Baffled, she stared down at the platter. “So humans like this dish?”
“No. They hated it. And now you are part of that experience! Welcome to the twenty-first century.” Passing her my phone, a device it had taken three days to convince her to touch in the first place, I grinned. “Want to leave a review?”
Missing the concept, but so cute I could literally eat her, Pearl leaned closer to my outstretched hand and told the phone. “The seafood platter isn’t good.”
“Ah.” We’d work on how to use the keyboard later. Tucking my phone away, I pushed back the wobbly chair, in full agreement with how it groaned over uneven wood floors, and offered my queen a hand. “Now, let’s see if humans are correct about the bistro next door.”
Sipping water, still somewhat grimacing, she gave me such a pathetic look. “Does the Yelp say the food there is also bad?”
“No. The chef is a hidden treasure, and she has prepared a feast specially tailored to your tastes tonight.” Which I had assured by sending Fhulendu with her favorite human pet to scout out the location. The human sampled every last dish on the menu, required to fully report each sensation. A twenty-five-page essay waiting for me to indulge in, mostly glorifying the merits of the braised lamb shank. “If you like it, I’ll buy the location. If you’re extremely happy, I’ll kidnap the chef and have her changed. She can prepare your meals for eternity!”
Considering freshly changed humans were such a massive pain, the generous offer most assuredly would impress her.
Except it didn’t.
Though I knew Pearl required sustenance of the mortal variety, the snip dared lie to me, placing her napkin on the table. “I’m full. Thank you though.”
This wouldn’t do. “Someday, you’ll see a human you just have to have. You’ll know your offspring at first glance, or maybe first smell. We, like any species, reproduce.”
“I won’t turn a human into”—she gestured at herself, so full of self-loathing it made the air taste rancid—“this.”
“No. You won’t. Daywalkers can’t. I will have it done for you.” This lesson was far more imperative than the Yelp, honestly. Or even her discomfort when I pinched her chin and raised her eyes to mine. “Mark my words. It is natural and normal. As is reproduction of the more erotic variety. We are a very physical species.”
What power a bit of fresh air and bad food had on my darling. She brushed off my hand and even had the tenacity to glare as she sneered. “I don’t want children of any kind.”
“Your daughter might be hurt to hear you say so.”
Check and mate.
Color draining from her cheeks, Pearl bit her ripe lip. Tugging it between her teeth in a gesture so disconcerted, so dumbfounded, that when her eyes went side to side as if taking in the room—as if the truth might be found on the sticky floors or on the mismatched furnishings—I twisted the dagger, so to speak.
“Her name is Jade. She has… had... your eyes and the temperament of a lonely kitten. I like her quite a bit.” Tucking Pearl’s arm through mine, I pulled her resistant self from the restaurant. “She has your gift of sunlight. Appreciates fine cuisine. One day—when you are ready—a dinner would suit.”
“I have a little girl?”
“She’s in her seventies. Woefully neglected by her now decapitated father. Bitter, and absolutely in love with a warrior named Malcom. They are to be married soon. I expect a pureblood child will follow shortly after. Daywalkers are extraordinarily fertile.”
“I have a child who’s the same age as I was when—”
“When Malcom—the one you described as an angel—ripped out your fangs and brought you before Darius for crimes unknowingly committed.”
Shame, horror, there was even a catch in her voice. “She must hate me.”
“Oh yes, she does. But she also doesn’t know you exist. We all assumed her mother was a human Darius made a meal of. Even I, her grandfather.” Bloodlines were complicated, but my next statement was plain as night and proffered with a charming wink. “Or should I say stepfather, now that we are one? Either way, she’s a proper combination of our lineage and will therefore be on equal footing with all our fat-cheeked future babies.”
Before us, the door of the bistro opened, one of the multitude of servants who prepared this corner of the city for our walk playing their part admirably—assuring everything was as smooth as the dark, silken hair of my bride.
I deserved a medal!
Maybe a kiss.
Instead, and it was so unexpected that despite her miniscule strength, Pearl threw off my arm. She threw it off, shook herself as if to remove something disgusting, and turned on the sidewalk I had scrubbed clean only the night before.
And she stomped away.
“Darling, the food will get cold!” She wasn’t listening, prancing off as if I might actually allow her out of my sight. Trotting after her, I tried to smooth extremely ruffled feathers by calling out, “Come now. How could you think such things of your own children? Of course they won’t have batwings. You’re not spawning imps!”