The words rang hollow. He should’ve been thrilled at his victory, but this one left a bitter taste, the reasons for which he had no interest in exploring.
Grudgingly, he released her and backed off.
Jacinda swept her hair back in front of her shoulders, hiding that delectable neck from view. Her smile was gone, eyes no longer glittering. “How long?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“If I agree to help you, how much longer will you let me live? A week? A month?”
At his obvious confusion, she continued, “Everyone was terrified of Augustus, Prince, and with good reason. But that old bloodsucker? He hadnothingon you.”
Gabriel bristled at the mention of his dead father. At the comparison. The witch was utterly clueless, and her presumptions put his lingering desire on ice.
“I know your game,” she pressed. “Everyone in this city talks, and believe me, I’ve heardallthe stories about the ruthless Redthorne prince.”
“Have you, now? And what do the stories say?”
“People are nothing but transactions to you—even your own family members. Once they’re no longer useful, they… they disappear. Usually after you torture them to death.”
She lifted her eyebrows as if she were daring him to deny it.
Those blue eyes blazed right through him.
He blurred into her space once more, hand curling possessively around that delicate neck, thumb brushing the pulse point.
Jacinda sucked in a startled breath, and he thought again of her kneeling in the dirt at Ravenswood, face turned up, a pale flower blooming in the darkness.
His fangs descended in earnest. It took everything in him not to sink them into her flesh and fuckingbreakher.
“Then I suggest, little moonflower,” he whispered, “you find a way to remain useful.”
Chapter Three
Seeing no better options at the moment—not her finest, mind you—Jacinda Colburn followed her captor out of Bloodbath and into the bright Manhattan day.
Gabriel winced at the sunlight and hurried their pace, weaving them through the stumbling, post-hangover brunch crowd toward a nondescript building across the street, about halfway down the block.
If anyone noticed the fact that she and the vampire were covered in blood and looked like they’d been set on fire and run over with a dump truck six times, they kept the commentary to themselves.
A small comfort in what was otherwise a flaming-shit-sandwich of a day.
“Where are we going?” Jaci demanded, struggling to keep pace in her bare feet. She’d lost her favorite heels in the attack last night, which sucked almost as much as her current predicament.
“Home,” came the prick’s reply. No elaboration.
Reality, harsh and sudden, bitch-slapped her across the face.
“Wait. You expect me to move in with you?” She stopped on the sidewalk before the building’s entrance, forcing him to turn around. “No. No way. That wasnotpart of the deal.”
Gabriel grabbed her arm, glaring down at her with those deadly green eyes that made her shiver.
Damn it.Being in such close proximity to the vampire prince was like being stuck in perpetual winter. Forget exsanguination—the first time those cold green eyes pinned her this morning, she’d nearly died of hypothermia.
Until he’d put his mouth on her skin and damn near set her on fire…
No. She wouldn’t even give that thought room to grow. The prince might’ve set her nerves ablaze with that little stunt in the VIP room, but clearly that was some temporary Stockholm-Syndrome-induced insanity on her part, because Gabriel Redthorne was justallkinds of wrong.
You could see it in those eyes.
