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waitress who was taking the scenic route across Manhattan. And to counter that defense, he shouldn’t have been setting snares on my rooftops.
    I’ve managed to break him of that habit. Mostly. Dominic was raised Covenant, and some habits die hard. Including, as we’d both discovered, the habit of mistrusting people you’ve been raised to regard as “the enemy.” To him, I was the latest daughter in a long line of traitors. To me, he was the latest in an even longer line of cold-blooded killers. I mean, if it weren’t for the mind-blowing sex, and the part where he saved my life six months ago—that snake cult thing again—we’d have absolutely nothing in common. Then again, my cousin Sarah says that’s probably part of the appeal. He’s forbidden fruit in hot brooding Italian man form, and just like Eve before me, I can’t resist taking a bite or two.

    Dominic was waiting for me on the roof of the club, standing silhouetted against the night sky. I stopped for a moment to admire his profile—being a cold-blooded killer may not be good for your karma, but man, does it do amazing things for your physique—before letting the stairway door swing shut behind me with a clang. “S’up?”
    “The English language is beautiful, versatile, and capable of poetry that steals men’s breath away from them,” said Dominic, turning to face me. “Is that really the best you can manage?”
    “Yup,” I replied, with a sunny smile. “I went to public school.”
    “There are times when I listen to you and feel that the reputation of your family is completely overblown,” said Dominic.
    “What about the rest of the time?”
    Dominic shook his head as he walked away from the edge of the roof. He stopped in front of me, turning to face me. “The rest of the time, I think my elders made a tactical error when they didn’t respond to your forefathers’ defection by destroying the continent.”
    “You say the sweetest things.” I cocked my head, trying to make out his expression through the gloom. “What’s up? You know Kitty doesn’t like it when you visit me at work.”
    “I don’t much care for it, either. This is not an appropriate venue for a young woman’s employment.”
    “Why, because of all the cryptids, or because of the uniforms?”
    “Is that what you call them now?”
    “Hey, I wear less when I’m competing.”
    Dominic sighed. “Yes. I know. But at least that’s to a purpose beyond coaxing cash from the unwary.”
    I gave him an affronted look, not particularly concerned with whether or not he’d be able to see it. “Hey, now. It’s not like I’m stripping . I’m a respectable dancer.”
    “Yes, of course,” he said dryly. “Whatever was I thinking?”
    “I do not know.” I’ve wanted to be a professional dancer since I was six years old—a calling that has managed to interfere with my involvement in the family business several times over the years. It’s hard to find the time to spend a summer on a Greenpeace vessel concealing the plesiosaur migration from oceanographers when I need to be practicing for half a dozen upcoming competitions. Ballroom dance is a cutthroat world, and if you take so much as a long trip to Disney World, it can trash your standing for years.
    Dancing for Kitty was a long way from the rarified heights of the World Tango Championships, but hell, it was dancing, and I was getting paid for it. That was close enough for me, especially where paying my rent was concerned.
    Dominic frowned a little as he studied me, his expression barely visible through the dark. Finally, he asked, “Is there someplace we could go, for a brief while, where we wouldn’t be observed? I have matters I need to discuss with you.”
    “Well, we can’t go to your place, because you’ve never let me see where you live. And we can’t go to the coffee shop, because you always get all weird when I want to ‘discuss’ things in public,” I said slowly. “You realize what that