Tonight those barriers had been lifted. Megan recognized a few faces, other Gretnegs, sipping cocktails and talking quietly. All of them wore black. It was like an incredibly formal Halloween party, except she’d never been to a party that glowed and throbbed with so much energy. It bulged around them all, too large even for the cavernous room, and made Megan’s heart skip faster in her chest. The atmosphere was charged with possibilities, with savagery. This would not be an ordinary funeral.
The empty air next to her shifted, and Greyson slipped his arm around her waist.
“You’re late,” he said, handing her a gin and tonic. She meant to take only a sip but somehow ended up drinking down half of it while he greeted Roc. Still not quite settled from her meeting with her own demons, she guessed, or perhaps it was just plain nerves, or maybe even surprise.
“What are you wearing?”
He smiled. She couldn’t remember ever seeing him this excited—at least, other than in the biblical sense. He fairly vibrated with it, although outwardly he was as calm as ever. “It’s ceremonial.”
“It’s a cassock.”
“Yes, but a demonic one.” He leaned over to kiss her, sending a little shock through her body.
Whatever the black outfit was called, it looked great on him. The stiff, straight collar framed his strong chin and emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, while the snug, severely cut fit and long skirt—there was nothing else to call it but a skirt—made him look taller, as if his body was a pillar of black smoke erupting from the floor. He’d never looked as much like a demon as he did in the uniform of Catholicism. The only thing missing was the white square in the collar; the fabric peeking out from the notch was blood red.
“You look beautiful, by the way,” he said.
“Funny, I was just thinking the same thing about you.”
He smiled and kissed her again, his hand slipping down over her bottom. For a moment she caught a glimpse of how he must have looked fifteen years earlier, when he was apparently cutting a swath a mile wide through the women of the District of Columbia. “We’re going to get started in a minute, so I’ll need to go take my place. Nick’s going to walk with you, okay?”
“I won’t be with you?”
“I have to escort Temp’s widow behind the catafalque.”
“Oh. Well, look, I’ll be fine with Roc.”
“I can do it,” Roc said.
“I know. But I’d rather you have someone to help. The floors are rather uneven where we’re going.” He looked pointedly at her heels.
“Grey!” The woman’s shiny red lips stretched in a needle-sharp smile as she undulated across the floor, the sequins on her formfitting black gown catching the light and throwing it back so she seemed to glow. She looked like a particularly festive Morticia Addams, with bright red hair flowing down her back.
“Grey,” the woman said again, holding out her hand so Greyson had no choice but to kiss it. She totally ignored Megan. “You look splendid in that robe. But then I knew you would, remember? I’m so glad you decided—”
“Thank you, Justine. You remember Megan Chase, right?”
Justine didn’t even glance at her. “Of course I do.” She stroked her scarlet-tipped hand up Greyson’s arm. Her impressive cleavage shifted with the movement. “Have you thought any more about my request?”
“I think of nothing else, my dear.”
“Who is she?” Roc whispered. “Wow!”
“Go away, Roc.”
“But I want to—”
“Go.”
Roc obeyed. Justine stroked Greyson’s cheek and Megan stood still and resisted the urge to slap her. Justine was head of Meegra Concumbia. Starting a fight with a Gretneg was never a good idea, even if that Gretneg was staring at Greyson as though he was the only glass pipe in the crack den and it had been hours since her last hit.
“You let me know when you decide,” she said. “I can be a very powerful ally.” The reverse implication hung heavy in the air. Powerful allies could be powerful enemies as well.
“I would never doubt it,” Greyson replied. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get one last drink before the ceremony. Come on, Meg.”
Megan forced herself not to look back toward Justine as they walked away, but she felt the woman’s eyes on them just the same. “What was that all about?”
He shrugged. “Justine did me a favor.”
“And what does she want in return?”
“She’s a succubus. What do you think she wants?”
“But—” She snapped her mouth shut. What was she supposed to say? “You can’t?” “Please don’t?” For all she knew, he was banging half the city on the nights he wasn’t with her.
He glanced at her as if waiting for her to continue, but when she didn’t he turned away and got drinks for them both. “Here’s the plan. After the funeral everyone comes back up here for a drink. Then they leave. You can go if you want, but I’d like you to stay and wait for me. The ceremony doesn’t take long. An hour and a half, maybe.”
“And what’s in it for me?”
He leaned a little closer. “Ever been made love to by the most powerful vregonis demon in the country?”
“I thought I had been.” She let the sharp pang of desire his words invoked sink into every nerve ending in her body.
“Hmm. I suppose you have, at that. Want to do it again?”
“If you’re lucky,” she said. “What happens at the ceremony, anyway?”
“No, no. No telling.”
“Greyson.”
“Yes?”
She put her hand on his arm, drawing his gaze. “This is a big deal for you, isn’t it? Not just for the prestige, but for you.”
He stopped smiling when his eyes met hers. The rest of the room seemed to fade away. “It’s what I’ve worked for all my life.”
Even with her heels on, she had to stand on tiptoe to kiss him. Just a quick press of her lips, nothing inappropriate for the somber occasion, but enough to send tingles all the way down her spine. It was like kissing a live wire.
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” His fingertips brushed her cheek. “Now, where is—ah.”
Nick Xao-teng’s skin glowed in the firelight. He looked like a warrior, like a samurai. Although samurai were Japanese, weren’t they? What were warriors called in imperial China? Why was she focusing on dumb trivia in an effort not to meet his eyes?
He looked less uncomfortable than she did, but only slightly. “Hi, Megan. Nice to see you again.”
“You too.” Even a few feet away from him she could feel the low-level sexual energy emanating from his muscular frame. What was Greyson thinking, sticking her with this man he knew embarrassed her?
“Okay,” Greyson said. “I have to go find Lytha. See you guys later.”
He squeezed her shoulder and was gone, leaving her to glare after him.
“It’s because he trusts me,” Nick said. She started; she hadn’t realized he’d be able to read her expression so easily. “Everyone in the family has to walk with the body. I’m the only one outside it he’d let near you. Can I get you a drink?”
She lifted her glass. “I’m fine, thanks.”
“Look, Megan…I really am sorry. About what I did to you the other night. I didn’t realize—I mean, I didn’t know who you were.”
“What did he do?” whispered Roc, slipping back onto her shoulder.
She ignored him. “Would it have been okay if I wasn’t who I am?”
She wasn’t sure what she expected his response to be, but she knew she didn’t anticipate the smile that broke across his face. Nick did not need whatever supersexy mojo he had by virtue of being an incubus. Women would have fallen at his feet without it.
Although it certainly didn’t hurt. She would never forget their first meeting.