The Sleeper and the Silverblood
The Doruri

Kitara didn’t waste time second-guessing her decision to freeze Storm out, opting instead to ignore the collection of increasingly agitated messages she woke up to some hours later. He’d been involved for all of five seconds; she’d done this for years. He should have voiced his concerns when she sent him the plan, not the morning after. He had a lot to learn, including that handlers shouldn’t blow up their Sleeper’s phone. Which he did for most of the day and into the following evening.

As she prepared to return to the dark strip that night, Kitara sent a terse response explaining he endangered her more by contacting her so frequently. That only seemed to make Storm angrier, so she turned her phone off. He could panic for a few hours, and she entered The Sanguine Queen without an ounce of regret.

A notably different mood filled the room tonight: a charged atmosphere of anticipation. The Maker’s friends held court.

They lounged in a roped-off section of the establishment. Bottles of high-end champagne stood in buckets of ice scattered around the handful of tables while most nursed dark red drinks. Kitara kept them in her periphery as she approached the bar—and the bartender she’d encountered before.

He refused to look at her. “What do you want?”

Kitara offered him a mock pout. “Aw, you mad at me?”

“You drinking or not?” He slammed a clean glass on the bar.

“I didn’t get your name.”

“If you’re not ordering anything, get lost.”

“Vodka tonic.” She arched an eyebrow. “Top shelf.”

The bartender busied himself with pouring her drink.

Kitara jerked her chin in the direction of the Maker’s friends. “Party or something?”

The Valorn ignored her, sliding her a lowball with more force than necessary. “Forty-eight fifty.”

“No freebies tonight?” Kitara asked as amusement danced in her eyes, but she rummaged in her cleavage for the Romanian currency included in her infiltration packet.

The bartender’s eyes dropped to her searching fingers, as she intended. When she pulled out five-hundred lei, his expression soured. “You really expect me to make change for—”

“You take tips, don’t you?” she cut him off, placing the note on the bar.

The dark-eyed Valorn studied her with wary skepticism and didn’t reach for it.

“Consider it a…sort of reparation,” Kitara said. “For your help. Last night.”

“Ooh, big spender,” another voice chirped. “You should keep her happy, Blake. Don’t be a dick.”

Kitara turned and met a red-eyed gaze with a half-smile. “Scarlet.”

Blake snatched the bill off the counter as if afraid Kitara would change her mind, avoiding her eyes. “Let the girls know if you need anything else. I’ll get you taken care of.”

Kitara’s grin widened and she picked up her glass, furtively stirring in the anti-toxin she’d palmed as she pulled out her money. Scarlet ordered two glasses of something dark, and Blake returned a moment later with a pair of bloody drinks.

“Trying to buy him off?” Scarlet smirked as Kitara followed her through the humming crowd. “He’s surprisingly honorable. You won’t get far.”

“No, just making a point,” Kitara replied. “I can’t afford to alienate the bartenders. They know everything.”

The vampiress snorted. “Good luck, I’ve tried more than once. Whatever he knows, Blake won’t say.”

“No wonder they hang out here.” Kitara nodded toward the roped-off section. “If they know the staff won’t talk.”

“I don’t know about the staff,” Scarlet said as they approached a table. A stocky black-haired vampire waited in the booth. “But Blake won’t, and that’s who they do business with.” She slid into the booth beside the male vampire. “Sabine, this is Jamal.” She passed one of the glasses to him. “Jamal, Sabine. We met yesterday.”

He jerked his chin in a passable nod of acknowledgment.

Kitara sat across from them, surveying the stranger warily. His eyes, however, trailed over her figure until the table interrupted his view. Not wanting to raise any questions so soon after her arrival, she wore a green bodycon dress short enough to make bending over out of the question.

“Eyes up here, buddy,” Kitara said flatly.

His gaze jerked to meet hers, then away again as he sipped his drink. “Whatever.”

The interaction tickled Scarlet. “You don’t put up with any shit.”

Kitara shrugged and lifted her own glass to her lips. “Won’t get very far in this world if you’re a doormat.”

Scarlet nodded with a thoughtful expression. “It’s too bad you’re not a vampire, or I’d invite you to join our new coven.”

That explained Jamal’s presence.

