The second he came into the house, he heard a series of gasps, and glanced to the left. In the parlor, there were a number of civilians clustered in an awkward, standing group, like they didn’t feel comfortable sitting on all the fancy silk-covered furniture—and their eyes were popped large at the sight of him. Yeah, his reputation still preceded him. Geez, you’re a slut for a couple of centuries, and people just can’t let that shit go after you get properly mated. It was a PITA, and on an ordinary night, he would have gone over and introduced himself just to bring his Mary up in conversation. Tonight, though, he headed to the closed doors of what had once been the dining room. Knocking twice, he said, “It’s me.” Tohr opened things up with a “What’s doin’,” and Rhage stepped into the cavernous, mostly barren room: All they had in there were a bunch of armchairs, a desk with an office chair, and some ancillary seats in case an audience had a lot of guest ass to accommodate.
