“So what the fuck is the connection between all these people?”
Liander snorted. “Like I’m supposed to know?”
I grinned. “Sorry, just thinking out loud.”
“Seems to be a family trait.” He paused again, then added, “While we’re talking families, I’ve got a question for you.”
“Question away.”
“How would you feel about me moving in with you and Rhoan?”
I blinked. Talk about being caught totally off guard! “I think that would be great, but I’d have to ask why you’d want to move in to our dumpy little apartment when you have a totally beautiful house of your own?” Not to mention a nifty little apartment above his studio.
“Because I want to ask Rhoan to live with me, and he’s just not going to leave you any time soon.”
“That’s not—”
“That is, even if neither of you have ever talked about it. You’re each the only pack member the other has, and I think it’s going to be difficult for anyone to ever separate the two of you.”
“But it’s not like we need to live in each other’s pockets.”
“No, but can you honestly say that if you met your soul mate tomorrow, you could walk away from your apartment and Rhoan to go live with him?”
I opened my mouth to say “of course,” then actually stopped to think about it. Rhoan and I might not live in each other’s pockets, we might be able to go days—weeks—without seeing each other, but his scent was always around me, completing that part of me that needed pack, needed family. And as Liander had said, he was all I had, all I would ever have when it came to pack.
Even when I had decided to commit to Kellen, the thought of moving totally out of my apartment and away from Rhoan had never really crossed my mind. Yes, I’d contemplated staying with Kellen, but I’d never taken it that one step further. Had never thought that I wouldn’t maintain my place here as well as share space with Kellen.
Maybe Kellen had realized that, too. And maybe his problem hadn’t solely been with the job and my inability to give it up.
“For a man who plays with makeup, you’re surprisingly insightful.”
He laughed. “So you’ve really got no problems with it?”
“As long as you have no problems with the mess.”
“I can deal with the mess. I just don’t want to deal with spending nights alone anymore.”
I smiled. Liander really was a catch and a half—not only sweet and loving, but possessing the patience of a saint. I doubt anyone else would have stuck around after all the shit Rhoan had thrown his way, soul mate or not.
I just had to hope my daft brother realized that. Yeah, he loved Liander and yeah, he’d been more committed to him recently than ever before, but he still seemed to want his own space, as well.
“You have my blessing, Liander. When are you going to ask him?”
“Tonight. He’s coming back to dinner. I’ll hit him with the proposal as soon as he’s well fed and happy.”
“Fingers and toes crossed for you, then.”
“Thanks, I’ll probably need it.”
“You certainly will.” I hesitated, then added, “Just be a little extra vigilant with security for the next couple of days, okay? Until I figure out the connection between all these murders, there is a remote possibility that you could also be on his list.”
“You’d have to say very remote. I didn’t associate with Young or the people who most likely killed him.”
“Yeah, but we’re not talking about a rational mind here. Promise me you’ll play safe.”
“Okay, I promise. Now let me go and get ready for my big night.”
“Good luck with it,” I said and hung up. I stripped off then headed into the shower. Time to start making myself presentable for my big night, as well.
Dusk was crawling in across the sky by the time I pulled in to the small parking lot beside Sparkies. The restaurant was all soaring arches, smoky glass, and chrome, and sat on the banks of the Yarra River like some rare jewel.
Melbourne’s finest stepped out from chauffeur-driven limos and Mercedes—the men uniformly elegant and the women adorned by pearls and diamonds that gleamed and sparkled under the bright entrance lights.
A thief would have had a field day—if he could have gotten past the three security guards standing discreetly in the shadows.
I climbed out of my car, then smoothed down my dress, glad I’d opted for something that wasn’t black. Most of the other women arriving were in autumn tones, which probably meant they were the “in” shades at the moment. My dress followed the simple lines of a modest, V-necked sheath—at least until I turned, revealing the plunging back that stopped tantalizingly short of my butt. And there was nothing autumn-hued or modest about its color—it was a lusciously rich emerald that would stand out amongst the autumn tones as fiercely as the brightest of yellows.
The only jewelry I had was my watch, but I didn’t need diamonds or pearls to liven the outfit. The red-gold of my hair was enough.
I walked over to the door and waited in line for my turn with the man ticking off guest names.
His gaze met mine, expression polite and blue eyes showing little interest in the proceedings. “Name, miss?”
“Riley Jenson.”
He scanned the list, flicked over the page, then nodded. “If you’ll just head through that second door to your left, your ticket will be waiting for you.”
“Thanks.”
He nodded, his gaze already moving on to the next person. A black-suited shifter opened the door with a polite nod as I approached. Inside, the air was warm and perfumed, heavy with the scents of human and nonhuman. I walked down a small hallway until I reached a booth.
A woman with bleached-blond hair and a fake tan gave me a warm smile. “Here for a ticket?”
“Yes. The name is Jenson.”
She shuffled through a pile of tickets, then drew one out. “Riley?”
“That’s me.” I handed over my credit card. Hopefully, Jack would reimburse me ASAP, because the card had just about reached its limit. I’d discovered a week ago that the man who handmade my wooden-heeled stilettos had just released an autumn range, and I’d gone on something of a spending binge. The pair I wore tonight—a shimmery emerald-colored snakeskin—had been one of five, and the most sedate of them.
The woman in the booth swiped the card—which was one of the new smart cards, requiring fingerprint confirmation rather than a signature—so I pressed my hand into the machine and got a green-light confirmation.
“You’re on table five, Miss Jenson. Just walk down this hall until you see the gentleman in black,” she said, handing me back the card, the ticket, and a receipt. “He’ll direct you to the right table.”
“Thanks.”
She gave me another warm smile. “My pleasure.”
I continued on down the hall. Music wafted in from the other room, classical and soothing in sound. Voices ebbed and flowed around it, suggesting there were at least a hundred or so people inside.
The door guard gave me a smile as I approached. I handed him the ticket and he scanned it through a machine. As the door swung open, he handed me back the ticket. “Table five is around to the left, in the corner,” he said. “Have a nice evening.”
“Thanks. I will.”
I shoved the ticket into my purse, then headed in. One thing struck me straightaway—Sparkies lived up to its name. Sparkles abounded—in the glint of the ornate chandeliers, in the chrome and glass that reflected back the flickering candles that adorned each table, even in the silver and gold thread that ran through the tablecloths and chairs.
The scents that had been evident outside bloomed to full significance. Human, shifter, and vampire vied for prominence with the flowery assault of perfume and the richer tones of aftershave, creating a cauldron of aromas that had my senses reeling.
How the hell was I going to pick any particular scent out of this?