“Not finalized yet?” Kitara leaned back against the leather booth.

“Just did today.” Scarlet glanced at the other vampire.

Covens weren’t families of cozy bloodsuckers living under one roof; vampires guarded resources too possessively for that. Two or three vampires constituted an average coven, with four considered large. Covens represented covenants between vampires—agreements to assist with a blood feud or to oppose other Netherlings. The alliances rarely lasted six months, forming quickly and disbanding just as quickly. Permanent covens were a myth.

“What are you, exactly?” Jamal scrutinized Kitara again. “Not a blood drinker, so not Valorn…”

“Fallen.”

His brow furrowed. “Dor?”

Kitara mirrored his expression. “What?”

Scarlet leaned over. “Romanian word for the Fallen. You’ll hear it thrown around. It’s a preferred term in the area.”

“Oh.” Kitara nodded. “Then, yes, I guess.”

“Got a lot of nerve for a Dor.” His gaze flickered to her cleavage again. “Haven’t ever met one who stirs shit up their first night in town.”

Kitara crossed her arms. “Maybe we do things differently in America.”

“So why are you here then?” Jamal pressed. “If he’s a dead ex?”

“Answers. Maybe a blood feud,” Scarlet said before Kitara could reply. “He might be dead, but it’s her business. Sound familiar?” She narrowed her crimson eyes at him.

“Whatever,” Jamal grumbled. “It’s not like they’ve given you anything to go on.”

“The Maker’s friends?” Kitara asked, curiosity piqued.

Scarlet settled back in her seat, tracing the rim of her glass. “I sent them a note. Sometimes they’ll invite someone because they’re hot.” She flipped a long red curl over her shoulder. “And obviously I’m a catch.”

Jamal rolled his eyes. “Obviously not. They didn’t look twice at you when Blake delivered it.”

Scarlet glared at him in response. “I just need to up my game.”

Jamal scoffed. “It would have to be a hell of a game.”

“We need an angle.” The other vampire drummed her fingers on the table. “Something that will make them want to talk to us. We need to replace something they want.”

“Like what?” Kitara asked.

“Scarlet’s got the right idea, depending on what they’re in the mood for.” Jamal’s gaze flickered to Kitara’s chest again.

She resisted rolling her eyes. “That’s easy enough.”

“You’d turn a trick for the Maker’s friends?” Jamal asked, intrigued.

Stars, he practically salivated.

“If it got me an introduction, I’d blow the whole table,” Kitara said crudely. “But like I said, I don’t think they’re looking for…company.”

“Maybe not them,” Jamal conceded, “but others…”

“What, like you?” Kitara gave him a once-over, then smirked. “You get me a face-to-face with the Maker, and I’m all yours.”

His eyes narrowed again. “Most Doruri have…dirty-looking wings,” he said. “Nothing like yours. Yours are almost shiny. Gold.”

“And black.” Kitara lifted one wing to showcase her long dark flight feathers. “Your point?”

“They’re weird, that’s all. Draw lots of attention.”

Kitara set her glass down hard on the table and glared at him. “Isn’t that the whole idea?” She jerked her head toward the roped off section of the bar, where the Maker’s inner circle sat drinking. “Drawing attention? Get an invite? So I oil my feathers, what of it?”

“Just askin’.” He buried his nose in his murky glass.

“Asshole,” Kitara said under her breath. “Anyway, if they turned down Scarlet, I’m shit outta luck.” A little flattery never hurt, and Kitara was rewarded when Scarlet’s eyes lit up.

Scarlet put her hand over the Sleeper’s. “Ignore him. He’s just jealous he’s nothing special to look at.”

Jamal let out a barely perceptible snarl. “Fuck off.”

“You got Blake’s attention on night one,” Scarlet said, refusing to acknowledge him. “Not just anyone can do that. Those pretty wings of yours probably helped. Jamal is right about one thing—they’re unusual. But unusually pretty,” she emphasized.

“Speaking of Blake, any chance he’ll forgive me?” Kitara asked before their coven ended the same night it began, given how Jamal glared daggers at his new coven-mate.

Scarlet laughed as the waitress returned with their drinks. “I think that tip you gave him will help.”

“I had to prove I had good intentions.”

Scarlet snorted and raised her glass. “Here’s to that.”