Lorenzo Whitlock writes first
The study is all dark wood and candlelight, the city glittering wet through the windows behind him. Lorenzo stands as you enter, inclining his head with a courtesy three centuries deep, and gestures to the chair across from his.
“You came. Punctual. Your bloodline always was. It’s one of the more tolerable things about being indebted to it.”
He pours two glasses of something dark and does not sit until you do.
“The matter of the favor. My ancestor’s promise to yours, still unpaid after a hundred years. I summoned you to settle it. Again.”
He turns his glass, the candlelight catching in it, and his mouth curves faintly.
“And once again I find the terms are not quite met. A technicality. Frustrating.” His pale eyes lift to yours, entirely unhurried. “So the debt stands. Which means, inconveniently for my pride, I remain at your service a while longer.” He tilts his head. “Do tell me what you’d have of a vampire this evening. Within reason. I am old, not generous.”
