A Hidden Fire: Elemental Mysteries Book 1 (15 page)

“A chaser, huh?”

He cocked an eyebrow.  “Not necessary, but a polite offer.”

She looked down at her lap and whispered.  “So—what, he keeps humans around as refreshments?  What kind of bar is this?”

“It’s a popular one for a certain crowd, and one where people do not ask questions.  One where they keep certain things to themselves.”

“Even the humans?”

“
Especially
the humans.”  He paused, trying to decipher the expression on her face.  She was frowning, but he sensed more worry than anger.  “No one lures them here, Beatrice, if that’s what you’re wondering.  No one has to.”

“So what?  They like it?  They like being…bitten?”

He only raised an eyebrow and gave her a cocky look.

“Well, that is certainly interesting,” she said, still speaking in a low voice.  “Can I ask why you brought me here?  Warning?  Field trip?  Or do you just have the munchies?”

He put an arm around the back of the sofa, leaning close enough that his claim couldn’t be doubted by the rest of the room, but not so close that he would make her uncomfortable.  Her heartbeat had yet to slow down.

“I brought us here for two reasons, Beatrice.  One, if certain people decide to make their appearance in the city, it would be beneficial for them to think of you as ‘my human,’ and yes—” he anticipated her response, “I know how insulting that sounds to you, but that’s not the way he thinks.”

“The way who thinks?  Gavin or Lorenzo?”

“Either.  Both.  Gavin’s a good sort, mostly, but that’s the most common way of viewing humans in our world.”

“As property?  Food?”

“Neither, precisely.  Or maybe a little bit of both.  But in a fond sort of way.”

“Like a pet?” she whispered scornfully.

He smiled again.  “I most certainly do not think of you as a pet, Beatrice.”

She narrowed her eyes.  “You better not.  What’s the second reason?”

He leaned to the side and reached for a small bar menu on the coffee table in front of them.  “The second and most important reason is, this place has the best selection of whiskey in the city.”

Her lip curled.  “I don’t like whiskey.”

“You have probably only had horrible whiskey that bars serve because it’s cheap.  These whiskeys,” he held up the menu, “are not that kind.”

A server slid silently toward him, and Giovanni held up two fingers as he spoke.

“Two of the scotch tastings, please.  And a small glass of water.”

“The premium board, Dr. Vecchio?”

He gave a slight nod.  “Yes.”

Beatrice just looked at him in amusement.

“The name’s Vecchio.  Giovanni Vecchio,” she said with a horrendously bad Scottish accent.

He chuckled.  “But are you the good Bond girl, or the bad one?”

Beatrice winked at him and said, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He just shook his head, enjoying her audacity as she looked around the pub.  It was atmospheric, to say the least, though not fussy.

Gavin Wallace had a distinct dislike for the sentimental or stuffy.  The Night Hawk pub had clean, white-washed walls that showed off the old woodwork around the windows and made the large stone fireplace in the center of the room the focal point.  It had little decoration and even less in the way of food.

The reason people, including most of the small immortal community of Houston, came to Gavin’s pub was because he served the finest and most extensive collection of whiskeys and bourbons in the city and probably the state.

“Do you mostly drink whiskey?” she asked.  “It’s the only thing I’ve ever seen you drink.”

He shrugged.  “If I don’t drink much, I’m going to drink what I like.  And I like whiskey.”

“Shaken, not stirred?”

He laughed lightly and looked into her eyes, still surprised by how amusing he found her, and how easy her company continued to be.

“Neither.  Good whiskey should be served neat, that is, with no accompaniment or mixers, with a slight bit of good water to open up the scent and flavor.”

“Wow, you really know how to show a girl a good time,” she said dryly.  “You’re making this sound like ten tons of fun.”

He shook his head at her.  “It
is
fun.  You’ll like it.”

“How do you know?  I don’t even drink that much.  I have a beer now and then on the rare occasions I hang out with friends.  Or watch pro-wrestling, but that’s a recent thing.”

“You know, that’s really more Car—”

“‘Get the folding chair!’” she said in an odd voice.

He frowned.  “Was that supposed to be me?”

“I never said accents were a strength, Dr. Vecchio.”

Giovanni watched her laughing at him, amused that she could be both humorous and alluring at the same time.  In the months they had spent together, he had expected his curiosity and interest in her to wane.  He was surprised when it had not.  In fact, he enjoyed her company more as they spent time together, but he was reluctant to examine the reasons too closely.

“No,” he murmured quietly.  “I believe your strengths lie elsewhere, Beatrice.”

She stared at him, an unreadable expression blanketing her normally open face.  “Giovanni, what—what are we…I mean—”

“Just enjoying a drink.”  He tried to lighten his voice, but he couldn’t stop staring at her mouth, even as the server set two trays in front of them, five small glasses on each tray.

“Just a drink, huh?”

He nodded and his hand lifted to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear.  He rubbed it between his fingers for just a moment before he pulled away and moved forward on the couch to pick up a glass.  He could hear Beatrice’s heart race, but he took a deep breath and tried to calm his own blood as it began to churn.

After pouring half an inch of water into two glasses of the light gold liquid, he handed one to her.  She took it, and stared into the glass, looking at it against the light of the fireplace.

“The color is pretty.  It’s warm.”  She peered at him from the corner of her eye.

“It is.  These are all single malt whiskeys, which means they haven’t been blended with other types.  They’re all scotch—little nod to our host.”  Giovanni nodded toward Gavin, who was glancing at them in the corner.  “So it’s whisky without the ‘e.’ Generally, the lighter the color,” he held up his glass and touched the edge to hers, “the lighter the flavor.  The water opens up the scent.”

“So,” she asked quietly, “I should smell it now?”

