I leaned back in my seat, settled into the Internationale's sinfully comfortable lounge. Surrounded by pub chairs, there were about two dozen tables in the area, with a separate smoking room behind a closed door off to the left. The bar was a massive mahogany thing manned by several bartenders, while wait staff circled to make sure everyone had what they wanted. There was a small stage occupied by a grand piano and assorted other instruments the performers had brought with them.

Most of the groups were decent, but a bit mediocre. It made a nice background noise for me to enjoy passively while I kept an eye on Dieter. Mercifully, he wasn't approached by Ortiz or any thugs, just a few old friends. I relaxed slowly.

Just before the last act, a young waitress came over to tell me my belongings had been moved. I thanked her with a faint smile. As tempted as I was to head immediately for the bath, I figured I would see who they had closing out the night.

The woman who stepped onto the stage had the beauty of a weathered rose, delicate features somehow worn by hard times and long nights. She settled behind the piano, long fingers ghosting over the keys first as if to make certain they were there. Her brown hair was loose and long with gradual waves, framing her face like a curtain as she leaned slightly towards the microphone.

Her fingers danced across the keys with a savant's grace and delicacy, but I almost forgot about the piano entirely as her lips parted and she breathed the first words in a voice that could make angels fall. I don't remember her lyrics, only that the pain of heartbreak in them was as deep and wide as the ocean. Her voice had that husky, sometimes rasping, sometimes silk smooth quality so well suited to jazz. As she was performing, she glanced towards the audience.

Her amber eyes found me, blazing with the light of a passion for music that defied description. I think my own heartaches were visible on my face, like calling to like.

She finished to a standing ovation, the last silver word falling like a raindrop to a quiet end, punctuated by a single note from the piano. I was on my feet along with everyone else, clapping even if I didn't cheer.

"Miss Olivia van Dijk, everyone!" the announcer said, waving an arm to the woman as she turned on the piano's bench to face us, then rose to take a graceful bow.

"Not bad, huh?" Dieter said beside me.

I turned reluctantly to face him. "Did you need me?"

"I might have another job lined up. I just wanted to let you know before I talked to Charlie about everything and the crowd was good cover." He flashed me a grin. "I'll have all the details for you in the morning." With that said, he picked his way back through the crowd, vanishing from view.

Olivia seemed to fade back into her weathered rose self, no longer electrified by her performance. Once the applause was over, she stepped down off the stage and vanished into the small crowd of musicians as it moved towards the bar. I knew nothing about the woman other than her incredible voice, but that could be remedied. I slipped through the little group until I found her at the back, carefully hiding as she nursed a glass of water, another of whiskey sitting next to her.

She looked up abruptly when she realized I was almost next to her. "Can I help you?" Some of the husk of her sound stayed in her voice.

I took a seat on the stool beside her. "I wanted to thank you," I said with a faint smile. "That song of yours was an incredibly moving experience."

A delicate pink blush formed in her cheeks and her gaze dropped away from mine. "Thanks."

"Surely you must hear that all the time, Ms. van Dijk."

"Not really. I haven't played for a crowd in a couple of years." She sighed slightly and turned her glass, watching the ice cubes move in the water. "It's been a little rocky."

"I am sorry to hear that. I hope things improve."

"They are now," she said, turning to face me. "I didn't catch your name."

I saw no harm in it. "Malle."

She smiled and held out her hand for me to shake. "Sounds pretty. You can call me Olivia."

Her fingers were warm against my cool palm. "Enchantée, Olivia. I hope to see you perform again."

She laughed as I released her hand after a polite shake. "I half expected you to kiss my hand with that line."

"I would never be so forward without an invitation." I watched the blush flood across her face again, slightly deeper this time. It was tempting to press, to ask if that might be something she wanted, particularly since I had such a fine day: a job completed, a full meal, hopes of a long bath in my future.

She glanced as discreetly as she could, looking me up and down. I'd shed the blazer and rolled up my sleeves, baring toned forearms. I had that sinuous grace that marks my kind, the deceptive strength, and the glittering charisma. She hesitated and then looked back at her drink. "I'm not used to people like you looking at me like that."

"People like me?"

"The perfect kind."

I laughed. "I assure you that I am nothing of the sort. I will grant that I can occasionally dress myself well and carry on a conversation without immediately putting my foot in my mouth, but that is the extent of it."

"Please," she scoffed, tracing one long finger around the rim of her crystal water glass, creating a soft hum. "You're gorgeous."

"I am flattered you think so, Olivia." I waited for her eyes to find me. "I have my own opinion about you and I assure you that I am not a woman often mistaken."

She focused on me, a hint of nerves in the way she tapped her fingers on the waterglass. "Oh?"

"I think beauty comes naturally to you, though of a variety you struggle to see yourself. I think your art is perfection beyond comparison. I think you deserve a thousand-fold more compliments than you receive." I flashed her a faint smile. "And yes, I know that you are not likely to believe me."

