Beatrice raised a shoulder. “Fancy dinners, nights out on the town, dirty weekends, and a few generous gifts?”
“Trust me. Now that I’m free of his influence, the last thing I want is to become ensnared.”
She twisted around in her seat, staring at me through shining eyes. “That’s what I love most about you. Your strength.”
I snorted. “This time next month, you’ll have dismissed Christian to a wankstain in history. That’s what it means to be strong.”
Beatrice’s shoulders sagged, and the smile in her eyes dimmed. She set down her glass, picked up the menu, and sighed.
Guilt tightened my chest, and I drew in a sharp breath. I wrapped an arm around her shoulders, not knowing if I had been dismissive toward the depth of her feelings for Christian.
Over the three years I’d known her, she’d had relationships that lasted from days to weeks, most of them ending with dismissals and a few ending with tears.
Beatrice was the most resilient person I’d ever met. Each time a relationship ended, she had dusted herself off and declared herself ready for the next adventure, so why would things be so different with Christian?
I licked my lips. “Sorry if that sounded flippant—”
“It didn’t,” she said. “I’m more upset about letting myself get duped.”
“Life can be so crap.” I leaned into her side and blew out a long breath. “It’s hard to tell yourself that things are going too quickly when there’s an excited man who keeps calling.”
Beatrice nodded. “From now on, I’ll play hard to get.”
“And miss out on the fun?” I asked.
The corner of her mouth curled into a smile. “Alright. I’ll play not so easy to get.”
“It’s a pity we have to play these games at all.” I peered over her shoulder at the menu. “What do you want to eat?”
“Ugh,” she said.
“What’s wrong?”
“When you weren’t in the crystal shop, I left to go back to work, but Jonathan followed.”
My brows rose. “What?”
“I know,” she said with a groan. “I even ducked into Starbucks to escape his incessant whining and ordered a huge panini, hoping he wouldn’t wait around for the baristas to grill it.”
My brows drew together. Something in her pained expression told me her plan to avoid him had backfired.
“Do you know he plonked himself opposite me, sipping from a thermos flask and demanding to know your intentions toward the mystery man?”
“Bloody hell,” I muttered.
“At one point, I nearly choked on my panini.”
I pursed my lips. Up until Valentine showed up at the shop, Jonathan had only been a minor annoyance. The next time I saw him, it would be to cut ties and ask him not to keep bothering me for dates.
We ordered our favorites starters—stuffed olives, kofta kebabs made of minced lamb infused with a delicious array of herbs, maakouda, a spicy potato pancake that came with a yoghurt dip, and caramelized onion hummus with slices of toasted pitta bread. The waitress brought a sweet mint tea, served in a glass.
By the end of happy hour, most of the students had left, replaced by a mixed crowd of office workers and casually-dressed people looking like they would move on to one of Soho’s many nightclubs. Beatrice bought herself a hookah blend of passion and hops, which emitted a yellowish smoke that mingled with the other scents drifting around the bar.
Loud chatter filled the space and the DJ increased the volume, playing an Arabic song overlaid with the voice of a man rapping in French. As Beatrice’s eyelids drooped, we moved on to nous-nous coffee, a half-milk, half espresso-blend stronger than any latte.
I was about to ask for the check when a waitress placed a bucket of champagne on our table. It was a 2008 Dom Pérignon. In a place like this, it probably cost five hundred pounds.
“Excuse me?” I met the woman’s dark eyes. “We didn’t order champagne.”
The waitress pointed toward the bar. “It’s from the gentleman over there.”
My pulse quickened to the beat of the drums playing over the speaker. Alcohol had dulled my senses, and I couldn’t feel an approaching vampire. Had Valentine followed me here?
I peered over the waitress’s shoulder for signs of the dark-haired menace. Instead, a middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair standing close turned to us and tipped an imaginary hat.
Disappointment pulled my heart into my stomach. Maybe it was because I hadn’t allowed myself the chance to tell Valentine how I really felt. It certainly wasn’t out of wanting to see the vampire king.
I snatched my gaze away from Mr. Tall, Dark, and Peppery to meet Beatrice’s narrowed eyes.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” she said over the volume of the Moroccan rap.
The waitress bent toward us. “Mr. Masood is a regular here. He buys drinks for girls all the time and never expects anything in return. He always tips me well for delivering a bottle.”
I exchanged a glance with Beatrice. This scenario sounded as fishy as the tuna tartare I’d had for lunch. Guys who sent over champagne usually wanted to saunter over to ask how we were enjoying the drinks, making girls feel obliged to offer them their company in exchange for their generosity. This one showed no sign that he wanted to join us.
Taking a deep breath, I concentrated on the bottle. It was fine, but power radiated from the champagne flutes the waitress set on the table.
“How much does he usually tip?” I asked.
Her brows drew together. “A tenner. Why?”
I slipped a hand in my pocket and opened my purse, but the waitress shook her head, seeming to understand what I was trying to do.
“Did any of the girls who accepted his drinks ever return to the bar?” I asked.
Her eyes widened. “What are you talking about?”
“Just be careful with that guy,” I muttered. “Could you bring the payment machine, please? We’re leaving.”
She offered me a slow nod, and hurried in the direction of the bar.
Beatrice leaned into me and frowned. “What was that all about?”
“Time to go home. There’s a hunter on the prowl.” I pulled out my smartphone, fired up the Uber app and called for a car.
Someone five minutes away accepted my request, and I slipped my phone in my pocket and waited for it to buzz with the driver’s arrival. When the waitress returned with the card scanner, I paid her and rose off the low seat, making sure to accidentally knock the glasses on the floor. They didn’t smash as I’d hoped but rolled under the table.
As we walked through the busy bar, the man’s gaze followed us through the crowd. It was time to make an anonymous report to the Supernatural Council’s enforcers, or tell Valentine that there was a supernatural in Soho, preying on girls.
Chapter Seven
As we stepped out of the bar and bundled into the Uber, hints of unstable crackling energy lashed at my back. It was the sort of rage I’d only experienced from a were creature or a shifter.
I peered through the tinted window in Souk’s door, waiting for it to slam open with a half-transformed Mr. Masood, but a large group of men approached the guards stationed outside, who refused to let them in.