“Good call.”

“Colin,” Lindsey said, gesturing to the bartender. “If you would?”

The overhead lights dimmed, but the spot on the small stage in front of us brightened on a single black chair that sat in front of a microphone. Music began to play, a jazz song with a playful, flirty rhythm.

As Lindsey sat down to join us, a man walked out of the back room, onto the stage.

Tan skin, dark hair, dark beard, his hair in a very well-executed knot at the top of his head. His eyes were green, his lashes as thick and dark as his beard, his mouth a long line that turned up at one corner. He wore jeans, boots, and nothing else. The terrain of his body was all smooth skin and hard, curving muscle, his left arm marked by a complicated monochrome tattoo.

The room went absolutely silent.

“Well,” Margot said quietly. “He is . . . rather attractive.”

“Attractive,” Lindsey said, tilting her head as she stared at his biceps. “And well-defined.”

“A dictionary couldn’t do it better,” Mallory said, eyes glassy as she stared at the man.

I glanced at Lindsey. “I can’t believe you hired a dancer. Ethan is going to kill you. Or me. Or both of us.”

“Oh, honey,” Lindsey said. “He isn’t here to dance.”

Regardless, with the grace of a dancer, the man spun the chair around backward, took a seat, and pulled a thin, worn paperback from his back pocket. He looked up at me, smiled. “Your party?”

I nodded, suddenly nervous.

“Cool. Lord Byron work for you?”

I actually felt my face warm. “Sure?”

Beside me, Lindsey snickered, the sound full of satisfaction.

He nodded, thumbed through some pages. “Ladies,” he said, meeting our gazes. And then, looking down at the page, he began to recite.

“She walks in beauty, like the night / Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright / Meet in her aspect and her eyes.”

Every single woman in the room sighed.

• • •

I wasn’t sure whether he was a grad student, poet, actor, stripper, or brilliant combination of all those things. But the man knew Lord Byron, and he knew words. He knew the rise and fall of sentences, the way to pause, the moment to look up, catch our gazes, smile. He knew emphasis and speed, pacing and clarity. He was a prince of poetry, and he had us mesmerized.

Champagne was uncorked and dunked into gleaming silver chalices of ice, then poured into tall, thin glasses while we listened, legs crossed and perched forward in our chairs.

“Is it better if we’re objectifying his body and his brain?” Margot asked, lifting the thin straw in her gin and tonic for a sip.

“I don’t much care,” Mallory said. “He gives good word.”

I couldn’t have put it better myself.

CHAPTER THREE

FIVE SECONDS OF (SUPERNATURAL) SUMMER

We left Temple Bar about two hours before dawn, dropped Mallory off in Wicker Park, then headed back to the House.

We separated on the first floor. The foyer was quiet and empty, the desk closed down for the evening, the supplicants home again, their issues addressed, or to be back in line to see Ethan another night. There was only so much one vampire could do.

There wasn’t a single box or candlestick or willow branch in sight, which meant everything had probably made it onto the truck and over to the library. Or Helen had gotten sick of all of it and hosted a bonfire in the backyard. That seemed unlikely, so I’d just assume the wedding would go forward as planned.

“The wedding would go forward as planned,” I whispered with a smile.

There’d been more showers, brunches, and cake tastings than I’d have thought possible—and still more than I thought was reasonable. Ethan had enjoyed the process, the preparations for our life together, so I’d humored him, and now the bachelorette party had been the last of them. The last hurdle before the wedding, before we took vows of fidelity—for an eternity. Nothing stood between us now but the rise and fall of the sun, and even Sorcha Reed couldn’t change that.

That was when the nerves set in. Not fear, but anticipation. Excitement. Tendrils of desire, possibly stoked by a little too much time with Lord Byron.

The hallway was dark—Malik’s and Helen’s offices were dark, as was the cafeteria at the end of the hall. Ethan’s light was still on. I doubted he was back yet; it seemed more likely they’d enjoy whiskey and cigars until the last possible moment. Probably the cleaning crew had forgotten to turn the light off, or maybe Helen had forgotten some last-minute bauble for the wedding.

I could leave him a note. A message to say good night, that I’d be thinking of him during our vampire-imposed exile, and that I’d see him tomorrow at the library, books optional.

That I thought that was funny probably said more about the gin I’d enjoyed at Temple Bar than about my comedic skills.

I walked into the office, headed for his desk . . . and didn’t realize I wasn’t alone until I caught the flicker of movement across the room.

He stood in the conversation area, a man in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, the fabric mottled with dirt and ratty on the edges. His pale skin was smudged with grime, his dark hair tufted from what looked like constant pulling by the hands that now scratched nervously at the legs of his jeans. The House was still saturated by the scent of wedding flowers, but I caught the odor of unwashed male beneath it.

He was a vampire. Older than most I’d seen, but the faint, effervescent magic proved his supernaturalness. His magic did have a different sense about it—a chemical smell, like uncapped markers. I also didn’t recognize him. If he was Housed, he hadn’t been in a House recently. Not given the look of him.

“Hi,” I said. “Can I help you?”

He looked up at me, dark circles beneath eyes nearly slitted with exhaustion. “You’re here to help?”

“Sure. Are you here to see Ethan?” Supplicant seemed the best guess. How else would he have gotten past already bulked-up security? Maybe he’d been in the House to talk to someone, had slipped away undetected.

His shoulder twitched, nearly lifting enough to meet his chin. “Help. There’s so much talking.” He tapped his palm against his forehead. “Talking. I can’t stop it.”

“I’m sorry?”

I wished Ethan or Malik were here. They’d know better than I how to handle a supplicant who seemed imbalanced, or at least confused.

“It’s talking. The voice. It’s screaming—the same things over and over and over again. Hello. Hello. Hello. I am here. I am here. I am here.”

I was leaning toward imbalanced. And we didn’t need imbalanced running around the House.

Ethan, I silently said. If you’re in the building, get Luc and some guards and come to your office. I didn’t know if he was close enough to hear me, doubted that he was.

“Let me just call someone to help you,” I said, and reached for my phone, belatedly realizing I’d left my small clutch—and my phone—in the limo. I’d have to use the one on Ethan’s desk.

His gaze narrowed on me, his eyes silvering—the mark of heightened vampire emotion. “Why is it screaming? Do you hear it? Why don’t you hear it?”

I didn’t especially want to turn my back on this clearly troubled man, but I didn’t really have a better option. The first floor of the House had been mostly dark, and until I could get to a phone, or otherwise signal someone, I had to handle this on my own.

“Don’t have my phone,” I said easily, trying to keep the mood light. “Let me get the one on the desk.”

“No!” His voice was loud, the word a bark of sound—and alarm. “No more screaming!”

His fangs were long, white, needle sharp. He launched toward me so quickly I had only a moment to turn, to brace myself against his impact. I managed to dodge most of the force, but he tripped me up, sent us both slamming to the ground. My head bounced against the floor, making my vision waver and putting stars at the edges of the room.

“It’s your fault!” he said, and reared back to punch me. I raised an arm, blocked the punch, grabbed his forearm, and twisted, trying to unbalance him. But he was enormous, and he seemed to believe I was one of the mental demons he was fighting. He raised both arms, slapped at his forehead, and then tried to slap at me. I blocked his shots, but a couple put bone against bone, which sent pain singing through my arm.