This did not look like Tatius’s kind of place.

Speaking of Tatius, I didn’t see him, Nathanial, or the rest of the council anywhere. Samantha, who had been scanning the room, turned toward me and lifted one of her well-shaped eyebrows. “Well?”

Damn, guess that meant I was supposed to be able to feel them or some other vampire nonsense. “Uh…” I searched the room. Women in evening gowns and cocktail dresses peered across tables, laughed with wine glasses held aloft, or concentrated on pushing food around their plates. Men in tuxes, and a few in suits, laughed good-naturedly, cut into steaks, or puffed on spicy smelling cigars. My heartbeat kicked up a notch, my breath rushing out in a gasp. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until I was surrounded by humans.

I pressed my lips closed, worried my fangs might slip, but my teeth were flat, no burn in my jaw. Hungry—not starved.

Holding my breath, I forced my gaze around the room again. Just people. The height of society, no doubt, but humans. No vampires. No council.

I let out the breath, ready to confess I was missing this extra vamp sense, when Nathanial stood from a table in the middle of the room. My lips parted. He’s okay.

Relief bubbled up in my chest, and I felt the smile unfold across my face. He didn’t return my smile, but as he nodded, the movement drawn out, his gray eyes remained locked on mine. For a moment, I forgot anyone else was in the room.

But if he was here, the rest of the council would be, too. I blinked, dropping my gaze.

The council sat around a large, unset table in the center of the room. How did I miss that? Frowning, I walked toward them, trying to remember the patrons I’d seen before Nathanial had stood. Hadn’t a group of businessmen been gathered around that table?

An illusion? If so, it was an elaborate one. Nathanial’s eyes were pinched ever so slightly around the edges, his lips thinner than normal—evidentially, maintaining the illusion on the entire table was taxing him. Why didn’t they find a private place for this conversation?

That would have made more sense… unless Tatius was forcing Nathanial to maintain the illusion as some sort of punishment. Nathanial had used his ability against Tatius, in an attempt to conceal me.

There were no empty chairs at the table, but as I approached, Nathanial gestured for me to take his. He had been sitting between Mama Neda, the old crone who’d taken care of me just after I’d been turned, and a blonde, male vampire. Nathanial scooted the chair closer to the old woman before holding it for me. I sat, but when Nathanial turned to steal another chair, the blonde hooked his foot in the bottom rung of my chair and dragged me closer to him.

I frowned, recognizing the sharp planes of Tatius’s face.

Blonde? Seriously? His hair hung in long, pale strands, nearly glowing against the dark material of his tux. Either he’d done one hell of a dye job tonight, or he hadn’t dyed it at all—for once. He looked different without the punk hair style and assortment of piercings. He looked less mocking, more intense. And he was already intense enough. How come he’s wearing a tux and I’m stuck in a vinyl dress and a corset?

Nathanial said nothing when he returned with the chair. He just placed it in the spot beside Mama Neda and fixed his attention on the table.

“Continue,” Tatius said, making a sweeping gesture with his hand.

Nuri, dressed in a midnight blue dress that fit her undeveloped, pre-teen form like a glove, nodded and cleared her throat. “As I was saying, I have now examined every local vampire except Magritte and Gareth. I’ve sent enforcers to look for both, but I have no reason to believe their absence is unusual or connected to the human’s death.”

Nuri looked up, as if to measure Tatius’s response to her words. He nodded, motioning her to continue. He even looked interested in her report. Does he actually listen to his council?

Nathanial had once called it a puppet council, and I’d been under the impression Tatius was a tyrant. Well, maybe not a complete tyrant. His actions in public were different from those in private—if that weren’t true, Nathanial would be dead. But I hadn’t anticipated that he’d be the kind of leader who’d listen to his advisors.

Nuri continued, her hands flat on the table in front of her.

“I have now also interviewed all of the Collector’s vampires. None interacted with the woman in the hours before her death. A few recall seeing her, or possibly one of her sisters, but otherwise, no one noticed her before her body was found.”

Tatius nodded again. Then his gaze swiveled as the front door of the restaurant opened. The large, plain-clothed vampire who’d caught me sneaking into Death’s Angel bustled into the room, sidestepping the hostess who stood to greet him. Liam’s eyes scanned the diners, probably seeing only the same upper class crowd I’d seen when I first entered. Then he froze, his eyes narrowing. He gave one sharp nod, as if answering some unheard question—actually, that was probably exactly what he was doing.

