Human-kabobs. Simple, easy, and everybody goes home happy.

The high prince wasn’t exactly down with the idea. Christophe “wasn’t a team player.” “Had a chip on his shoulder.” Insert psychobabble here. Conlan’s new human wife had the prince by the balls, and Princess Riley the former social worker was all about kindness and understanding.

Which sucked.

Christophe would have preferred that Conlan just haul off and punch him in the face, like the prince used to do in the old days when somebody pissed him off. It would have been far less painful.

“Less painful than smelling your stench, for example,” he said to the vampire who was silently floating up the side of the tower, trying to surprise him. Probably thinking he’d found a midnight snack of the liquid variety.

“Interesting place to hang out, mate.” The vamp levitated up until he was eye level with Christophe. “Got a death wish?”

Christophe scanned the vamp, his gaze raking it from spiky purple hair to steel-toed boots. He blamed London’s punk rock scene. Bunch of lame-ass wannabes who were still trying to re-create the days of the Sex Pistols.

Like this bloodsucker.

Christophe put a hand on the hilt of a dagger but didn’t bother to draw it. “You threatening me?”

The vamp shrugged. “Just pointing out that you’re pretty far up for a breakable human.”

Christophe bared his teeth in what passed for a smile with him these days, and the vamp flinched a little. “Not human. Not breakable.”

Holding his hands up in a placating gesture, Punk Boy floated back and away from him. “Got no beef with you. Just surprised to see somebody in my spot.”

“You’re Queen Victoria, then?”

The vampire laughed and, surprisingly, seemed to be genuinely amused. “Know your Latin, do you?”