The blush was back, such a lovely color. "I think I should have let you kiss my hand."

I felt an impish good humor sweep through me, something normally so foreign. "That could be arranged."

She looked towards her fellow musicians, who were engrossed deeply in conversation with some of the hotel regulars, and I followed her gaze. No one was paying us too much attention, back in the corner where the lights were dimmer.

"Malle?" The natural husk in her tone sent a pleasant heat through me.

I decided at that moment that I wanted to hear everything her voice could do. I turned back to face her, offering my customary faint smile. I had learned long ago to watch my gestures and expressions carefully. A full grin would give away too much of what I was. "How may I please you, Olivia?" I asked in a lower tone, words very much intentionally chosen.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

She shivered and the blush deepened to a proper red. Olivia looked delightfully flustered now. To my keen senses, the pounding of her heart was audible. "I, umm..."

I shifted closer on the bar stool, fingers delicately lifting her hand. "I cannot help you if you do not tell me what you need," I said almost innocently.

"My boss expects to be treated with respect!" a man thundered across the room. It was coming from Dieter's vicinity, too.

Olivia didn't seem to notice, beautiful amber eyes focused entirely on me.

"May I?" I asked, glancing at her hand to show my meaning.

Her pulse fluttered and she nodded. When I didn't move a muscle, she seemed to remember what I'd said. "Yes."

I pressed a chaste kiss to her hand, cool lips lingering only a moment against her heated skin. I was jarred out of our little reverie by the chirp from my phone. "I should not monopolize your evening. I am certain you have other adoring fans to placate," I said with a certain reluctance.

Olivia shook her head. "You're the only one I want to talk to."

"Are you performing here another night?"

She nodded. "Tomorrow."

I smiled. "You will find me in your audience tomorrow evening. Perhaps we can speak when you are finished performing, should you still desire it."

Olivia laughed in a way that told me I'd made her night. "I'd like that."

"As would I." I kissed her hand again and let go, vanishing back into the crowd of musicians. They looked over to see their friend beet red and beaming while I went to investigate Dieter's situation.

The two thugs that had come to threaten him were currently being manhandled out the door by hotel security. Both had clearly taken a few hard shots to the face, probably from Dieter given the spatters of blood on his sleeve and the fact that he'd loosened his tie. My partner had the beginnings of a black eye, but otherwise seemed unscathed.

Upstairs, I mouthed when he looked in my direction, giving no other sign as I pulled out my keycard and headed for the elevator. I would have a head start by a couple of minutes for appearance's sake, so I checked my phone.

There were two messages from Charles, first to ask if I had any information to sell and then a second to warn me that Ortiz was looking more into Dieter. It was slightly aggravating, but my thoughts had a way of winding back towards Olivia van Dijk. There was no sense in wondering too much, not if I would have another chance to see her. Provided this unpleasantness didn't have us relocating for a little while, anyway.

The elevator dinged on the fourth floor and I stepped out, heading for the Lavande Suite. There was no sign of anyone else as I unlocked my door and stepped in. Breathtaking watercolors of lavender flowers decorated the walls of a suite meant for the rich and powerful. It was all tastefully understated, but the furniture was memory foam and the bath in particular was always spectacular. I slipped off my shoes and undid the top few buttons of my blouse. It was comfort, not seduction.

Someone had sent up a champagne bottle in a bucket of ice, which was perfect. I could make Dieter an ice pack.

The door opened and Dieter sauntered through the sitting room to the bedroom, where I sat on the edge of the bed. "You know, you could just climb into your bath and relax, Malle."

I beckoned for him to step closer as I stood up. "Someone has to look after you."

"I could clean up in the sink," he said even though he obeyed. "It's not like I've never seen you naked before. While it is a virtually religious experience, I think I'm past being too distracted."

I touched his cheek with my fingertips, carefully not making contact with swollen tissue. "Let me wrap up some ice. Mr. Ortiz needs to be properly discouraged from doing you injury again, or looking deeper."

He sighed. "I appreciate the thought, but we can't go kill him without taking a hit to profitability if someone finds out. Killing someone like him without a proper contract...though he did ruin a great deal, so maybe I stand corrected."

I retrieved a hand towel from the bathroom and wrapped up some of the ice from the champagne bucket for him. "I was contemplating something more measured, like implicating him in the business of his mark. I have all the details we would require. Charles could handle the practical and brokering end to ensure anonymity. His friends would handle the rest internally."

Dieter laughed. "Damn, Malle. That's evil. Brilliant, but evil."

I gave him a disarming grin. Around Dieter, I didn't mind showing at least a fraction of who I really was. "Have you forgotten who you're working with?"

"Not with those pearly whites," he teased, taking the ice pack. "Sorry if I ruined your evening plans, by the way."

I raised an eyebrow. "What plans were those?"

