"Aye."

"But why would you do something so awful?"

He gritted his teeth. Being trapped for centuries with a fifteen-year-old face had been a living hell. If Cora Lee couldn't figure that out, well, he didn't feel obliged to explain. "Maybe I just want to get laid."

She huffed. "And you were such a nice young boy."

"Aye." He gulped down the last of his Bleer.

Cora Lee studied him, frowning. "If you got what you wanted, then why are you so grumpy?"

"I'm no' grumpy!"

Her eyes suddenly widened. "Oh, I get it. You haven't gotten laid yet. Maybe I can help."

Bloody hell, he could do his own hunting. He noticed the music's volume had decreased. The Indian dancer had left the stage, and the female natives were restless. He needed advice quick. "Is Vanda here? I need to see her."

"Just a minute." Cora Lee rushed to a table where a lady Vamp sat, chatting with a few male customers. "Pamela! You'll never guess who that fella is over there."

Was Cora Lee trying to set him up with Lady Pamela Smythe-Worthing? No. Hell, no. The Regency-era viscount-ess from Britain had also been in Roman's harem, and she'd spent fifty years sneering down her nose at him.

Lady Pamela stood and examined him. Her frilly Regency gown was gone. She'd completely embraced the modern age with a red miniskirt and black leather camisole.

"Oh dear, look at that shabby old kilt." Lady Pamela's snooty accent was still the same. "He must be another barbarian from Scotland. Doesn't anyone from that dreadful country die a natural death anymore?"

Ian arched a brow. She had to know he could hear her.

Cora Lee grinned. "Pamela, that's Ian!"

Pamela's eyes widened. "Surely you jest. I shall be quite overset if you're toying with me."

"It is Ian," Cora Lee insisted. "He grew a bunch."