He straightened, quickly asking, “How much to buy a lead on her?” For some reason, Josephine’s ethereal face flashed in his mind.
“Why should I transact with you?” Loa asked.
Rune rested his forearms on the counter, leaning in. Catching her gaze, he raked one of his fangs over his bottom lip. “Why shouldn’t you want to do more with me, dove?”
Her pupils dilated as she focused on his mouth, her breaths shallowing. She blinked several times, then glared. “You’re a baneblood—with a healing vampire bite on his neck—who’s buyin’ restraints with too-old gold. What could possibly be troublin’ there?” Despite this, she was definitely interested.
“It’s a funny story.” Which I will never tell you. “We should have dinner.”
An arched brow. “Should we, then?”
He lowered his voice to a murmur, “Yes, and while we’re there, I’ll convince you to transact with me. Over and over.”
Loa crossed her arms over her ample breasts. “I don’t think—”
“Ah-ah, dove. I know females, and I’m gazing at one who needs more than just coin. . . .” He trailed off, muscles tensing.
Over all the other smells of this shop, he caught a scent.
Valkyrie.
FIFTEEN
Maybe I don’t have more pride than the nymphs, Jo thought as she gazed into the mirror at her new dress.
A scarlet sheath. Strapless. Micromini length.
When she’d decided to return to the Quarter to confront Rune, she’d surveyed her clothes rack of vintage threads, but she’d found nothing as sexy as what the nymphs had worn.
Unacceptable.
So she’d dashed to a second-hand boutique for a bit of shopping. Or more accurately, for a bit of shoplifting. Then she’d heated a mug of blood to drink while getting ready. She frowned. The mug was untouched, the blood cold. It’d smelled off anyway.
As long as she didn’t expend too much energy, she could miss a meal.
She turned in the mirror, then back. She’d opted for a strapless pushup bra that concealed her nipple piercings and lifted her boobs almost to her chin. She’d blown her hair out into big curls and defined her eyes with smoky liner. Clear glitter nail polish made her black claws sparkle. After nibbling her lips till they were blood red, she’d slipped on strappy stilettos.
Her bullet necklace dipped toward her cleavage. A silver bangle circled one bare arm above her elbow. She’d chosen chandelier earrings to dangle from her lobes and her customary helix rings at the tops of her ears.
Jo had enjoyed all her piercings, even the one below the belt. Each bite of pain had proved she was of the earth, incarnated, or something. Her jewelry helped remind her of that.
Plus, any guy she’d been with had lost his shit when he saw them. It was a given that a tongue would make contact directly.
She smoothed her hair one last time and eked out a smile for the mirror. She didn’t expect Rune to take one look at her and think, How could I have passed up that ass? Maybe I ought not to murder her? But she hoped he would have a qualm or two.
Her gaze flitted to his bone thingy beside her bed. The one thing she knew for certain? It was anything but a trinket.
She had no pockets to store it, but was leery of leaving it behind. If other freaks had senses like hers, they could sniff out a hiding place. With a shrug, she tucked the piece into the safest place she could think of—the snug cleavage between her pushed-up breasts.
Because she’d never give Rune access to it.
As ready as she’d ever be, Jo “traced” to the Quarter, heading straight for the courtyard. Did she really want to see Rune up to his eyebrows in nymph? Maybe he’d still be trying to relive her bite, and then she could laugh at him.
Nearing the gate, she made herself invisible, but the courtyard was empty. After a survey of the surrounding area, she traced to a rooftop overlooking Bourbon. It was a busy Saturday night in the Quarter, but then, every night brought something different here: tour groups, bands, warnings to repent.
In time, a couple strolling arm-in-arm below drew her attention. The short, black-haired woman wore only one shoe. What looked like a bat clung to the back of her peasant blouse, peeking over a shoulder. The woman’s face was captivating, her golden eyes seeming to glow.
Definitely not human. Freaks were coming out of the woodwork!
Aside from the woman’s oddness, something about her put Jo on guard. Simply because she was paranormal?
Jo turned her attention to the tall man with her, but his cowboy hat blocked Jo’s view of his face. He wore shit-kicker boots and had a rolling, confident gait.
The female asked him, “Have you ever been bait? Well, besides jailbait. Rowr.”
“I can’t say that I have, ma’am.” Texan accent?
Jo cocked her head at his voice, at the grin in his tone. The couple turned the corner onto an empty side street.
In ghost-mode, she traced to another rooftop to get a better look at him. When she caught sight of his face, Jo’s mouth went dry.
Thaddie!
Brother!
He appeared older than the last clipping she’d taped into her scrapbook, but it was him!
All grown up. No longer the little boy who’d ridden around in the Thadpack and worshipped Spidey.
She clutched her chest at the sharp ache.
Why was he in New Orleans? Maybe a sports playoff had brought him to the city. Or maybe he was a tourist, visiting with his high school friends.
So what was he doing with a nonhuman? Associating with freaks is not acceptable, Thaddeus.
If he was going to just . . . hang out with them, then had Jo sacrificed a life with him for nothing?