"Don't play coy with me, Malle. You were putting some serious moves on that singer," Dieter said with a grin. "I don't know what you said to her, but she looked pretty...excited."

"I have that effect on some people." I shrugged a little, watching him hold the ice to his bruised cheekbone.

Dieter scoffed. "You have that effect on anything with a pulse. Plus plants and some categories of metamorphic rock. Speaking from experience, those come hither eyes of yours are like being hit by a goddamned atom bomb when you want them to be."

Dieter and I had always kept things strictly platonic between us, but he used to like to pretend that he was the suave, irresistible one and utterly immune to my charms. Granted, that was before everything had come out. Now he knew better. I rolled my eyes at him.

He shrugged a little. "Hey, just sayin'. Also, you totally should have ignored me and tapped that. God knows you've earned some fun."

"Must you be so uncouth?"

Dieter laughed. "What can I say? Not all of us have had years to carefully polish our manners." He flopped back on the bed. "If you go back down there, I'm sure she's still there. I can skedaddle and make sure the sign's on the door."

I started unbuttoning my shirt and walked into the bathroom. "I told her I would speak with her tomorrow after her performance. That gives her twenty-four hours to think about it."

"Sweet Christ, Malle. She's going to spontaneously combust by then. Take it easy on the poor girl."

I hung my bra over the door. "I already made my decision."

"An evil decision." His phone rang. "Shit, that's Charlie Boy. You want me to come in and put him on speaker?"

"If you like." I turned on the water for the bath and finished undressing before sliding in.

Dieter stepped into the bathroom, facing the mirror. For all his jokes, he tried to be a gentleman. "It still weirds me out sometimes."

I glanced at the mirror from the water. "It took me some time to adjust as well." If someone had looked at only the mirror to judge who was in the room, they would have only seen him. I cast no reflection on its surface. Any way of capturing an image besides the human eye that I had encountered always failed.

My partner answered his phone. "You're on speaker, Charlie Boy. If you're done doomsaying about Ortiz, Malle has a fiendish plan for dealing with him."

"Oh, really?" Charlie's sarcasm was thicker than his New York accent. It was more directed at Dieter's brush off than me. "Look, Ortiz is no piker. You could at least take this seriously."

Dieter frowned as a thought percolated up. "I'm really more worried about who ID'd Malle when we got here. The guy they left at the door was shit at his job, but she said he was afraid of her. That implies some knowledge."

Charlie paused, contemplating that. "There's always rumors that she's a troubleshooter. Murderers for hire give a lot of people the heebie jeebies, at least if they're not morons."

"Possibly, but I think it was something else," I said from the bath, stretching out my back and shoulders in the hot water, jets below the surface thumping against my muscles. It was better than any masseuse as far as I was concerned.

He changed tacks. "As far as I know, there are zippo rumors at the Internationale about you being the literal kind of bloodsucker, Malle."

Dieter leaned against the counter. "Plus, I thought we cleaned house on everyone who knew."

"Sirje, maybe?" Charlie ventured.

I wanted to hope, but...

Dieter voiced the same opinion I held in my mind. "Their lookout's incompetence disqualifies Sirje if even a fraction of what Malle says is true. Still, you could be right in thinking it's another vamp."

"They're a mouth-breathing moron if they want to go after Malle," Charlie said. "Malle, I mean, you're Ancient, right?"

"It's rude to ask a woman her age, Charlie," Dieter said with a grin.

"Ancient is somewhat loosely defined, but most would probably consider me so," I said mildly. I had never told either of them my numerical age, mostly because I had no idea myself. Record keeping in my homeland was not a possibility when I had been young, and for a long time, little changed in terms of technology. "I remember looking out on the Atlantic not knowing there was a Pacific."

"It always blows my mind you know how to work a microwave," Charlie mumbled.

"A peculiarity of feeding." Humans writing that we drank blood were not incorrect, but it was like looking at the tip of an iceberg and presuming to know the dimensions of its entirety.

When I drained Ortiz's hit and delivered his message, I had taken more than blood. I had taken his memories, his passions, his wildest hopes and darkest fantasies, his very soul. With it came knowledge, intuitive understandings that would normally have evaded me. It would fade as the sustenance did, and within a few weeks I would need to feed again.

It was a strange thing, the act of feeding. For the victim, it could be infernal agony or blissful ecstasy, depending on the emotions that I coaxed out of them first. Blood was a means to an end, a way of linking my being to theirs.

"So we deal with Ortiz and figure out who that idiot was working for, then we get back to business," Dieter said, stirring me out of my thoughts. "If we have to, we can always go back to Vienna and let Los Angeles cool down for a bit. Or never come back, it's no skin off my nose."

"Very well," I agreed.

"So let's hear this plan for Ortiz, Malle," Charlie said, all business now.

"I believe I know enough about the turncoat's business dealings to make Ortiz look equally unfaithful." I smiled faintly. "Allow me to explain fully..."