Kitty and the Dead Man's Hand (Kitty Norville 5)

The bar was at the top of the Napoli’s tallest wing. Glass walls on all sides offered views of the Strip. The place didn’t need its own light show, because how could it compete with all the glitz and neon outside? Instead, the decoration inside was modern and tasteful, with comfortable designer chairs and sofas in gray and chrome, black tiled floor, a black and chrome bar, and lots of mirrors that gave the place a mazelike appearance. Best of all, it was isolated from the eternal, headache-inducing clinking of slot machines.

The party was in full swing. A good mix of music played at exactly the right volume on a killer sound system. I couldn’t spot the speakers. I was glad I’d kept my new dress on, because if I’d had on anything else I’d have been underdressed. The women wore sleek and sexy cocktail dresses, the men wore suits. I caught glimpses of expensive watches and jewelry, designer shoes and makeup jobs. Every head of hair was perfectly styled.

If I had to make a guess, I’d have said about a quarter of the people in the place were vampires. It was hard to tell when everyone was mingled. Many vampires, especially the ones who live in cities as part of a Family under a Master like Dom, cultivate incredibly sexy manners and appearances. A roomful of vampires is like a convention for the models in an issue of Vanity Fair. The fashion and haughtiness are overwhelming. Here’s the big secret: they do this for a reason. They attain levels of irresistible sexiness because it lures people. It’s bait for warm bodies. They start a nightclub, make sure they have a reputation for trendiness and sexiness, then wait for it to fill up with nubile young humans for them to pick over. Quite a system, really. I could probably work out some ecologically correct ratio of predators to prey for a healthy ecosystem, apply it to the room, and figure out how many vampires were here. I filed that away for a future project.

As I cut through the crowd trying to find Dom, I could spot some of the vampires: they looked at me, following me with their gazes as I passed, because they could tell what I was and they were surprised to see me. As Dom had said: no werewolves in Vegas. I didn’t like being that unique.

I didn’t sense a single lycanthrope in the room. It made me feel lonely. Even cities like D.C. and New York had werewolves.

“Kitty! Welcome!” Dom called from where he held court in a big semicircular booth between the bar and a bank of windows. I waved and trundled over.

“Hey, sorry about the mix-up out front,” he said. “I didn’t get a chance to get your name on the list.”

“That’s okay, I think this is the first time I’ve ever been to a nightclub that had a list in the first place.”

Vampires surrounded him, fawning like courtiers. A red-haired woman leaned against him, tucked under his arm, and seemed half asleep. Two other women lounged arm in arm with each other, and one of those had her foot in another guy’s lap. He was massaging it absently. Another man smoked a cigarette, which struck me as odd, because vampires don’t breathe. One of the men stood, leaning against the end of the booth, with a vantage of the room. He held himself like a bodyguard. His lip curled as he studied me, head to toe.

The table before them was covered with empty tumblers and wine glasses. The glass Dom held was filled with a thick red liquid that I was pretty sure wasn’t cabernet.

He introduced me to his entourage. “This is Kitt

y. The werewolf.”

“Hmm, how novel,” the redhead said.

One of the women, a brunette in a rust-colored dress, extricated herself from her two admirers and leaned forward. “Kitty? With the radio show? Oh, my God, I’m such a big fan. I knew you were in town, but I had no idea you’d be here. This is so cool.” She looked on me with a hungry gaze. I couldn’t tell if it was awe or, well, hunger.

“Everyone move over, let Kitty sit here with me,” Dom said.

“Actually, I’m okay here on the end,” I said, quickly perching on the edge of the booth before anyone could argue. I needed an escape route that wouldn’t require me climbing over the table if I got twitchy. “Dom, I really need to talk to you—”

“Can I offer you something?” Dom said, indicating his glass of not-cabernet.

My stomach flopped, even though part of me would have been happy with the offering. I was walking on two legs now, not four. No blood. Definitely not human blood, and vampires didn’t drink any other kind. I didn’t want to cross that line. “I’ll have a martini,” I said. Dom signaled to a waiter and made the order. “Look, about Ben—”

“Sometimes I miss it,” said the brunette, settling back with her companions. “A really good martini? With olives? Hmm.”

“You don’t miss it a bit,” said the man with her. “At least, you wouldn’t give up this to get it back.” He nuzzled her, and she giggled.

Oh, please. Maybe I’d get their attention if I jumped on the table and snarled.

I leaned forward, conspiratorially, and said to Dom, “Can I ask a really gauche question?”

“I’d be charmed if you did.”

“Um. . . where?” I pointed at the goblet. “Please don’t tell me you’ve got blood donors in the next room hooked up to IV tubes.”

He looked at me, half a smile on his lips, and didn’t tell me.

This had probably definitely been a mistake. Dom wouldn’t know anything about Ben and seemed more interested in his party than anything else. The cell phone in my handbag hadn’t rung yet, and I resisted an urge to check again for missed calls. “At least tell me nobody’s dying for this.”

“Dead bodies are very bad for tourism, Kitty.”

They all giggled at that, except the bodyguard vampire, who curled his lip even more. I wanted to knock my head against the table. These weren’t just vampires—they were vapid vampires. Like Dom had collected his followers from the nearest frat and sorority houses. Probably so none of them would be able to out-think him.

The brunette perked up again. “Hey, whatever happened to that bounty hunter? The one who held you hostage on your own show?”

Funny she should ask. “He went to jail earlier this year. Manslaughter.”