A Fall of Silver (5 page)

What the hell?

She studiously ignored him, although by the rigid set of her jaw, he had the distinct impression she was aware of his assessing glance. She simply chose to pretend he didn’t exist.

M
aybe he ought to consider buying a new car that would require fewer visits to the mechanic so he could get his mind off the physical world.

As they approached the House of Waffles, Quicksilver did not slow her
stride.

“Here we are.”
He stepped in front of her and blocked the sidewalk.

Her
scowl deepened. Before she could find an excuse to slip away, he leaned around her and pushed open the door. The action effectively forced her either to back up so she could edge around him or enter the restaurant.

Her lips thinned
and compressed into a straight line, but she entered.

The restaurant was nearly empty
. Kethan’s eyes flashed to the old fashioned, black-rimmed clock above the kitchen door. Quarter after eleven. The night was still young.

He sighed, regretting the
evening’s unexpected events. Despite their apparent interest in the talks, vampires were not easy to bring to any negotiation. They were too paranoid and didn’t want to agree to a specific time and place for fear of a trap.

And h
e could certainly understand their position. Especially since he used to be one of them.

A
spurt of irritation heated the back of his neck. Why hadn’t Sutton controlled that youngster, Jason? To let him loose so close to the hotel proved just how destabilized the clan was. That fact made their talks even more critical unless he wanted humans to figure out vampires really did exist and start a full-scale war against the undead.

Both sides would lose so many it was destined to be a tragedy for all involved.

Kethan automatically surveyed the restaurant as they paused just inside the door. Three thick-necked men sat on stools, hunched over the counter. Several more occupied the booths closest to the kitchen, leaving the drafty tables near the doorway unoccupied.

Sipping
steaming coffee from thick white mugs held between their hands, the men shot casual glances at the trio hesitating near the entrance. Truckers taking on caffeine before easing back out onto the nighttime highway. Their eyes stared out from identical dark circles of exhaustion.

It didn’t take long before the
y focused on Quicksilver. Men couldn’t help staring at her. She drew their gazes and the males responded like wolves unable to resist howling at the moon. He felt a little wolfish, himself, trying not to notice the way her jeans hugged her long legs.

Hopefully,
the caffeine wouldn’t wind anyone up enough to do something stupid. She didn’t seem like the kind of woman who would let stupidity slide, and he didn’t feel like breaking any knuckles on their drooping jaws.

W
aiting for her to select a table, Kethan stepped forward to hide her from the view of the men at the counter. Having won the small victory of convincing her to join them, he was careful not to stare too long, stand too near, or touch her again, but his palm burned to rest on the small of her back.

Just thinking about it made his blood surge
. His mind stuttered and he stepped forward hastily to catch up with her.

“Over there?”
Joe moved toward a clean booth relatively distant from the other patrons.

“Fine.”
Again, Kethan used the bulk of his body to maneuver Quicksilver away from the door and toward the virulently yellow booth.

At least the laminate tabletop was white
—a relief to the eyes although all the sulfur yellow and white created the bizarre feeling of sitting in a carton of fried eggs. The warm, damp air smelled of bacon and sweet donuts, and suddenly he grew aware of a profound, gnawing hunger.

He
took a deep breath, catching the fragrant scent of coffee. The smell never failed to give him the sense of coming home to a warm kitchen. The tension in his shoulders eased a fraction.

“
Father Donatello!” A dark-haired waitress came out of the kitchen. She was balancing three large platters of fried chicken along the length of her arm. “You’re out late.”

Quicksilver stopped in the
middle of sliding into the booth. She glanced at Joe who had already seated himself on the opposite bench. “I don’t—”

“Have a seat.” Kethan
smiled to put her at ease.

The waitress efficiently slid the plates in front of the men sitting at the counter before flinging up the drawbridge
section of the counter and snagging a few menus.

Kethan
eased into the booth next to Quicksilver, not touching her, but preventing her from escaping. She gave him a sharp glance before sitting down and focusing on Joe.

“Good evening, Denise
. How are you?” Joe asked.

“Busy as usual.”

“Too busy for church?”

B
lushing, she fussed over handing out the menus before replying, “Schedules. They’re working me to death.”

“So I see
.” Joe laughed. “I’ll pray they allow you a few hours off sometime this month to attend mass.”

“Oh
sure, Father. Sure.” The waitress pulled out a pen and order pad. She looked from Joe to Kethan. “And you, Father Hilliard?”

Kethan
shook his head. The bench jerked as Quicksilver straightened. Again, he felt her deliberately not glancing at him although he could feel her muscles flexing as she shifted as if too aware of their physical proximity. Her movements made his own body tighten. The lean, warm length of her thigh rested inches from his own.

“Not
Father. Not anymore. Just Kethan, now,” he said.

Denise focused on him
with a grin as she turned her shoulder on the guilt-inducing Father Joseph Donatello. She eyed Kethan with the lingering gaze that he had spent so many years avoiding from overly amorous women maneuvering to wrest him from the grip of his vows.

It was o
dd to realize he could return their interest now, if he wished. And ironic that this time, he was the one exerting self-control to avoid looking at the slender, pale blond woman next to him who so obviously didn’t want his attention.

Quicksilver
. How well she suited her name with her white-blond hair, pale skin, and silvery-blue eyes. Even her clothes echoed her coloring. Tight-fitting white jeans, snug, stretchy T-shirt in pearl gray, and a white leather bomber jacket. Sleek, efficient, and deadly.

