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Southbank, the usual.”
    I swallowed. Delilah, our demon patron, probably with some helltwisted scheme to annoy the Valentis and score points against Kane. Demons always bicker amongst themselves, and Delilah has it in her head that Kane’s got it coming, because he’s arrogant and in charge and scary as shit.
    Maybe she was right, but her last effort at pissing him off nearly got us killed. We were just game pieces to her. But even pawns get to party when the enemy king dies.
    I shouldn’t miss this breakfast. Joey might need me. “Um . . .”
    “Don’t be late. Unless you wanna let some glassfae maggot kick your ass and get away with it.”
    Challenge stirred embers in his eyes, and my heart tumbled like it always did. He knew what I liked, how I thought, where my darkest desires led me when I thought no one watched. I fiddled with my bodice’s low neckline, my temper fizzling out in a warm wash of blood-sharpened need. “Look, I didn’t . . . I’d never lie to you. You know that, right?”
    He just looked at me and finished his drink.
    My stomach tightened. No matter how I fought to hang on, my life was slipping away from me. I needed this job. I didn’t know how to do anything else. Poor Violet wasn’t just my past. She was my future, if I didn’t hold on to this, now, here, until my fingers bled.
    The vampire blood burned under my skin, swelling my flesh, nagging at me to consume, touch, swallow. I stabbed my courage to reluctant attention and tried one more time. “Can I get you another? It’s kinda loud in here. We can . . . y’know. Go somewhere, if you want.”
    Yesss, whispered the blood, its lust an unpleasant echo in my sex. Somewhere like your place, where it’s warm and dim and I can slip my fingers beneath your clothes, kiss you until I ache, tempt your hands onto my body, wrap my legs around you and warm that cold blood of yours with my pleasure.
    My face burned, and I held my breath. Waited for him to smile coldly, embarrass me, pretend I wasn’t there.
    Joey took my hand and kissed it.
    Just a light brush of ice-cooled lips, his fingers warm under my palm. And a tiny flicker of his tongue, hot and exciting on the back of my hand like a flashburn.
    My gaze dragged to the place where his lips touched me, and my blood-drunk optic nerves set off a sizzle that stabbed all the way down to my breasts. I wanted to touch his cheek, hear my fingertips brushing his skin, slide my finger past his tempting lips into his mouth. I remembered how that mouth sprang alive on mine, that night a few weeks ago when he kissed me, wired and feverish from a fight. So fresh and dangerous, his forking tongue demanding, the hot snaky shift of his flesh and the urgency of his lips on mine showing me how much he wanted . . . something.
    Maybe not me.
    But he was alone. I was alone. We’re both old enough. Even if he just wanted to forget all this macho gang bullshit for a few hours and make himself feel good, I’d do it if it meant he believed me.
    He leaned closer and inhaled. His lips inched apart, and my breath caught. I knew he examined me with those enhanced reptile senses, tasted my sweat, smelled my blood. Did he like it?
    He cupped my bruised cheek and raked his thumb over my lips, only a few inches from kissing me. “You’d have killed him tonight, wouldn’t you? Sonny Valenti, I mean.”
    “Yeah.” My voice withered to a whisper, and my body ached with helpless longing. So much for toughness. He’d disarmed me with a glance and a rough caress. If he slipped his thumb into my mouth, I’d suck it.
    “Because I asked?” He grazed his teeth over my chin, possessive. Bit me softly.
    Oh, god. I shivered, terrified. “Uh-huh.”
    “Would it feel good, do you think? Would you like it?”
    His whisper sizzled down my spine, and the way his tongue tasted those words made my belly melt inside. I felt it in my breasts, between my legs, all the way to my toes. Daring, I slid my hand on his chest, his