worked.
“This once. Only because the bar is in close proximity.”
“Thanks so much,” I said sarcastically.
“You’re welcome.”
The line disconnected. Bastard.
How could he go along with my plan and still manage to piss me off?
Shaking off the encounter, I dialled Laurel next.
“Hey, Loz. Did you hear that?”
“It’s not polite to listen in to our master’s conversations.”
That’s a yes. “Could you, Kelsea, and Josie take me across the road to Yellow Otter?”
“Of course. I’ll put the rest of your team on standby.”
Totally listened in.
I smirked. “Cool, I need to get ready, and I assume you guys will try to go as Jessica Alba during her Dark Angel days. So come up here to change, please.”
“You don’t want us to dress like Jessica Alba this time?” she asked.
Her innocent tone didn’t fool me for a second.
“I dressed in leather one time,” I huffed, hanging up.
I’d never live that down.
When they arrived, I was ready with my pen and notepad.
Was I sure that the trio weren’t the ones who’d blabbed to Clan Fyrlia and triggered the attack on me? Nope. But I really hoped I wasn’t mistaken in them. These three genuinely seemed to like my company.
I sighed at their Indebted uniforms as they huddled in the doorway.
I’d convince them against leather if it was the last thing I did. “Grab clothes off the rack suitable for a wine bar. Your objective is to fit in. Humans hate standing out.”
Laurel watched me closely.
Winking, I jotted a note on the pad.
Don’t respond to my notes out loud.
How far away can you hear my heartbeat in this building?
She scanned the message and nudged the other two, who were scouring my clothing racks.
Kelsea and Josie read the note, their eyes flicking to mine.
Laurel grabbed the pen from me.
Two levels average. Four levels at most.
Everyone I was interested in should either be on Lower Level 4, Level 44, or Level 66. I wrote:
I need your phones.
The part of the plan that didn’t sit well with me. The bond between the Indebted was for real. If the trio was aware one of their sisters and brothers was the spy, they could try to warn them.
Laurel’s mouth tightened, but she passed her phone over, the others following suit. I grimaced, hoping to convey that I appreciated their trust in me.
“What’s going on?” Kelsea mouthed.
I pulled out a set of instructions I’d written earlier, handing it to Kelsea and Josie. Scribbling as quickly as possible, I passed a second message to Laurel.
Understanding dawned on the older vampire’s face as she finished reading it.
Kelsea and Josie were yet to connect the dots.
I cast all three of them a stern look, holding up the final pre-prepared message.
From now on, we must be careful of every word we speak. The four of us are together and heading to the Yellow Otter. Don’t mention any other details aloud.
I’d underlined the last sentence, and the other two finally seemed to grasp what was happening.
Now the fun could begin.
Expression serious, I said cheerfully, “Did you guys find something to wear?”
Laurel turned to the rack, wrinkling her nose.
I cracked a grin. “What? You don’t like anything other than black leather?”
“Exactly,” she answered, brows lifted at the selection before her.
“You wore that dress to the club one time.”
She lifted a shoulder. “I pretended it was black. You’re wearing black now. Is that all the black you’ve got?”
“My jeans are soaked with compost juice, so yeah.” I perused the rack, drawing a slinky dark green dress from a hanger. “This one for you.”