Before the drinks were served, Zane had completely charmed Loren. The two became lost in a discussion about some obscure Dutch artist, and I tuned out of the conversation.
I was antsy, looking over my shoulder at every turn. I didn’t feel any hairs creeping up my neck to indicate I was being followed. Instead, I felt Zane’s long fingers grazing the space between my hairline and shoulder blades. Even though I felt the beginnings of fatigue from the impact of being around not one, not two, but three Immortals in the past week, I still felt strong as I relaxed in his casual embrace.
“Forgers get a bad rep, but it takes a lot of technique to replicate someone else’s art,” Loren was saying. “In a way, forgery is an art in its own right.”
“I agree with you.” Zane stroked his long fingers into
