Steele
into the great room and flicked the switch to the propane fireplace. With a
blue flame poof , the fire roared to
life in the ornate stone hearth.
Steele glanced over
to the bar area. "A gentleman would offer a drink."
"You aren't
staying long enough to have a drink. Talk," Tristan said.
Steele took a seat in
the wing chair and crossed his legs and smoothed the crease in his expensive
dress slacks.
"I will get
right to the point. You owe me for the blood bath debacle. I am here to
collect. I know what you are and who your father is."
Okay, now he needed a drink. Tristan walked to the
bar and poured himself a Hennessey. Taking a seat opposite Steele, he took a
long swig.
"Do you? And
what the hell are you? Not human."
"How observant.
I am Thrope. From the branch of Wolfen."
Tristan laughed.
"You are a damned Werewolf? Wonderful. Didn't think there were any around
here."
Steele looked
affronted. "I am not some slobbering moon beast. There are three branches,
of which there are Lycans, Weres and us. We are the elite."
Tristan waved his arm
in annoyance. "Forgive me if I don't keep up with all the various Packs of
wild dogs that exist in the Shadow World."
A flash of anger
flickered in Steele's eyes, the first sign of any emotion. He also saw yellow
slashes in the brown of his irises. The beast within.
"We are wolf shape-shifters.
Ask your father, he knows of us. The payment I require is simple. I wish for
your father to turn a Thrope of my choosing into a Vampire."
Tristan choked on his
drink. "You are insane. Why? To what purpose?"
"I could be rude
and state it is none of your business, but I know your father will want a
reason. Breeding is paramount to us. We are always striving for perfection in
our Packs. We wish to infuse Vampire blood into a branch of our species. If
your father agrees to this, consider the debt paid."
Tristan slumped back
into the chair. Damn and blast it. He would have to tell his father now. Or
would he? Turning someone was not a spur of the moment decision. A lot of
things had to be factored in. His father had not turned anyone in decades. It
was not something done easily or often by any Vampire. The Bureau would have to
be contacted and reams of paperwork filled out. What would become of Raynor
Nightwood if this blood incident came to light within the Blackthorne Clan, or
worse, the Bureau? He’d made a sworn oath not to repeat it. He honored his
word.
"No. Ask
something else of me. Not this."
Steele sat back and
tented his fingers. "I want nothing else. This will wipe the slate clean.
The debt must be paid. The Blood Oath fulfilled."
Tristan slammed his
glass on the nearby end table and stood. "This conversation is at an end.
Leave my house."
Steele also stood.
"Perhaps I will just approach your father myself and explain this
situation. I don't need you, half-breed."
Tristan, a good four
inches taller, leaned toward Steele with his fangs extended and began to growl
aggressively.
"Do not push me.
You cannot get anywhere near my father and you know it."
Steele smiled his
slimy, predatory smile again. His eyes glowed yellow.
"You will be
sorry you crossed me. You will fulfill this request. I will see to it."
Tristan hissed. His Vampire
blood was roaring in his veins.
"Leave,
now."
"As you wish, but
know this. We are not through."
When Tristan heard
the door close, he slumped into his chair again. His fangs receded. He was fucked.
****
Sleep was becoming a
luxury to Katrina, an elusive rare thing all because of Tristan Black. What
possessed her to run down those stairs and lunge herself at the man? What was
he even doing there, coming to see her? She didn't even ask or care. She wanted
him and she got him. What happened between them? It was wild and feral, sex on
the hood of his car and in her cousin's driveway. Thank God the night was
overcast and the nearest neighbors were far enough away, she hoped. After she went in the house she sat in the
living room for an
into the great room and flicked the switch to the propane fireplace. With a
blue flame poof , the fire roared to
life in the ornate stone hearth.
Steele glanced over
to the bar area. "A gentleman would offer a drink."
"You aren't
staying long enough to have a drink. Talk," Tristan said.
Steele took a seat in
the wing chair and crossed his legs and smoothed the crease in his expensive
dress slacks.
"I will get
right to the point. You owe me for the blood bath debacle. I am here to
collect. I know what you are and who your father is."
Okay, now he needed a drink. Tristan walked to the
bar and poured himself a Hennessey. Taking a seat opposite Steele, he took a
long swig.
"Do you? And
what the hell are you? Not human."
"How observant.
I am Thrope. From the branch of Wolfen."
Tristan laughed.
"You are a damned Werewolf? Wonderful. Didn't think there were any around
here."
Steele looked
affronted. "I am not some slobbering moon beast. There are three branches,
of which there are Lycans, Weres and us. We are the elite."
Tristan waved his arm
in annoyance. "Forgive me if I don't keep up with all the various Packs of
wild dogs that exist in the Shadow World."
A flash of anger
flickered in Steele's eyes, the first sign of any emotion. He also saw yellow
slashes in the brown of his irises. The beast within.
"We are wolf shape-shifters.
Ask your father, he knows of us. The payment I require is simple. I wish for
your father to turn a Thrope of my choosing into a Vampire."
Tristan choked on his
drink. "You are insane. Why? To what purpose?"
"I could be rude
and state it is none of your business, but I know your father will want a
reason. Breeding is paramount to us. We are always striving for perfection in
our Packs. We wish to infuse Vampire blood into a branch of our species. If
your father agrees to this, consider the debt paid."
Tristan slumped back
into the chair. Damn and blast it. He would have to tell his father now. Or
would he? Turning someone was not a spur of the moment decision. A lot of
things had to be factored in. His father had not turned anyone in decades. It
was not something done easily or often by any Vampire. The Bureau would have to
be contacted and reams of paperwork filled out. What would become of Raynor
Nightwood if this blood incident came to light within the Blackthorne Clan, or
worse, the Bureau? He’d made a sworn oath not to repeat it. He honored his
word.
"No. Ask
something else of me. Not this."
Steele sat back and
tented his fingers. "I want nothing else. This will wipe the slate clean.
The debt must be paid. The Blood Oath fulfilled."
Tristan slammed his
glass on the nearby end table and stood. "This conversation is at an end.
Leave my house."
Steele also stood.
"Perhaps I will just approach your father myself and explain this
situation. I don't need you, half-breed."
Tristan, a good four
inches taller, leaned toward Steele with his fangs extended and began to growl
aggressively.
"Do not push me.
You cannot get anywhere near my father and you know it."
Steele smiled his
slimy, predatory smile again. His eyes glowed yellow.
"You will be
sorry you crossed me. You will fulfill this request. I will see to it."
Tristan hissed. His Vampire
blood was roaring in his veins.
"Leave,
now."
"As you wish, but
know this. We are not through."
When Tristan heard
the door close, he slumped into his chair again. His fangs receded. He was fucked.
****
Sleep was becoming a
luxury to Katrina, an elusive rare thing all because of Tristan Black. What
possessed her to run down those stairs and lunge herself at the man? What was
he even doing there, coming to see her? She didn't even ask or care. She wanted
him and she got him. What happened between them? It was wild and feral, sex on
the hood of his car and in her cousin's driveway. Thank God the night was
overcast and the nearest neighbors were far enough away, she hoped. After she went in the house she sat in the
living room for an
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