“I tried that!” the tiny voice shouted. “They’re animals, Kist. Bloody savages!” The voice subsided into an unrecognizable high-pitched panic.

Kisten sighed as he looked at me. “Okay, okay. We’ll stop in. I’ll take care of it.”

The voice on the other end gushed in relief, but Kisten didn’t bother to listen, flipping the phone closed and tucking it away. “Sorry, love,” he said in that ridiculous accent. “One quick stop. Five minutes. I promise.”

And it had started off so well, too. “Five minutes?” I questioned. “Something’s got to go,” I threatened, half serious. “Either the phone or that accent.”

“Oh!” he said, putting his hand to his chest dramatically. “Wounded to the quick.” He looked askance at me, clearly relieved I was taking this as well as I was. “I can’t do without my phone. The accent goes …” He grinned. “… my love.”

“Oh, please,” I moaned, enjoying the light banter. I had been walking on eggshells around Nick so long, afraid to say anything lest I make things worse. Guess I didn’t have to worry about that anymore.

I wasn’t surprised when Kisten turned toward the waterfront. I had already surmised the trouble was at Piscary’s Pizza. Since losing its Mixed Public License last fall, it had gone to a strictly vamp cliental, and from what I heard, Kisten was actually turning a profit. It was the only reputable establishment in Cincinnati without an MPL to do so. “Savages?” I questioned when we pulled into the parking lot of the two-story restaurant.

“Mike is being histrionic,” Kisten said as he parked in a reserved spot. “It’s only a bunch of women.” He got out of the car and I sat tight, my hands in my lap as his door shut. I would have expected him to leave the car running for me. My head jerked up when he opened my door, and I stared blankly at him.

“Aren’t you coming in?” he said, hunched as the cold breeze off the river shifted his bangs. “It’s freezing out here.”

“Ah, should I?” I stammered, surprised. “You lost your MPL.”

Kisten reached for my hand. “I don’t think you need to be worried.”

The pavement was icy, and I was glad that I was wearing flat boots as I got out of his car. “But you don’t have an MPL,” I said again. The parking lot was full, and watching vampires bleeding each other couldn’t be a pleasant sight. And if I willingly went in there knowing it lacked an MPL, the law wouldn’t help me if anything went wrong.

Kisten’s coat was long, dragging while he held my arm and escorted me to the canopy covered entrance. “Everyone in there knows you beat Piscary into unconsciousness,” he said softly, inches from my ear to make me very aware of his breath on my cheek. “None of them would dare even think to do that. And you could have killed him but you didn’t. It takes more guts to let a vampire live than to kill one. No one will mess with you.” He opened the door, and light and music spilled out. “Or is it the blood you’re worried about?” he questioned as I balked.