Kitty and the Dead Man's Hand
Page 33

Despite all Ben’s efforts to distract me and help me relax last night, my anxiety had returned. That creeping stiffness between my shoulder blades, the feeling that someone was watching me and I needed to look over my shoulder. I lay back, listening to splashing in the water, letting it calm me, then sat up abruptly because I could have sworn someone was standing next to my chair, looking down at me. No one was.
The rest of the pool area was filling with people as the day heated up. A couple of families played in one corner, the kids laughing and splashing. A few young couples lounged in chairs with magazines and drinks. Lots of stylish swimsuits and tanned bodies glowing with health. A waitress circulated taking drink orders. This was all perfectly normal.
Twenty yards or so to my left, a woman was taking a picture of the scene with her cell phone. Something to send back home. Weather’s great, wish you were here. Was it my imagination, or was the camera lens pointed right at me?
She lowered the phone and winked at me.
Or maybe she didn’t. Was I being paranoid again? I should have laid back down and convinced myself I was being paranoid. But I watched her leave and realized why I was so bothered: That was Sylvia. She looked totally different, floral skirt wrapped around her hips, black string bikini top, bag slung over a bare shoulder. Her brown hair was pinned up with a carved wooden clip. She wasn’t doing anything threatening. Just looking at me.
I sat back again, breathing calmly and telling Wolf to settle down. We weren’t cornered. The ice was melting in my margarita. I took a drink and wondered if I should follow Sylvia, to find out what she was up to. Or would that only piss her off?
At this point, I couldn’t possibly roll over to get some sun on my back. You didn’t turn your back on an enemy, never ever.
So much for a nice, relaxing time by the pool. With Sylvia gone I should have felt better, but the feeling that someone was watching me increased. It felt like bugs crawling over my skin.
At least the sun was warm. Pleasantly warm. The presence of the swimming pool kept the air wet enough to be comfortable rather than scorching. If I could just doze off, revel in the show’s success, forget about everything else...
Then I saw him, sitting on a lounge chair, leaning forward, elbows on knees, watching me through stylish sunglasses. When he caught me staring back at him, he smiled, then stood and walked toward me.
I recognized the swept-back dark hair, the square jaw, the alluring eyes, the knowing smile. It was Balthasar, King of Beasts, stalking toward me like a lion on the veldt. He may very well have been a lion; I smelled the musk of fur on him.
He didn’t need to be out here working on his tan, because it was already perfect. As was the rest of him, really. I could have labeled the muscle groups on his torso, if I’d known what any of them were called. Some bodies were meant for Speedo. His was black. It was all I could do to not melt through the fabric of my lounge chair. I managed to lie there calmly, watching his approach with an air of detached interest, and not feel too self-conscious about my vampiricly pale skin.
“Hello,” he said and gestured to the chair beside me. “Mind if I join you?”
“Go right ahead,” I said, and he did. He stayed sitting up, looking at me.
In wolf body language—and in the body language of most of the lycanthropes I knew about—the most submissive posture a person could adopt was on her back, belly up, gazing beseechingly at the dominant looking down on her. Kind of like the position I was in relative to Balthasar right now.
I sat up, putting myself on an equal footing with him, and felt a little better.
“You seem to be enjoying your stay,” he said, taking off his sunglasses. He had fabulous green eyes. Emerald green.
“I am, thanks.” About two inches separated our knees, we sat that close.
“I have to ask—I’m on pins and needles. Are you coming to the show?”
“Ah, so you did set up that little performance last night.”
He narrowed his gaze and might have purred behind the smile. “I can’t take credit for putting Nick up to that. But I can’t say it was such a bad idea, either. If I had known how attractive you are in person—” He finished the thought with a suggestive tilt to his head.
“Thanks,” I said, still trying to gain some kind of footing. He had to want something, right? He had to be here for a reason. “You should have come to the show last night and we could have had a nice chat.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. If I expect you to come to my show, that’s the very least I should have done. But I do hope you’ll consider joining us.”
I shrugged. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to. I’m getting married this evening.”
He made an appropriate expression of surprise. “You are? Lucky man. Where is he? I’d love to meet him.”
I gritted my teeth behind my smile. “He’s off playing poker.”
Balthasar tsked sympathetically. “He’s a brave man, leaving his beautiful fiancée alone in Las Vegas.”
I suddenly wasn’t sure I wanted Ben to meet Balthasar. I told myself it was because I didn’t want Balthasar finding out Ben’s a werewolf. I blushed fiercely.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said. “The matinee’s in about two hours. Why don’t you come to that? I’ll make sure you get the best seat in the house. You can come backstage after and meet the cast.”
My first impulse was to say no. But this was the offer I’d been looking for, and I had the time to kill this afternoon. I briefly thought of Odysseus Grant’s warning. But if Grant wanted me to pay attention to his warnings, he had to give me more information than vague pronouncements of doom.
I smiled. “I love backstage passes. I’ll be there.”
“Excellent! I’ll make sure will call has tickets for you.”
“I should warn you, I’m going to ask you lots of questions.” Him, and his performers. Assuming they had human vocal cords when I met them.
“I look forward to it. I’ll see you this afternoon.” He stalked off like a cat through his jungle domain. I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
Flustered, I sat back in my chair and downed half the margarita in a go.
When I gave my name at the box office, they were all ready for me with my ticket and instructions on waiting for an usher to take me backstage after the show. Legitimately, for a change. Inside the theater, I found myself fidgeting, anxious. If I hadn’t known the act was full of lycanthropes before, I would have discovered it now. Here, the merged scent of fur and skin was unmistakable. The feeling that I was invading another pack’s territory was unmistakable, and it made me antsy. I had to concentrate to calm down, to force my muscles to relax. There was a contradiction.