Angel at Dawn by Emma Holly Page A

list of those interested in her.
    “George still isn’t here?” Nim Wei asked, looking around as the scene ended. No one seemed to want to answer.
    “Date,” Philip said after a small pause.
    Nim Wei’s expression cooled to one Christian found more familiar. “Very well. Growler, you read with Christian now.”
    Christian’s heart gave an uncomfortable thump as he realized he was up. His character Joe Pryor’s name was scattered over the next pages. His voice cracked unexpectedly on the second word, but he soon managed to warm up. It was only when he listened to what Growler was doing that he sensed he was in trouble.
    Christian could read his lines like a human would. He knew how mortals intonated, could guess where they’d stumble or rush ahead. Growler, however, was achieving something on a different order—and for a character who wasn’t his.
    When Growler told his son that attending high school with a bunch of humans was a waste of time, Christian believed every sneer. Growler wasn’t forcing the emotions; he was simply being the role, as naturally as if it were a skin he’d slipped on.
    “Go ahead,” Wade encouraged when Christian momentarily fell silent. “You’re doing fine.”
    Except he wasn’t. The further they progressed, the more he knew it. These little humans were good . They acted from the inside, not the surface. Worst of all, they didn’t seem to be trying. Christian’s stomach began to clench. Any second, someone was going to laugh at him—which wasn’t a situation he should have cared about.
    His nerves were coiled so tightly that when the front door burst open, at least a quarter of his muscles twitched.
    “ God ,” said a mellifluous female voice from the entryway. “That was endless. Someone fetch me a drink.”
    Matthew jumped up, suggesting at least one male wasn’t homed in on Grace. “Martini?”
    “Please,” responded the newcomer as she sauntered into the dining room, tugging off short black gloves.
    She didn’t look old enough to drink. Her face was achingly innocent, with smooth skin poured over cheekbones that were still soft with youth. Her dark eyes were huge and thick-lashed, her mouth pouting with the rosy bow of a five-year-old. Christian had been expecting a blonde in ringlets, but Vivian Lavelle was a wavy-haired, shoulder-length brunette. With a studied negligence that turned a casual gesture dramatic, she tossed her smart black coat onto one of the empty chairs. A curve-skimming knitted dress in hunter green was revealed. From what he could see of her figure, it was as softly rounded as the rest of her.
    The term “child-woman” might have been invented for this female.
    “I tried to get here on time,” she said to Nim Wei, accepting her drink from Matthew without a word of thanks. “The old fart kept wanting to tell ‘one more story.’ ”
    Nim Wei accepted this with a shrug. “You didn’t miss much. Charlie, scoot over and let Viv sit next to Christian.”
    Though Viv’s thoughts weren’t the easiest to read, Christian was certain she’d been aware of him all along. Nonetheless, she pretended to be noticing him just then.
    “Well, lookie here,” she said, turning slightly to tip her head at him. “We finally meet the cock of the walk. Naomi said you were pretty.”
    “Be nice, Viv,” Grace interjected. “Christian is new to this.”
    Viv rolled her eyes and flounced into the chair Charlie had vacated. A faint flush stained her cheeks as she sat, so perhaps she wasn’t quite as outrageous as she was trying to appear.
    “I enjoyed your work in The Little Forresters ,” Christian said politely.
    “Fuck The Little Forresters ,” Viv snapped back. Once she saw he was startled, she tossed back her cocktail, grimaced, then bared small white teeth in a sweet and utterly unconvincing smile. “Please don’t mention that film in my presence.”
    The rest of the cast were concealing grins. Christian concluded he wasn’t the first to step on