The Men of Otherworld: Collection One by Yasmine Galenorn

which meant “ hands off, I own her .”
    “Even those of the nobility, with the exception of my mother, are sworn to follow the rules.” Roman smoothly slid from behind his desk. He lifted Nerissa’s hand to his lips and gently kissed it. She smiled softly and inclined her head. And that made him more nervous than he had thought possible.
    A knock sounded on the door, eclipsing any other thoughts for Roman. His stomach tightened. Just because he was dead, didn’t mean he couldn’t feel queasy, and right now, he might as well be on a boat swaying on the high seas. He motioned for the women to sit near the desk, then took his place behind the behemoth of an oak antique. After straightening his smoking jacket and smoothing back his pony tail, he pressed the button announcing the servants were free to enter the room.
    The maid entered, her eyes wide. The scent of fear was clinging to her. Roman tended to hire mortal servants for maids, cooks, and other household staff. Behind her walked a hooded figure, at least six feet tall, wearing a blood red cloak, with gold trim. The cloak was rich velvet, fastened by a brooch that Roman recognized. He had one like it, as well as a cloak that was similar in fashion. The cloaks were handmade, only for their family. The tailor had been with the family since Roman could first remember. Blood Wyne had turned him, along with a handful of servants, when she had turned her children.
    Roman inclined his head, but he retained his stiff, formal pose. He refused to concede anything further to his brother. “Caleb, you grace my home with your presence.” What he wanted to say was get the fuck out , but that wasn’t the most diplomatic move. Caleb would run to his mother, and then Blood Wyne would yell at Roman, and it would be one big mess.
    Caleb pushed back his hood. He was striking, with long golden hair the color of summer sun, and sparkling eyes the color of frost. But though their coloring was different, the long, regal nose, and angular cheekbones belied their common parentage.  
    Caleb glanced over at Menolly and Nerissa, his eyes flashing briefly. “Brother, it’s been a long time.” He wandered over to the girls, circling them. “It’s easy enough to tell who your consort is.”  
    Menolly stood and curtseyed. Yes, it was expected of her and Roman knew that it grated against her nature, but she was brought up in courtly life and understood protocol. That was main reason he had decided to appoint her as his official consort—that along with his mother’s decree. Blood Wyne had insisted, and while he still didn’t know why, things had snowballed after that. Now, he was in love with Menolly and more than grateful for the way things had turned out.
    “Lord Caleb.” Menolly’s voice was smooth, but beneath the surface, Roman could hear a rumbling of discontent.  
    Caleb gave her a long once-over, then turned to Nerissa. He held her gaze, but said nothing. Then, turning back to Roman, he said, “You are remiss. You offer me no one to drink?”
    Roman narrowed his eyes. Caleb was up to something. He could feel it. “I am a poor host, yes. I will have a bottle of blood warmed and brought to you.”
    “I prefer my blood straight from the throat. You wouldn’t refuse me , would you?” Caleb cleared his throat. “In fact, I’d rather you choose the woman personally . Someone you think would suit all my tastes.”  
    Roman paused. Caleb’s meaning was clear. For some reason, he wanted to be alone with Menolly and Nerissa. That didn’t sit well. He doubted that his brother—as rough as he was—would go so far as to attack either woman, but the son of a bitch was up to something. If he capitulated, he’d leave them at risk. If he refused, he’d be branded in the court as churlish and his mother would intervene, and that could get dicey. Relative or not, she was the vampire queen, and she made her wishes known in her own time. But the one thing she was clear on: Her