Page 13 of A Hunter Born
His purred, “Morgan,” coincided with his hand reaching across the table to grip her own. “I also have a feeling we could do great things together, Morgan.”
Ah, shit.
“Your father is a powerful man. I am a powerful man. An alliance between us…” he trailed off, leaning forward, his face lit with excitement as the idea took root in his head and began to grow. “Not to mention the pleasures I could show you. You would be a queen.”
Yes, a queen. She’d be waited on hand and foot in exchange for the multitude of sons she would be expected to birth in her duty to bring forth the next generation of Born as well as abiding without question whatever dictates her husband put down. The thought hadn’t appealed to her as a girl, and having tasted freedom upon becoming a Hunter, certainly did not appeal to her now. Saying so, however, would be seen as a gross insult to her host, and while she would love nothing more than to tell this man exactly what she thought of him, the mission required her to play nice.
“You flatter me, Monsieur.”
“Olivier, please.”
“Olivier,” she obligingly repeated. “I must give this some thought,” she added with just a hint of breathless excitement lacing her voice. “It’s so unexpected.”
Rodolfo settled back into his chair, that smug expression firmly back on his face as he picked up his utensils and dug into his own food.
Who would have thought she was such a superlative actress? Taking another sip of wine, she contemplated how best to get their conversation back on the path she wished it to take. Unfortunately, a servant interrupted with a few low words whispered close to Rodolfo’s ear that had the Born standing from the table and announcing, “I’m afraid duty calls, Morgan and I must abandon you. Do enjoy your lunch. My servants are at your disposal should you require anything.”
Pasting a look of disappointment that was only half feigned considering she’d hoped to get something useful out of this exercise, Morgan threw out a last-ditch effort to obtain information with, “Nothing serious I hope?”
“Not at all,” and with a crisp bow, Rodolfo added, “I’ll see you this evening,” before he disappeared back into the villa.
Somehow, Morgan managed to finish her lunch as well as a few bites of the desert that was set before her – a show, purely for the servants’ benefit that would surely report back to Rodolfo – before she made her escape and headed straight for Jamie’s room.
“Please tell me you’ve got something,” she said without preamble as soon as the door closed behind her.
“Nothing yet,” the vampire replied from her cross-legged position in the middle of her mussed bed. She looked like she may have just woken up, was still in a pair of pink and white pajamas decorated with cartoon sheep, her long blonde hair a mass of sleep-rumpled tangles. “But I’m getting close.”
Noting the absence of Jamie’s self-appointed guardian while they were staying under Rodolfo’s roof, Morgan inquired, “Is Kane sleeping?”
Jamie nodded distractedly. “He had company. That redhead from the party.”
“Ah.” Good for him. At least someone was enjoying their time here in New Orleans, and hopefully, Kane had managed to charm some useful gossip out of the vampire.
Flopping down on the bed, Morgan let out a frustrated sigh and ran a hand through her loose locks. “I tried to get information out of Rodolfo and ended up with a marriage proposal.”
Jamie let out a bark of laughter and pushed her laptop aside to face Morgan fully, a twinkle of amusement lighting her hazel eyes. “I expect to be your maid of honor.”
Morgan snorted and rolled her eyes. “Don’t plan the bachelorette party just yet.”
“Seductress,” Jamie teased, giving Morgan’s shoulder a playful nudge with her fingertips. “Charming mysterious cops and now our incredibly handsome host.”
Morgan refrained from commenting about her mysterious cop, just the thought of him bringing a hint of color to her cheeks, remarking instead, “Our host is interested in the European alliances he can gain through my family rather than me specifically.”
Jamie’s lips twisted into a frown as she laid down on the bed, mirroring Morgan’s position. “I’ll never understand the Born and their desire for power over love.”
“It’s not all that surprising considering we’re of demonic descent and demons love power, not to mention they’re rarely capable of expressing the softer emotions. Any sentimental throwbacks from our weaker human genetics are typically whipped out of us as children.”
The statement made Jamie frown, her eyes filled with sympathy over the rather casual disclaimer of what Morgan’s childhood must have been like but Morgan didn’t see it. Her thoughts instead, focused once more on Travis St. John. Angels were said to hate anything with demonic blood and surely, he could sense hers. Was tonight truly a date like she’d originally – hopefully – assumed? Or had it been a convenient lure to get her alone so that he might strike her down?
“You have a look,” Jamie said, propping herself up on her elbow and using the other hand to wave at her face. “Like you’re chewing on something worrisome. Do you want to talk about it?”
Shaking her head, she smiled. Jamie had enough on her plate without burdening her with teenage drama of the ‘Does he like me?’ sort. Though in this case, the question was closer to ‘Does he like me enough not to kill me?’. Whatever. She certainly wasn’t going to break the date. There was still too much she didn’t know about her mysterious cop, and way too much anticipation for her to back out due to a sliver of insecurity.
Chapter Ten
Travis finished buttoning the light blue dress shirt he had donned and ran a hand through his damp brown hair. He contemplated the scruff on his jaw in the mirror, wondering if he should shave. Was Morgan Rhys the type of woman who was into facial hair, or would the bristle only prove to keep him from getting a kiss goodnight? And he did want to kiss her – among other things – not that he anticipated getting anywhere close to those other things tonight, but a guy could hope.
Deciding it was best to err on the side of caution, he picked up the can of shaving cream and went to work removing his whiskers. That done, he double-checked that his breath was minty fresh rather than smoky and left the bathroom for his living room. Stuffing his pockets with wallet, chewing gum, and keys, he ran through his mental checklist one last time. Before he left his apartment, he picked a picture frame up from its spot on the end table and felt his chest constrict as he glanced at the image it held. A head and shoulder shot of him with his arm wrapped around a beaming woman with thick waves of golden-brown hair. Sophia. Unlike him with his goofy mug, Sophia had been beautiful with her wide, generous smiles. She was always so happy, so hopeful, a beacon of optimism next to his rather cynical, pessimistic outlook on life. She’d forever seen the good in the world, despite all evidence to the contrary. A bit naïve perhaps, but that had been part of her charm. God, he missed her.
