Touch the Dark by Karen Chance

laughable understatement. Maybe it has something to do with them both being predators, or maybe Tony was right when he insisted that weres envy the vamps their immortality. Whatever the cause, they’re like oil and water. Or more often, blood and fur, both of which go flying when they meet up. I expected a reaction, probably a severe one, from one or more of my escorts, but the only thing I noticed was Rafe’s hand tightening slightly on my wrist. Louis-César nodded a greeting at the were as if he regularly met giant wolves in the stairway. “Sebastian, good to see you.” The were didn’t respond, of course, since he was in animal form, but he slipped by us without offering challenge. It was a seriously surreal experience. It also told me I wasn’t in Kansas anymore, or Atlanta, either, for that matter.
    As we emerged from the stairs to the aboveground areas, I finally got a glimpse out a window and confirmed that, wherever I was, it wasn’t north Georgia. The view also explained why the Consul was worried about time. I must have lost more hours than I’d thought after Tomas bespelled me, enough for me to be moved, and not merely across the state. The colors outside the window were a different palette than you could see anywhere in Georgia: the dappled greens and grays of the deep South had been replaced by midnight blue skies and indigo clouds. A black, star-studded canopy stretched overhead, but the line of deep violet along the horizon showed that the desert was beginning to remember the day.
    â€œIt will be dawn soon.”
    Louis-César followed my gaze as he threw open a door. “Not for some time yet,” he replied easily. I narrowed my eyes at the offhand tone. Even Rafe, old as he was, became uptight as dawn approached, with a tendency to talk too much and to drop things. The younger the vamp, the earlier it started. It was sort of a built-in security net to make sure no one ended up getting fried, and I had never seen anyone left completely unaffected. Yet the Frenchman seemed perfectly at ease. He was either a lot more powerful than the vamps I knew or a great actor; either way, it didn’t make me feel better.
    I walked past him and found myself standing in the living area of a suite decorated to match what I imagined the daytime view out the windows would be. Pale turquoise walls were clothed in Native American blankets in burnt umber, turquoise and Navajo red, a matching rug had been flung over the rough wood floor and terracotta tile outlined the fireplace. The leather sofa, chair and ottoman were a complimentary shade of deep red, with enough wear on them to look comfortable. It was an oddly cheerful room; apparently, the Senate didn’t share Tony’s love of the Gothic.
    â€œPlease, mademoiselle, asseyez-vous. ” Louis-César moved to stand beside the overstuffed armchair near the fireplace. I glanced at Rafe, but he stood resolutely looking out over the view, what there was of it. His hands were clasped together tightly behind his back and his shoulders were tense. Yep, right on schedule: dawn was coming. What I wanted was to drag him off and get some straight answers, but even assuming he was in the mood for it, I wasn’t given the chance.
    Mircea put a light hand under my elbow, just enough of a touch to guide me into the chair. “Louis-César will not sit when a lady is standing, dulceaţă. ” My dear one: his pet term for me when I’d sat on his knee and listened to his stories. I hoped he meant it; if Rafe was my only friend in the room, I was in trouble.
    I plopped down and the Frenchman knelt in front of me. He smiled reassuringly. I blinked. The man — no, the master vampire — had dimples. Big ones. “I wish to attend to your wound. If you permit?”
    I nodded cautiously, not convinced that a vamp was the best person to clean off blood, especially one who had looked pretty hungry earlier. But the