Vampire Mistress by Joey W. Hill Page A

before he began to talk about vampires. Occasionally others might see Daegan coming and going, but they were told he was a particular friend of Anwyn’s, and no further questions were to be asked. In the type of establishment she ran, such discretion was a job requirement.
    “Is Jon Smith still in the showers?”
    “Yes.”
    “Has he made any calls?”
    “No.”
    Of course not. How would he know Daegan by name, anyhow? Her stomach tightened. “Is James up front already?”
    “Yes.”
    “Advise him of our visitors and tell him I’ll be there shortly to deal with them.”
    The only one looking for Daegan would be another vampire. Taking a deep breath, she shoved the glass away from her and opened her office closet. She couldn’t go up front in a robe. She wished she had time for a full shower, but in truth, she found herself reluctant to wash Gideon’s scent from her skin just yet.

    When she returned to the front area, she had her hair twisted up, and wore black slacks and a satin red and gold dragon-patterned tunic, a sexy but austere look she hoped would serve its purpose.
    There were three of them. Even before she reached the private foyer where the front hostess had brought them to sit and wait, she knew they were trouble. The one in charge put her radar into red-alert mode. Short-cropped copper hair, dark brown eyes and a drawn, skeletal look to his face reminded her of a handsome rock star living way too hard. His two companions could have been his drummer and guitarist, for they bore the same gaunt look and burning eyes, their passions an unhealthy hunger for them or whomever they met. They looked barely legal to be in here, but with vampires, she knew the apparent age didn’t mean anything.
    James stood at the door, his posture seemingly casual, but she knew he’d already sensed they might have a problem. The three sat in the provided chairs, facing one another. When she was still ten feet from the doorway, their heads came up, eerily in sync, and swiveled toward her. Anwyn’s gut knotted, but she forced herself to calm. Like all predators, vampires and men smelled fear on a woman as quickly as they scented arousal. When she reached the door, her security head glanced at her, his mouth grim.
    “Thank you, James,” she said. “You may go now.”
    His look of surprise was quickly replaced by something else. “I should stay, Miss Naime.”
    “No, you shouldn’t. I don’t require any assistance with this.” James, please, please listen to me. She needed her head of security alive. “I’ll call you if I need you.” She tapped her earpiece, gave him another nod.
    He glanced at their three “guests,” then back at her, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “All right, then. I’ll be close.” His expression said he’d want to talk about a few things that had happened this evening. While he was her employee, he’d been with her long enough to earn the right to worry and fuss if she took risks. But right now, she needed his obedience. Fortunately, as he took his leave, it helped her own nerves. Now it was just her and them, no innocent bystanders.
    Fixing on a smile, she turned and faced the copper-haired one. “Mr. Barnabus? You were seeking a guest here?” She didn’t extend a hand as she might to most guests. She wasn’t intending for them to get a grip on her in any way, and vampires could be like wild dogs if meat was dangled in front of them. Easily distracted from their objective.
    “Daegan Rei owns this place.” His sibilant lisp ran a chill up her spine.
    “I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed. I own this place. And there are no previous owners. I created Atlantis.”
    Barnabus gave her a once-over, and his nostrils flared. “You got vamp smell on you. You’re his. Where is he?”
    “Excuse me?” She raised a brow. “Mr. Barnabus, you may not be aware of what kind of club this is. I’m not sure what you mean by ‘vamp,’ but if you’re implying I’m some kind of prostitute, we