From Russia With Fangs by Jacey Conrad & Gia Corona

Author:Jacey Conrad & Gia Corona [Conrad, Jacey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Omnific Publishing
Published: 2015-11-23T23:00:00+00:00

Standing in the quiet, luxurious lobby of the Hotel Beaumont, Irina was starting to doubt the wisdom of bringing Viktor on business errands outside of the werewolf community. Irina had refused a large security detail to the swanky hotel, just off the tony Belltown district near Elliot Bay. A contingent of large, leather jacket-clad thugs would only draw more attention to her and the jewels she was carrying. And for once, Viktor had listened.

However, without additional security back-up, he’d been twitchy as hell since they’d walked through the blue-and-gold lobby into the elegant hotel bar. Not even the soothing strains of Frank Sinatra hits from the baby grand in the corner put him at ease.

She’d ordered him a double vodka, but he’d refused it, wanting to stay sharp.

“There’s no reason to be tense,” she told him, sipping her own martini. She was determined to enjoy this little sojourn to the “normal” side of town, knowing that she was surrounded by humans, most of whom were involved in legitimate, legal activities. Given the rare opportunity of a mundane afternoon, she’d dressed carefully in a sage green suit that brought out the coppery highlights in her hair. She would not allow Viktor’s sour mood to spoil her good one.

“We’re in an unsecured location, surrounded by people I don’t know and, in addition to security concerns about your person, we’re carrying half a million dollars’ worth of diamonds,” he muttered in her ear. “That’s several reasons to be tense.”

“Well, Mr. Williamson isn’t a threat. He’s ordered custom pieces from us for years.”

“Why does he want to meet here instead of the shop?” Viktor asked. He stood with his back to the white marble bar, his eyes ceaselessly scanning the comfortable, subtly lit space.

“Our shop—well, the neighborhood around our shop—makes him nervous. Mr. Williamson is a very sweet, very normal non-criminal man, who happens to have exquisite taste in jewelry. And since it’s his twentieth anniversary, we’re willing to go that extra mile to make him comfortable.”

Viktor’s lips curved and something close to fondness warmed his wintry eyes. “You really like this part of the job, don’t you?”

“You mean the ‘working with customers who wouldn’t stab me in the face for a pack of gum’ part? Yes, I do. Seeing people like Mr. Williamson living their normal human lives reminds me that there are people out there who are doing it right.”

“Normal people are boring,” Viktor countered.

“I’m normal people.”

“Hardly,” he said.

“Viktor, about the meeting I had with my father the other day,” she said, toying with the tiny plastic sword that secured her martini olives. “My father’s plans—”

Viktor’s brow furrowed and his mouth dropped open, as if he was about to interrupt her. But his interruption was interrupted by George Williamson’s sonorous voice at her shoulder. “Irina, so good to see you.”

Irina turned on her stool and greeted her client warmly. She stretched out her hand to shake Mr. Williamson’s. “George.”

Squat, potbellied and blessed with a head full of curly salt-and-pepper hair, Mr. Williamson held her hand as she hopped off of the barstool.

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