She focused on forcing her features into an approximation of a “doe-eyed” expression, though she’d never really known what that meant.

Caine turned, frowning. “What are you doing with your face?”

“I was trying to look seductive.” She kept her hand locked in his, anchoring herself to his aura.

“You look terminally alarmed.”

Frustration simmered in her chest. “I told you. Acting seductive wasn’t part of my training.”

He leaned in close, his breath warming her neck as his aura gently licked her skin. “I can, of course, help you with that—one of the incubus talents.”

Warmth radiated off his body, and she glanced at his full lips, slightly open. Her eyes trailed down his arms. His skin looked gloriously soft, but the muscles under them hard as steel. She inched closer, overcome by a sudden urge to pull him in for a kiss. Get a hold of yourself, Rosalind. He’s using his incubus magic. “I didn’t say you could do that.”

“Do what?”

“Use your incubus seduction talents.”

He whispered into her ear. “I’m not using any magic.”

Her pulse raced. He wasn’t using his magic, or she would have felt his aura strengthen. She swallowed hard, trying to gain mastery of herself. She wasn’t going to fall for the charms of an incubus. “I knew that.”

“You’ve got that seductive look now.” He brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “Shall we continue on?”

She tried to ignore the heat tingling through her body. She was here for the sybil—not to enjoy herself.

As they approached the booths at the back, a human woman in an emerald-green corset held a tray over her head. A single margarita stood on it.

Caine touched the woman’s arm, and she turned, flashing a stunning smile at him. Flame-red hair cascaded over her shoulders. “Hi, gorgeous.”

“Hello. I need this drink.” He plucked it from the tray.

“Oh.” The girl’s face crinkled in confusion. “It’s for Sambethe.”

“I’ll bring it to her. And while you’re at it, two Manhattans for us. Dry.”

Looking him over, she licked her lips. “I’ll be right there.”

Caine threaded his fingers through Rosalind’s, and wove his way to a darkened corner of the club.

In a booth, lit from above by glowing golden orbs, sat a white-haired woman in a stunning, coppery gown. Her frosty hair contrasted starkly with a smooth, creamy complexion. The woman’s milky eyes landed on the margarita in Caine’s hands, and she jabbed a finger at it. “Is that for me?”

“I brought it specially for you. My name is Caine.” He took a seat across from her in the booth, and Rosalind followed, squeezing in next to him so she could anchor herself to his aura.

Sambethe snatched the drink from the table, extending a long, pointed tongue to lick the salt off the rim.

Caine leaned in close, peering at Sambethe from below his lashes. “Is it true that you are very discreet with your oracles?”

“Don’t try to flirt with me, boy. I’m far too old for that.” She lifted her drink. “You keep these coming, and I’ll do whatever you want.”