Balking, I folded.
With a pleased grin, he swept in the massive pot. When he tossed his hand over to the discard pile, the cardsâ edges caught, making them flip over. Two of diamonds. Eight of clubs.
âYou . . . you bluffed!â I cried. âYou had nothing!â
Carter wordlessly lit a cigarette.
I looked to the others for confirmation. âHe canât do that.â
âHell, Iâve been doing it for half this game,â said Hugh, borrowing Carterâs lighter. âNot that itâs done me any good.â
âYeah . . . but . . . heâs, you know. An angel. They canât lie.â
âHe didnât lie. He bluffed.â
Cody considered, twisting a piece of his blond hair around one finger. âYeah, but bluffing is still dishonest.â
âItâs implied lying,â said Peter.
Hugh stared at him. ââImplied lying?â What the fuck does that mean?â
I watched Carter stack his money and made a face at him. Youâd think an angel who hung around with employees of evil would be a good influence, but at times, he seemed worse than we were. âEnjoy your thirty pieces of silver, Judas.â
He gave me a mock hat tip while the others argued on.
Suddenly, like a row of dominoes, conversation steadily dropped. Carter felt it first, of course, but he merely arched an eyebrow, as indifferent as ever. Then came the vampires with their heightened reflexes and sensitivity. They exchanged glances and looked toward the door. Finally, seconds later, Hugh and I sensed it as well.
âWhat is that?â Cody frowned, staring across the room. âItâs sort of like Georgina but not.â
Hugh followed the young vampireâs gaze, face mildly speculative. âIncubus.â
I had already known that, of course. The signatures we all carried differed by creature. Vampires felt different from imps, just as imps felt different from succubi. If one knew an immortal well enough, one could also pick up on an individualâs unique attributes. I was the only succubus who inspired sensations of silk and tuberose perfume. In a room full of vampires, I would have been able to quickly determine if Cody or Peter were present.
Likewise, I immediately knew there was an incubus approaching Peterâs door, and I knew exactly which incubus it was. I would have known his signature anywhere, even after all this time. The fleeting feel of velvet on the skin. A whispered scent of rum, almond, and cinnamon.
Not even realizing Iâd gotten up, I flung the door open, staring with delight at the same fox-faced features and mischievous eyes Iâd last seen over a century ago.
âHello, ma fleur ,â he said.
Chapter 2
â B astien,â I breathed, still disbelieving. âBastien!â
I threw my arms around him, and he lifted me up like I weighed nothing, twirling me around. When he gently set me back on my feet, he looked down at me fondly, his handsome face cracking into a grin. Until I saw it, I hadnât realized how much Iâd missed that smile.
âYou look exactly the same,â I noted, taking in the curling black hair that touched his shoulders, the eyes so dark a chocolate brown they almost looked black as well. Unlike me, he liked to wear the shape heâd been born with, the body from his mortal days. His skin was the color of the mochas I consumed regularly, smooth and lovely. His nose had been broken when he was human, but he never bothered to shape-shift the signs away. It didnât detract from his looks any; in fact, it sort of gave him a dashing scoundrel persona.
âAnd you, as usual, look completely different. What are you calling yourself these days?â His voice carried a faint British accent left over from many years spent in London after leaving the slave plantations of Haiti. He kept that accent and the French expressions of his childhood only for effect; when he chose to, he could speak
Christopher Knight, Alan Butler