Rafe nearly laughed. Nolan wasn’t older than Aiden. He wasn’t even older than Philippe.
God, Philippe’s powers were a touch of the divine.
Soft and gentle, they wrapped around him as if welcoming Rafe home.
But Nolan’s were brute force and intimidation. He didn’t want to say they were all bark and no bite. Nolan was undoubtedly a force to be reckoned with, but he wasn’t what he pretended to be.
Rafe stepped up to the table, and Nolan’s smile spread across his lips as he sat up from where he’d been leaning.
“Nolan MacPherson, I presume,” Rafe said with a little bow of his head. “Or would you rather Master MacPherson?” Internally, Rafe reviewed that question, double-checking that he’d managed to say it without a hint of mocking, though it had been so damn hard.
Nolan’s smile didn’t change, but something sharpened in his eyes. “Since I am in your territory, I think Nolan will do just fine.”
Rafe straightened and placed his hand to his chest. “Rafe Varik, at your service. Welcome to Blush. May I join you?”
Following a small nod of permission, Rafe slid across the leather bench seat, stopping when there was adequate space between him and Nolan that appeared friendly but respectful.
Nolan raised a hand and waved it toward the dance floor crowded with people. “This is an amazing nightclub you’ve created.”
“Thank you. I’ve had plenty of practice over the years.”
“Yes, one of my clan members mentioned you had a club years ago she went to. In Chicago, I think.”
“The Red Room,” Rafe said. The stiffness fell from his smile. The Red Room had been one of his favorites. Art Deco, gin, and a full orchestra every night playing until the dancers practically dropped from exhaustion. It was a hard act to follow, but Blush was putting in a good showing so far.
Rafe removed the stopper from the crystal decanter in the middle of the table and tilted the bottle toward Nolan. “Shall I pour? It’s from my private stock. A quaint little distillery on the Isle of Skye that makes a fantastic whisky. Though I’ll admit, I mix a healthy splash of O negative.”
“I prefer my O negative from the source, but I’ll try your concoction.”
It was all he could do to not snort at that. Try your concoction. His brothers were still hounding him for the name of the distillery because the whisky was so delicious, but he refused to tell them. Nolan was lucky Rafe was playing nice and sharing with him.
But Rafe said nothing as he poured them both a glass of the whisky blend and settled back in the booth again. He took a drink from his glass and closed his eyes against the wonderful burn across his chest and the dance of flavors across his tongue. This was what heaven tasted like.
When he opened his eyes, Nolan was sipping carefully from his own glass. Was he hesitant because he didn’t care for whisky, or was he still afraid Rafe was poisoning him? His eyes widened and he stared at the glass for a second before taking a bigger drink.
“I stand corrected,” Nolan announced, seeming almost reluctant to return his glass to the table. “This may be the only way to drink O negative from now on.”
Rafe smiled and turned his gaze to the guests of his club. The music was loud, and the lights flashed around them, but smiles were on nearly every face he saw. For this small window into their lives, they were happy and oblivious to the monster that was seated beside Rafe. Something about him, more than just the hard press of his powers, left Rafe’s skin crawling. When it came to hunting, Rafe suspected Nolan preferred to kill rather than the more compassionate catch and release he and his brothers performed.
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. The Variks have always had a taste for the finer things in life.”
There was no missing the underlying censure in Nolan’s voice, but Rafe held his smile and chuckled. “Why settle for mediocre when you don’t have to?” Rafe turned his gaze to Nolan. “Even if we are at the top of the food chain, you never know which sip may be your last. You should always enjoy things when you can.” He lifted his glass to his lips and downed the rest of his drink.
“But the Variks hunger for more than the finer things.”
“What else is there?”
Nolan leaned closer to Rafe and it was a struggle to not pull back. Rafe held perfectly still, muscles twitching here and there in rebellion. Nolan whispered directly in his ear, sending a hot gust of breath along his jaw with a single word. “Power.”
The laugh came out strangled and Rafe cut it off quickly. “Power? The Variks? No, that’s never been our cup of tea. Or even our brand of whisky. Why would you believe that?”