He had to admire her courage in
wearing white despite her vampire-killing avocation, and it was definitely an avocation. Her actions and weapons made it only too obvious that she lived to kill vampires.

Unfortunately,
she had to be stopped, if for no other reason than to save her life.

When he glanced up,
Denise was staring at him, her brown eyes glittering with invitation. A warm Madonna of a woman with soft, tanned skin and a lush figure. The kind of woman he had dreamed about all those lonely years of celibacy.

Ironically, n
othing in him responded to her invitation, now that he was free to accept it.

H
owever, his shoulder burned when Quicksilver reached out and brushed against him as she grabbed the menu in the center of the table. Icy, impatient, defiant, she embodied all the qualities least attractive in a woman, but his body didn’t care about personality.

Or Denise.

“What’ll you have to drink? Coffee?” the waitress asked, pen poised over her order pad.

Kethan smiled
. The action supposedly released endorphins that should have eased the twisting tension in his stomach. It failed. “Milk,” he replied.

“Milk?” Denise echoed, her
lush mouth hanging partially open. The tip of her tongue ran over her upper lip.

“And a glass of water,
” he added, clinically watching each sign of attraction Denise exhibited and chagrined to discover a complete lack of interest on his part.

“Sure
, sure. And you Father Donatello? You’re still a priest, right?”

Donatello
chuckled, his thin, intelligent face brightening. “Yes, I am, and I’ll have water, please. With lemon.” When Denise stared at him, he hastily added, “If you have any.”

“Sure.”
Denise noted his request on the pad and was about to turn away when Kethan turned toward Quicksilver. “What do you want to drink?” he asked.

“Diet Coke.”

He managed to stop his elbow in half-nudge at her request. She’d already had enough caffeine as far as he could judge based on her tension level, but he figured if he mentioned that, she might order her soda laced with a shot of espresso.

“Pepsi?”
Denise eyed her, daring her to object.

“Fine.”
Quicksilver’s voice sounded clipped. Cold.

Women
. He concentrated on the menu. “Why don’t we go ahead and order?”

“You’re ready?
I could get your drinks first.”

“No, we’re ready.”
He ignored another sharp glance from Quicksilver. Her anger seemed to be building if the rigidity of her back was any indication. Unfortunately, he didn’t have enough restraint to stop pushing her. Well, he was angry, too, and righteously so. He’d spent months trying to meet with Sutton and his clan, only to have their very first meeting end before it really started. “I’ll have the club, no mayo.”

“And you,
Father Donatello?” Denise asked.

“Perhaps we should ask the lady first.”
Joe graciously gestured toward Quicksilver, his narrow, nervous hand jerking back when he hit the salt shaker. The shaker tumbled, sending a shower of salt across the table. He snatched it up with a shaking hand and threw a pinch of salt over his left shoulder. Heaving a relieved sigh, two red spots burned his high cheekbones as he glanced at Kethan before gently placing the salt shaker next to the pepper.

“B
-L-T.” Quicksilver tucked her chin down although Kethan caught a glimpse of a smile curving her full lower lip. Her one luscious feature, plump and rounded as an apple, that soft, pale pink curve of flesh that begged to be caught in his mouth. The forbidden fruit. “Extra mayo,” she added.

Denise jotted down
Quicksilver’s order with a careless flick of her pen. “Father?”

“The usual
, please?” His voice held an appealing combination of earnest hope and embarrassment at asking.

Kethan smile
d, glad for the priest’s calming presence and years of friendship. Joe always looked on the bright side, always displayed hope, even when he knew better and felt embarrassed by his naivety.

T
he priest’s endless well of optimism left Kethan in awe. He never gave up and despite Kethan’s black moods, the priest never let him give up either.

“Pecan waffles with a side of bacon?”
Denise confirmed.

Joe smiled and
nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”

When she finally collected the menus and left,
Quicksilver leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table. “So you’re really a priest? I can’t believe a real priest would try to negotiate with vampires. The
damned
!” She enunciated the word, exposing another unattractive female trait—persistence—and an inconveniently long memory.

His thoughts rested briefly on Denise.
She had a good memory, too, but it was tuned toward what a man ate and how much he made. Restful and sadly unexciting.

Quicksilver didn’t seem like a woman who ca
red what a man did for a living as long as he had nothing to do with vampires.

“A priest, yes,”
Joe confirmed. “Jesuit—”

She studied him with hard eyes.
“From a monastery?”

“Yes.”

“You’re a long way from home, but I guess you know that. No need for a debate,” she said cynically, referring to the well-known Jesuit skill of debate.

Joe
laughed. “No, that much is not debatable. We are quite a ways from the monastery, but not that far. I’m here often.”

“No kidding
. When a waitress at the Awful-Waffle knows what you like to eat, you’re here
way
too often.”

Kethan sat back,
idly fingering his silverware, no longer concerned about protecting Joe Donatello. Quicksilver had, at least, the semblance of a sense of humor and intelligence enough to realize that the gentle Father was no threat to her, or anyone else.

“The Church is beginning a new school
—” Joe said.

“For vampires?”
she interrupted.

“For young
gentlemen and ladies,” he replied smoothly. “I’m merely here to assist.”

She had the grace to blush and flick a quick, sideways glance at
Kethan. “And you?” She prodded him in the ribs with her elbow.