Stefan Ludovic chose that moment to make his entrance, coming forward from the shadows with loose-limbed grace. He paused briefly at the sight of Lurine, and then circled her, his head slightly cocked, his longish black hair brushing the collar of his leather vest. His ice-blue eyes were curious, their pupils waxing and waning. She remained where she was, looking sublimely unconcerned.

Definitely some kind of predator face-off. Or a mating ritual. Possibly both.

Detective Wilkes consulted his notes. “Um . . . Mr. Ludovic?”

Stefan ignored him. “Have we met before?” he asked Lurine. “Perhaps in Prague . . . some time ago? Or somewhere else?”

Lurine smiled at him. “Oh, I don’t think so, sweetie.”

His nostrils flared, and he said something in a foreign language.

She replied in kind.

And then he said something in another foreign language; or at least that was what it sounded like to me. Lurine answered him in that one, too.

“Oh, for God’s sake!” My impatience got the better of me. “We’ve got a few issues to discuss. Can we talk, please?”

Stefan inclined his head. “Step into my office.”

His office was surprisingly luxurious and well-appointed, a back room in the bar with lots of dark wood paneling and leather-upholstered furniture. Nice recessed track lighting, too.

Stefan took a seat behind the desk, indicating a pair of chairs in front of it. “Ladies, gentlemen. What can I do for you?”

Lurine sat, crossing her legs. After an uncertain glance at Cody and the detective, I took the other seat. “First off, one of your ghouls attacked me last night,” I said. “I came home to find him waiting in the stairwell of my apartment. He tried to . . . um, feed on me.”

His pupils contracted to pinpoints. “I’m very sorry to hear it,” he said in a clipped tone. “That is unacceptable. Can you identify him?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Al. The big guy with the mustache.”

“Ah.” A complicated expression crossed Stefan’s face. “When you were here before, he tasted you, did he not?”

“Um . . . yeah.” Ick.

He nodded. “As a result of your, shall we say, mixed heritage, your emotions are unusually powerful, Miss Johanssen. For one of our kind . . .” His pupils expanded in a rush, giving me an unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach. Possibly lower, too. It was creepy-gross on Al the Walrus, but creepy-hot on Stefan. Yeah, fine, call me shallow. “For one of our kind, I fear it is rather like a strong drug.”

“I thought the nectar of chemically induced emotions was poisonous,” Cody observed in his most laconic voice.

Stefan raised one eyebrow. Of course he was one of those guys who made it look effortless. “You have a good memory, Officer. But there is nothing artificial about Miss Johanssen’s emotions.” His pupils did that wane-and-wax thing again. “Indeed, I suspect they are a singularly pure nectar. And having tasted it, Al is ravening.”

“Ravening?” I echoed.