I glanced at Tatius. Can he read thoughts as well as project them? I had no idea. He gave no indication either, but turned to Nathanial, who stood. Liam blinked as his eyes landed on our table, clearly seeing through the illusion. He nearly ran over a server in his haste to reach us.

Tatius cocked his head to the side. “Yes?”

The large vampire doubled over, bowing deep. Then Liam held out a squat black cylinder. “We just found this.”

Tatius’s gaze cut across the table to Nuri, who slid out of her seat and retrieved the small canister. It looked like an old 35 mm film container. The contents rattled as Nuri lifted the cylinder from Liam’s hand, the soft plink sound marking whatever was inside as much smaller than a film cartridge.

Nuri popped the plastic lid free, and her expression froze. She went still, too still to be mistaken for anything fully alive.

“What is it?” The balding council member, dressed in tweed once again tonight, asked.

Without a word, Nuri tipped the canister and two off-white objects rolled across the tablecloth. The small objects, neither longer than the last digit of my pinky, were pointed on one end, and a flaky, rust-colored substance covered the other. I caught a whiff of old blood and reeled back. Sliding closer to Nathanial, I wrapped my arms over my chest.

“Teeth.” My whisper barely carried in the low lit dining room.

“Fangs.” Nathanial’s voice was flat, no emotion, no inflection, but that one word seemed to break the spell holding the council suspended.

Everyone began speaking at once.

“Where did you find this?”

“Do we know who they belong to?”

“Mama Neda has never seen nothing like this before.”

“Which vampires are unaccounted for?”

“Silence.” Tatius didn’t yell—he didn’t have to.

The council members fell silent, and even the din from the other patrons fell away. He reached forward, lifting one of the fangs. He rolled it through his fingers, staring at it as if the fang could tell him to whom it had belonged.

“Is there anything else in the tube?” he asked after several seconds passed.

Nuri looked down, then using two small fingers, fished something flat out of the tube. She unfolded what looked like a thick piece of paper about the size of my palm. As she passed it to Tatius, I leaned in, peering around his shoulder at the creased photograph.

A body dominated the image, as if the photographer had focused on the bare butt and muscular back of his subject.

Male, definitely. And headless.

I swallowed against the flutter of panic threatening to crawl up my throat. The image was black and white—or at least mostly monochromatic. Someone had taken the time to hand-tint the blood pooling around the body.

Another headless corpse? This one was different, though.

Luna had been drained, her body posed and left to find. This victim had blood to spare, but his body was missing and only a photograph announced his death.

Tatius placed the photo on the table in front of him. He smoothed a hand over it like he could press out the creases.

“How did you acquire this, Liam?”

The question was quiet. Dangerously so. The other vampire shuffled, his shoulders slumping forward. He was a big guy, but his fear was palpable in the air. “It was left in one of our tip jars at Death’s Angel.”

“When?”

Liam winced, shaking his head. “Sometime in the last hour. I brought it here as soon as I saw it.”

“Did anyone see who placed it there?” Tatius asked, and Liam shook his head again. “Answer aloud.”

The other vampire cringed so hard he actually stepped backward. “I didn’t take a lot of time to question everyone, but none of the bartenders saw who left it.”

Tatius’s gaze slid off Liam to land on Nuri. Her eyes had gone black again. At her nod, Tatius turned back to Liam.

“Did anything else unusual happen tonight? Any unexpected guests? Patrons who didn’t fit in?”

Liam opened his mouth. Closed it. His gaze slid to me.

Then he shook his head. “The Hermit’s companion tripped security trying to go downstairs, but otherwise the crowd in the club is typical and traffic has been fairly low tonight.”

I went still before Liam finished speaking. Around the table, eyes locked onto me, but the intense green gaze I expected to turn on me, to freeze me in place, didn’t come. In fact, Tatius didn’t even blink at the mention of my failed attempt to sneak into Death’s Angel.

He tapped his finger against the edge of the photograph, but his gaze was further off, his thoughts elsewhere. No one spoke. No one at the table even breathed. Liam shuffled his feet and Tatius’s head snapped up.

“Was there anything else?” The question was a demand and dismissal at the same time.

Liam took it as such. “No, my lord.” He bowed low then turned and high-tailed it out of Crimson.

I stared at the contents of the canister he’d delivered.

Somewhere in Haven, a vampire was dead. Someone wanted the council to know about it. The question was, Who?

Chapter Twelve