“I’m wearing them ironically.” Petite as she was, she leaned up on tiptoes to kiss my cheek. “Be careful.”
“I will. Hey, before you leave, do you by chance have a cloak?”
Sighing woefully, she walked to the door. “You aren’t wearing a cloak.”
“I could pull it off.”
“You’d pull off nineties vampire princess goth. And that’s not a compliment.”
But the worry seemed to have drained from the hard set of her shoulders, which was what I’d wanted. I’d nudged too closely to the supernatural boundary she’d drawn, and that wasn’t fair to her.
It was time for vampires to learn some boundaries, too.
***
Vampires being vampires, how I presented myself at the meeting was essential. There must be black, there must be leather, there must be blades, and there must be ferocity.
Fortunately, I was well stocked.
I considered and discarded a trim suit, leggings and a military-style jacket, and a leather fighting ensemble. I couldn’t go in looking like a warrior, a fighter. They’d assume I’d already given up the argument and was ready to fight.
No, I needed to show authority. Power. I wasn’t a Master, but I was someone to be reckoned with.
I opted for an ensemble I’d never worn, one I’d purchased in Paris to wear for a night at the clubs. And hadn’t gotten there before coming home again. It was a fitted black jumpsuit that smoothed down the body from neck to ankles in the front, theback open in a deep vee. No sleeves, but a cape of pleated panels of black organza that fell from the shoulders. It was a little red carpet, a little military, and very badass. Part of me was irritated by the superficiality; part of me was very psyched about the look.
There was a chance I’d have to fight, so I opted for kitten-heeled leather boots rather than the stilettos the jumpsuit demanded—and despite the fact that they’d have made excellent weapons of their own.
A dagger went into my boot, and I’d belt on my katana on-site. I slicked back my hair into a low bun and pushed diamond studs into my ears. Wealth also impressed vampires. Not to the same degree as fairies, who were like magpies when gold and silver glinted, but it mattered.
Eyes and lips were accented, cheekbones highlighted, so that when I was done I looked fierce, fashionable, intimidating.
“Good,” I said and snapped off the light. It was time for some intimidation.
***
Connor was waiting outside, already on Thelma—his low, matte-black motorcycle. He was in head-to-toe black leather, from boots to sleek jacket, his dark hair waving in the breeze. He looked up at the sound of my footsteps, his smile widening as he watched me move toward him. I could feel his magic stretch out, caress, and beckon.
I kept my gaze on him as I walked, practicing my bravado, and liked seeing the desire that clouded his eyes.
“Elisa Sullivan,” he said, voice deep. “You are a picture.”
I tipped up his chin with a finger, pressed a kiss to his lips, giving the same teasing caress that he usually offered to me.
His hand found my hip, squeezed. “If we didn’t have business right now...” he began, but we both knew this was unavoidable.
“Let’s hope they’re as intimidated as you are impressed.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Unsettled,” I decided, and he nodded.
“That sounds about right. Let’s head out.”
I picked up the helmet already waiting for me on the second seat, slung a leg over the bike.
Connor was teaching me to ride solo, but had insisted on taking the lead tonight. I considered arguing, but riding across Chicago with my arms around his waist, curled into him as he bobbed and weaved through traffic, wasn’t exactly a hardship.
***