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everyone behaved.  She had the hot body of a seventeen-year-old girl.  Five-foot-four, a hundred and fifteen pounds, but she could rip out a heart in a blink. 
Just thinking about it got me hard. 
As the only pure blood —vampire royalty—I’d ever seen close to L.A., she could function during daylight like a dhampyr, and not be chained to her coffin, an expression of power that set her apart from her kind.  We’d made a choice to remain close friends by staying out of the same bed.  Neither of us wanted to damage what we had.  Of course, that didn’t mean I couldn’t dream with my eyes wide open.
I waded through a light crowd to the bar where she mixed drinks.  Her smile, never far away, stretched out a bit more.  Ever since the night of the red moon when she’d had some of my blood, hunger had haunted her eyes when they flashed welcome.  There was something about my blood that made it extra tasty to vamps, giving them an uncommon high. 
Neither Gloria nor the Old Man would tell me why this was so. 
Like always, the half-angel Gray sat at the end of the bar in his Raiders jacket.  His hair looked like wilted spikes.  His eyes were filmy white.  His wrinkled khaki pants were stained, like he’d slept in them, repeatedly.  Long ago, he’d said “fuck you” to Heaven and Hell, siding with anarchy, throwing his lot in with humankind.  Like Kimberley, my friend was born with the sight, and often had a piece of prophecy for me to chew over.  Unfortunately, by the time his insights made sense, they were too late to be useful.
I took a seat at the bar, nodding his way.
He nodded back.  His gaze came up, boring a hole in my shirt.  The red pearl I wore—hidden from view—felt warm against my skin.  He said, “Playing with fire, son, playing with fire.”
I grinned.  “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Green is the worst.”
“Green fire?”  I stared at him.  “There’s no such thing, unless you’re burning copper.”
His eyes went vague, staring into an impossible distance.  “I know what I have dreamed.”  He got up and came over to stand beside me.  His stare was no longer distant.  He peered down into my face.  He reached out to touch my head.
I caught his hand.  “What are you doing?”
“You need this,” he said.  “You need to see what I dreamed.”
I considered.  “You’re not just screwing with me, are you?”
“Your answers are in my dreams.  We do this now, or you’ll be blindsided later.  My word on the necessity.”
I let go of his wrist.  “All right, do it.”
He touched the side of my head with splayed fingers.  The world around me vanished as I
was sucked down into a microcosm of black.  A pool of color spread out at my feet.  I dropped into the pool and it became a dim room, the surrounding walls were stone, heavily shadowed.  Murmured words, like hissing serpents, bounced back. 
Gray and I stood midair.  Below us, a table—massive and dark—gleamed with light from two antique Tiffany lamps.  Water pitchers and a coffee mess waited on a trolley off to the side.  A dozen people, mostly men, had faces shadowed by hooded, black silk cloaks.  The material spilled down their back, adding extra padding to the hand-carved chairs.  The men wore bright colored tunics, with puffy-sleeved shirts and vests.  The women wore shimmering gowns.  They wore necklaces and rings that stirred up lust in my heart. 
And none of them seemed aware of Gray or me listening in.  Turning to me, the half-angel looked haggard.  Within this dream, his blind eyes glowed soft white like icy stars.  “These are the ones that sent the succubus and warlock against you on the night of the red moon.  You should know that they are not done with you, being what you are.”
A gray-haired man at the head of the table slapped the surface with the flat of his hand, calling for order.  “This family has better things to do than bicker.  We will all have a chance to test