They wouldn’t hurt each other, but Ruthie scooped the minion up, tail first to tease her.
“You going to stand there looking all broody and edible or get back to work?” Heidi still watched him.
“I have a question for you.” He grinned. The woman said the most outrageous things at the oddest time. He liked that about her.
“Just one? I must be losing my touch.”
“Yes. Why did you ask me to come to the Arcana Royale? When you called me, I had a lucrative offer in Monaco, the first in months, but you nearly doubled what they offered me. So why did you want me here?”
Heidi smiled, the humor glinting in her eyes. “You are a smart one, Anthony. Stubborn, hotheaded and a little foolish at times, but a smart one nonetheless. I brought you here for two reasons.” She ticked them off with her fingers. “Because the show needed the help and this performance is the best we’ve managed since we lost Pandora. It will be exquisite and a sellout, more than covering your ridiculously high fee as well as that hedonistic suite you requested.”
Anthony laughed. He couldn’t argue. The rainforest suite was the second best part of the job. The first was Ruthie.
“I’m sure you can guess the second.”
“I can. But how did you know?”
“Now, that would be telling.” Heidi snapped her fingers. Anthony blinked. She’d disappeared, just like that.
Maddening woman.
“Yo, Anthony!” Ruthie bellowed from the stage, and he forgot about the stage manager, her enigmatic smiles and her mysterious words. She’d brought him here to meet Ruthie. He’d send her roses every year on the anniversary of their first rehearsal and it didn’t matter why.
Opening night, the backstage area was a riot of colorful chaos. The dancers flitted about half-naked. Anthony leaned against Roseâtre’s makeup table, a bemused expression on his face. It was insane and fun. Breasts bobbed as costumes were shuffled. The air was ripe with the scent of hairspray and deodorant.
Kiki oo’ed and aah’ed over a pair of crystalline-and-gold pumps that Ruthie—he just couldn’t think of her as Roseâtre anymore—dropped on her table as he and his mate walked through. The girls squealed, hugged and danced and then were off again.
“Will you miss this?” he asked quietly, the one question he hadn’t dare ask before.
“Yes.” Her face was a riot of makeup. She’d layered it heavily, explaining that the stage makeup had to be visible to people in the back row. But her eyelashes fascinated him. She’d fringed them with silver, and the striping of white on black illuminated the streak in her hair. “But we have time yet. Time to help Cerveau and we could be here for years if we’re a hit. Do you mind that?”
No. His home was where Ruthie was whether it was some pleasure-drenched casino in the middle of a North American desert or roaming free in the mountains of his homeland or, the gods help him, the corporate headquarters of her tribe’s businesses in Dubai. “Your oaths are mine.”
She caught his hands, fingers interlacing together. “And yours are mine.”
Anthony bent down and thoroughly smudged her lipstick, the deep kiss just enough to pacify the tiger that wanted to sweep her up and take her right there, so no one would have any doubt who she belonged to or who he belonged to for that matter.
A chorus of oooohs broke through the lazy passion, and he lifted his head to meet Ruthie’s amused eyes. But the dancers were already fluttering back to work.
“Anthony. Roseâtre.” Stan stood at the edge of the chaos and beckoned them over. Anthony pulled out Ruthie’s chair.
Stan glanced at the other dancers, a hard stare until they got back to work. “The Overseers want to see you both. Right now.”
Roseâtre’s hand turned to ice against his palm. He didn’t let her pull away. “I take it they’re down here?”
“Heidi’s office. You need to be fast. We’re going to have a full house.” Stan waved them on their way and walked up the concrete stairs to the stage area rather than escort them.
“Anthony…” Anxiety quavered in her voice.
“We’re not going to keep them waiting.” He guided her toward the stage manager’s office.
“You don’t understand what they’re like.” Her scent sharpened, hints of snow biting through the musk.
He paused and studied her. She was upset, and while fear edged through her, she wasn’t afraid. No, not afraid at all. Anger flowed through her. Anger and protectiveness. “You have my back?”
“Of course.” Her fierce response gave him another reason to smile.
“I have yours. Stay close to me.”
“Switch hands.” She let go of him and circled around, taking his right hand in her left. She wanted her sword arm free even if she didn’t have a sword.
He could appreciate that.
The door opened before he could knock.
Five figures occupied Heidi’s bookshelf-enclosed office, each shrouded in a gray cloak. Anthony could read no expression on their hidden faces, but their scents—those he could taste. Foreign, alien, cold, fur and death. Ruthie stayed firm at his side, her head up and shoulders back. He could almost see the crown that should rest on her brow. A thousand rumors about the Overseers circulated throughout the world. Intimidating. All-powerful. Mysterious.
Their identities were secret. The one Overseer he’d ever heard of being revealed died within a day of the news breaking. That fact spawned new rumors. But every rumor agreed on one facet. The Overseers were dangerous.
Anthony considered these faceless men and women. He could scent both genders. Am I supposed to bow? The fur in his soul bristled at the very concept.
“You need not bow nor speak, Mr. diNapoli. You are here merely as a courtesy. Our business is with Princess Ruth Ann.” The laconic words came from the faceless figure closest to them. He smelled of vampire.
Ruthie squeezed his hand and he heeded her warning, even if he didn’t like it. “Yes, your graces?” His princess didn’t bow either.
“You have ended your contract with the Midnight Mystery Lounge.” It wasn’t a question. The same figure spoke, but Anthony didn’t make the mistake of ignoring the other four.
“From a certain point of view, your graces, yes, I have.”
Her wording caught his attention and theirs.
“Explain,” was the droll response from the gray-sheathed vampire.
“Through no fault of anyone but my own, my punishment was given unto Anthony diNapoli. He chose not to punish me, but to allow me to earn my freedom through single combat.”
Anthony tensed. It wasn’t a lie, precisely, but it also didn’t scent of the complete story.
“That is not entirely the truth.” Dammit, the vampire noticed as well.
“No, but it was a direct result of that combat that I chose to take the freedom that has always existed in my contract with you.” Ruthie didn’t back down from the story and when the gray figure took a step in her direction, Anthony curled his toes against the carpet and settled his weight onto the balls of his feet.
Vampire or not, he could take it out before it took another step if necessary.
“Intriguing,” a feminine voice whispered from the back of the room.
“Very,” a third gender-neutral voice agreed.
“Hardly. I told you he would defend the princess,” a bored fourth intruded. “And unless you wish to provoke his claws into your throat, you should remember that.”
Anthony switched his attention to the fourth speaker. The male smelled of fur, but not cat and not wolf. Bear perhaps? He couldn’t be certain and didn’t feel the need for closer inspection.