The Tenth Legion (Book 6, Progeny of Evolution) by Mike Arsuaga Page B

hand to defend the honor of the Hudson Valley
vineyards.
    Jerry took the
bottle, insisting on filling her glass himself. When he leaned
across, Lorna took a moment to appreciate the hard contours of his
taut male form. Resolve to make him beg faltered in direct
proportion the hardening of her nipples under the bodice of the
silk blouse.
    From the
first sip, the wine seeped through her veins, warming her all over.
It had been a long time since she’d had any, but she didn’t
remember it ever affecting her so fast. The waiter came alongside
to take their order . Floubert’s had
one of the finest and most complete lycan and vampire oriented
menus in the whole region. Only DelHomme’s in New Orleans rivaled
it. Coven International owned that one, too.
    “Petite filet
mignon with capers,” Lorna said.
    “The Mutton
Bilbao is to die for,” Jerry suggested.
    Lorna nodded
in polite disagreement. “I’m a beef girl, remember?” The evening
had been perfect until he decided to order for her. Presumptive
males rubbed her the wrong way. The wine must’ve brought it out in
him. Jerry wasn’t the only one the vine was causing to behave out
of character. She too, was quick to draw a line in the sand. “It’s
not like you ever eat any of this woofer food,” she found herself
saying in a loud whisper from across the table.
    At her use of
a word known to start blood feuds in some quarters, Jerry’s festive
manner vanished. “You should be careful about saying such things.”
The ominous tone made her realize the gaffe she’d made.
    The lycan
waiter remained immobile beside them, rooted to the Mexican floor
tiles. If he heard, he showed no sign.
    Lorna, now
anxious to get clear of the situation, glanced up at Jerry, back at
her menu, and then shrugged. “I’ll have the mutton dish.”
    The waiter
scribbled on a note pad, complimenting their choices before
departing. “Another glass?” Jerry offered, smiling.
    “Young man,
are you plying me with liquor to have your way?” The incident, now
forgotten, faded into the aromatic vapors of the wine.
    In the
candlelight, he seemed to blush. With downcast eyes, he smiled
reflectively, answering as if speaking to the elaborate fan fold of
the napkin in front of him. “I know better than to think I can get
away with that.” Raising the bottle, he refilled her glass.
    The wine
tasted sweet, warming her throat on the way down. “Well, mister,
play your cards right and we’ll be knocking boots ‘til the wee
hours.”
     
    * * * *
     
    Jerry had
nailed it. The mutton was to die for. Lorna knew the blandness of
her kind’s cuisine when compared with human. Anything more than
sparing amounts of most seasonings can overload and, over time,
ruin the palates of The Others. The old saying “Raw is best” was
true, but catering to a growing appetite for diversity since Coming
Out had become an expanding industry. The best restaurants in
cities with large vampire or lycan populations, like Orlando or New
Orleans, created tasty, popular recipes, some of which a few humans
found attractive.
    “You know,”
Lorna said, nearing the end of her entrée accompanied by an
uncharacteristic the second glass of wine. “The last time I drank
like this was the night I celebrated emergence. I must have screwed
twenty guys.”
    Being well
familiar with the early emergence of lycans, Jerry took the remark
in stride. Then he glanced around in a manner, suggestive of
expecting someone. Lorna wondered if he had another surprise in
store. Was this all a prelude to the appearance of a certain tall,
ginger haired CEO to show his gratitude in person?
    But that
wasn’t it. “Well,” Jerry said, focusing her attention back on them.
“You’ll do just one tonight.”
    “ I don’t
know.” She smiled, arching a teasing eyebrow. “The bus boy is pretty cute…”
    A waiter
topped off Jerry’s coffee. Lorna splurged in another direction of
culinary exploration by taking a few bites of dessert, an