Free Blood Wyne by Yasmine Galenorn

chocolate brown, and his eyes were almost white—the longer a vampire lived, the more pale his or her eyes became. Mine were already turning gray. His were nearly opaque, but a sparkle delineated the iris, and a faint slit of black reminded me of a cat’s pupil.
    Roman held out his hand. Sapphire cufflinks set in gold adorned the cuffs of his velvet jacket. A matching pendant hung from a ribbon of gold chain encircling his neck.
    “Menolly, so good of you to come.” He motioned for me to sit and I did, choosing a chair where he could not sit directly beside me. I didn’t trust him. Any vampire that old had to have lost a good share of his humanity.
    “You wanted my help, and yet I summon you here to assign you a task.” His voice was low, smooth, silken cream, and he smiled. “You will assist me.”
    His manner had roped me in, but it was common sense that made me nod. When a vampire this old invited you to his home and asked for a favor, you said yes. At least until you could get away and decide how to back out of the obligation.
    “What do you want?”
    Roman leaned back, pulled out a miniature cigar, and lit it, not inhaling but gathering the smoke in his mouth and forming delicate, perfect rings with it, the tips of his fangs peeking out at me. I stared at his mouth, at the perfect O, and found myself licking my lips. Oh, he was honey and I felt like Winnie the Pooh. After a moment, he set his cigarillo in an ashtray.
    “What do I want? I want you to stop a murder.”
    “Who’s in danger?” I yanked my attention out of the gutter and tried to focus on what he was saying, praying it wasn’t my sisters or me at risk.
    “Wade Stevens. Your friend.”
    Wade! Wade, the vampire who had been instrumental in introducing me to the vampire scene in Seattle, then turned his back on me? My temper flared.
    “Wade and I aren’t on speaking terms.” And then, because I couldn’t help it, I asked, “Who wants to murder him, anyway? Terrance?”
    “No,” Roman said softly. “But if he doesn’t withdraw from the election, I will stake him myself. Or send someone to do the job for me.”
    What the fuck? I stared at him a minute, waiting for a crack of laughter or anything to indicate he was joking, but none came.
    “You can’t kill Wade. He’s one of the good guys,” came racing out of my mouth before I could stop myself.
    “I can, and I shall, if he doesn’t listen to reason and withdraw from the election. Make him see reason. That’s why I called you over here, or at least, one of the reasons.” He leaned forward and gazed into my eyes, and I felt myself falling forward, falling into those ancient orbs of frost. “Menolly, persuade Wade to withdraw without telling him why, or I will kill him. It’s that simple.”
    And then, before I could respond, he reached out and took my hand and a shiver raced up my back—and I, who could not feel cold, felt chilled to the bone. Something inside—the part of me that remembered Dredge—screamed, No, don’t touch me , but another part begged to be set free.
    I forced down my panic. “What happens if I can’t? What happens if he won’t listen to me?”
    “That . . . is not my problem,” Roman said, his voice so low I could barely hear him. He drew me close, pulled me out of my chair, and before I realized what was happening, I was sitting in his lap, staring into his eyes. He reached up and caressed my face gently, without any sense of force.
    “I have my reasons, Menolly. I could have just ignored everything and ordered him killed. But I knew—even though you two are on the outs—that he was your friend, and so I give you this chance to save him. Will you take it?”
    “But why—what could be so wrong about him running in the election? Surely Terrance can’t be a better choice. He’ll destroy all we’ve worked to build up, all of the treaties with the breathers and the Fae.”
    Up close, I could see his face so much more clearly, and I realized Roman