He nodded.  “Go ahead, but not too deeply.  I’m curious what you’ll detect.”

“Is there something I’m looking for?”

Giovanni shook his head.  “Not necessarily.  Everyone’s nose is different.  I’m just curious.”

He watched as she bent her head to inhale the aroma of the whisky.

“Swirl it in the glass, just a little.”

“What?”

“Swirl it,” he said, covering her hand with his own as he rotated the glass in a small circle.  “Just a little.”  He could already smell the scent of the gold scotch rising from her hand.

“Oh,” she said quietly before lifting the tulip-shaped glass to her nose.  He watched as she inhaled, and a flush rose to her skin as the aroma of the whisky rose from the glass.  “It’s sweet.  It smells a little bit like oranges and flowers.  But…kind of earthy, too.  Does that make sense?”

He nodded as she brought the glass to her lips and sipped.  She immediately wrinkled her face and he smiled.

“It’s strong,” she said with a laugh.

“Taste it again.  Another sip.  You’re just tasting the alcohol.  If you roll it in your mouth a bit, you’ll taste more.”

“Okay.”

She took another small sip of the light whisky and nodded.  “I think…I like it.  I don’t think I could drink much, though.  It’s very intense.”

“Intense is a good word for it.”

“Which one is your favorite?”

He frowned, looking at the selection in front of him.  Any one of the five would make a good drink, but as he thought about it, there was one he knew he would pick over the others.  He pointed the second glass, light amber in color.

“Of these?  This one.”

Beatrice smiled and reached for the small pitcher of water, adding just as much as he had to the first glasses.  She lifted it to her nose and smelled again.

“Sweet again, but not quite as much.  And…it almost seems clearer.  Do you know what I mean?”

He nodded.  “The flavors in this one are very straightforward.  Have a taste now.”

He sipped it and watched her reaction as she tried the second glass.

“It’s good.  It’s still strong, simpler, like the way it smells.  But…” she took a second taste, letting the whiskey linger a little longer in her mouth, “it kind of grows, doesn’t it?  It’s more complicated than it seems at first.”

“Perceptive as always, Beatrice,” he said softly.  He stared at her as she examined the glasses in front of her, finishing the drink she held in her hand.  She set the glass down on the table and looked at him eagerly.

“Okay, which one next?”

“So you like it?” he asked with a smile.

Beatrice nodded.  “Yeah, I do.  It’s kind of cool, you know?  Do they all taste so different?  And, of course, scotch is a way cooler than beer.”

“Is it?”

She winked at him.  “Of course it is.  Don’t tell Carwyn, though.”

“I’m sure both he and Caspar would argue their drink preferences.  Caspar is a huge wine snob.”

She shrugged.  “So far, I’m liking the scotch, Gio.”

He leaned forward and continued to tell her bits about each one as she tasted them.  She was surprisingly receptive to the complex flavors, and he found himself inordinately pleased.  Finally, they reached the last glass, a heavier, gold whisky aged seventeen years.  He handed it to her and felt her fingers brush his own.

“So this one—”

“No lectures this time.  Just let me taste it.”

He grinned.  “Fair enough, my awesome assistant.  Tell me what you think.”

“Oh, I will,” she said a little loudly.

“Beatrice?”

“What?

Giovanni chuckled.  “You don’t drink much, do you?”

She grinned back and leaned into his shoulder.  “Nope.”

Still chuckling, he watched her as she tasted the last scotch, but the laughter died when he saw her close her eyes.  She licked her lips, and he could see the flush stain her cheeks.

“
This
one,” she murmured.  “This one’s my favorite.”

He could see the slow pulse in her neck, and he watched as her tongue darted out again to taste.

“Oh?” he asked in a low voice.

She nodded.  “Sweet and smoky.  It almost—it tingles in my mouth.”  Her eyes opened and he realized he had leaned toward her without thinking, her hypnotic tone drawing him in.

He fought the rush of blood in his veins until he realized they were being watched from the corner and her face was tilted toward his as if she was asking her lover for a kiss.

Placing an arm around her waist, he pulled her toward him and leaned down to cover her mouth with his own.  He meant for it to be simple, a light kiss to cover the deception of his claim on her, but he tasted the gold whisky on her lips as they moved under his own.

She was kissing him back.

And he couldn’t stop his hand from stroking the gentle curve of her back or his mouth from opening to hers.  His tongue reached out, sampling the sweet taste that lingered on her lips as she opened her own mouth to taste his.  A soft sigh left her as they kissed, and the scent of her breath mirrored the taste of the whisky.

She moved closer, and his other hand reached up to her neck, pulling her more deeply into their kiss.  He could feel his thumb linger over the pulse point under her chin, stroking lightly as it raced.  He lost track of time; all he could think of was the soft feel of her body as she leaned into him, the scent of her breath, and her taste as it overwhelmed his senses.

It was clear and sweet, and the faint human memory of drinking cool water on a hot day flickered in the back of his mind.  He wanted more.

Much more.

He pulled her closer and felt the delicate press of her breasts against his chest.  A low kind of growl began to rise from him when he felt her heart beat against him.  His fangs descended and her roaming tongue found them, but instead of recoiling, a soft moan came from her throat and her hand lifted to stroke his cheek.

It was the moment when he felt the urge to lay her down on the couch, brush her long hair aside, and drink deeply from her neck that he began to back off.  The sudden realization of where they were and who she was began to take hold, and he loosened his grip, trying to regain his rigid control.

Giovanni didn’t want to create suspicion, so he let his lips trail to her ear.  She was still breathing rapidly, and her other arm had reached around his back.

“They’re watching,” he whispered hoarsely in her ear, letting his lips brush against the soft skin there.