“Bet you weren’t expecting this from the girl in ratty sneakers and leggings.”
“Not even remotely,” I said. “I feel I should tell you, Claude told me of your family too. He said?—”
“We’re scandalous, semi-feral, and constantly gossiped about,” she offered. “Yes, that’s us. But I’m the boring one, I promise. I don’t brawl in public, nor do I sleep with council members—anymore—and I haven’t been arrested in…what month is it?”
Laughter unwittingly bubbled out of my throat. “You’re joking.”
“Partly,” she said. “Just trying to break the tension. Wolfe women tend not to come in my packaging. We tend to lean more murderous vixen than mischievous jogger. But I assure you, I am the full pedigree, and I come with a dusty bank account that’s teeming with money I haven’t touched in decades.”
I raised a brow. “And now you want to invest in a haunted bar with a disgraced Laurent? How very avant-garde of you.”
“Well, here’s the thing,” Thorne said, flashing a grin. “There’s this charming little blood feud between my family and the St. Germains, and I’ve made it my personal mission to be the glitter in their casket. So, when I heard a disgraced Laurent bought a bar two blocks from Lucien’s ego palace? Honestly, Izzy, how could I not get involved?”
“Because of your family rivalry,” I said, half to myself.
“Because of the opportunity,” Thorne corrected. “Because sticking it to the St. Germains while building something of my own is just good business.”
I studied her again. The casual confidence. The gleam of ambition under the charm. The perfect blend of chaos and calculation.
She moved like someone used to being underestimated—used to turning that underestimation into leverage. I’d seen it before at midnight salons, at coven councils, at gilded galas where people forged alliances over poisoned wine and polite threats. Women who smiled while setting entire legacies ablaze behind their backs. She wasn’t trying to impress me. She was laying groundwork, framing the pitch, measuring me for how far I’d let her in.
And the worst part?
It was working.
I could already see it. Thorne behind the scenes with her glittering Rolodex of morally ambiguous contacts. Me playing the sharp-tongued figurehead, all fangs and flash. The town wouldn’t know what hit it. And maybe—for the first time in a long time—I wouldn’t be going at it alone.
“Remind me never to play poker with you,” I said.
She laughed, then pivoted on her heel and walked a slow circle around the bar, like a woman inspecting treasure. She touched everything, the broken barstools, the counter, the cracked bottles, as though familiarizing herself with the place.
“Here’s what I see,” she said. “This place has history. It’s also charming and in a great location. Not to mention, a literal ghost story built into the walls themselves. And while it may currently look like the set of a low-budget vampire soap opera, all that means is the expectations are low. Which gives us room to impress. I’m thinking reclaimed decadence. Velvet booths, candlelight enchantments, an actual functioning stage for live acts, and drinks that aren’t just alcoholic, but dramatic. I’m talking cocktails that smoke and-or glitter.”
“Sounds…unique?” I offered.
“Sounds memorable,” she countered. “And this town runs on reputation. We give them a place that’s indulgent without being intimidating, eccentric without being a circus—and suddenly, everyone wants in. Not just the legacy families and their lapdogs, but the independents. The misfits. The ones who are tired of curtsying every time Lucien St. Germain lifts an eyebrow.”
Thorne turned back to me. “This is a deal you want to take,” she said. “Not only do I have the funds you so desperately need, but I also have the connections. Many owe me favors. I’ll handle the money. You handle the war with Lucien. You’re the vamp, after all, as you so helpfully pointed out. You’ve got the heritage, the fangs, the bite—and let’s be honest, half the town is already watching to see if you fail. So, why not give them a performance they’ll never forget? The more drama you spark, the more excitement for your grand opening.”
A slow smile spread across my face.
I’d chosen Eternity Falls because it was a small town far, far away from my family, my ex-mate, and all the societal pressures and expectations. I’d never considered that this place might actually appeal to me. I was also starting to realize that Lucien St. Germain might not be the town’s only sociopath.
No.
Theodora Wolfe was an entirely different breed of menace. The kind no one ever saw coming. The kind that utterly upended your life without anyone realizing she was the one pulling the strings in the first place.
And I adored her for it. An hour in her company, and I already suspected she and I were going to be the best of friends. Because that menace? The danger simmering beneath the surface? I was intimately familiar with it. I saw it every time I looked in the mirror—not that I had a reflection to actually admire.
My grin turned sly, and I leaned against the dilapidated counter. “And if I say no?”
Thorne merely glanced at me, her insufferable expression making me laugh.
“Please. We both know you’re not that boring,” she said. “You didn’t claw your way out of scandal just to open a sad little pub with nothing but ghost drama and gumption. By buying this bar, you started a war. And I’m here to provide you with the artillery.”
I huffed a laugh, low and dry. “For fifty percent profits, of course.”
“Of course,” she said, chuckling. “Come on. Say yes. We’ll toast to chaos and paint the town something far more interesting than red.”
