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They were pretty—greens and blues and gold. I’d been hesitant to change them because… well… now I wasn’t sure what my reasons were, but this seemed like the first step to letting my wife know how much she meant to me. She’d mentioned once or twice how I wouldn’t even consider some of her suggestions when it came to hair and clothes.
Camille smiled softly as she picked up the box. “I helped her pick these out, you know. She asked me what you might like.”
Now I did feel like a heel, but I chose to ride over it. “I have to buy a new car. I don’t want to buy a new one, but there’s no help for it. Mine’s trashed. So what say we go down to the dealer and see what we can find? Roman will front me the money, so no worries on that count.”
“We can get one hell of a good deal. We did before.” Camille snickered as she began brushing through my hair and parting it into sections. She used a mister to moisten the curls and smooth them down as she braided them.
“What kind of car are you thinking of getting?” Delilah pushed aside the files she’d been looking at. “Another Jag?”
I frowned. “No… too many associations now with being almost pulverized twice. I’m thinking I might get a Mustang. I thought about it before the Jaguar and now… well…”
“Why don’t we build it online and then order it?” Delilah brought up the website, and within seconds, we were building my new car. I wanted the royal blue color—or that’s what I called it—and as we added up the options, I grimaced at the price tag. But Roman had said to get what I wanted and I could take as long as I wanted to pay him back. Of course, he’d also said I didn’t have to pay him back but that wasn’t going to happen.
Delilah hit the final update button and then a search. “Looks like you can have it in three days at the Belles-Faire dealership. Forty-one thousand and some change.”
I grimaced but texted Roman. Within minutes I had a return text to forward the information and the check would be delivered to the dealership, so that I could pick up the car without worries when it came in. And that was that. No muss. No fuss. No hours spent listening to the dealer trying to sell me something I didn’t want.
“Is Nerissa home yet?” I wanted to talk to her. Wanted to start mending the fences before they fully broke.
“Not yet, but she should be soon. Now hold still while I finish your hair.” She made quick work of the rest—by now she’d had plenty of practice—and I had shiny new beads in my cornrows.
I suddenly wondered why I’d been so hesitant to change them before. The new beads were pretty, and they didn’t do anything but spruce up my hair. Why had I been so resistant? Pondering the question, I barely noticed when Camille’s phone rang and she answered. But the next moment, I sure as hell noticed her conversation.
“Holy fuck. Right! We’ll get right over there. Thanks, Carter.” As she punched the End Talk button, Delilah and I looked at her, waiting.
“You don’t want to know. But we have to go out tonight and we’d better get our butts in gear. Carter wants to see us now. And he said come prepared and with a full crew, which I’m translating to ‘be ready for a fight.’”
We scrambled. I scribbled off a note for Nerissa, while Delilah hurried outside to alert the men. Camille raced upstairs to change clothes. Within ten minutes, we were armed and ready to go. Because Aeval’s men were guarding the house, we decided that Roz and Trillian should stay behind, while Morio, Smoky, Shade, and Vanzir would go with us.
“Morio, Smoky, Menolly—you come with me. Shade and Vanzir, ride with Delilah.” Camille barked out orders as we crowded out of the doorway. As we split off to the two cars, a streak of lightning split the sky and rain thundered down. It was definitely the night for a fight, all right.
Carter was waiting for us. He hurried us in, out of the rain. Tea was waiting, and cookies—you could always count on Carter to provide refreshments and hospitality, even if the situation was dire. And by the look on his face, the shit was about to hit the fan.
We filed into his living room and gathered around the coffee table, where he had what looked like some architectural plans scattered around. He took his seat, and without chitchat or even his usual niceties, he dove right in.
“I think Lowestar will try to wake Suvika tonight.”
Crap. None of us had expected to hear that. We stared at him, silence thick as pea soup.
“What the hell did you do to spur him on like this? It had to be you—only a major disruption in his plans would force him to move this fast. He’s slow and steady; otherwise he wouldn’t have flown under the radar all these years.” Carter bit into one of his cookies and cocked his head, a quizzical look on his face.>The exercise was doing wonders for my mood—the stress coming out in the movement. I began to laugh, not caring if he heard me. For the first time in days, I felt free. If I were still alive, I’d say I was able to breathe.
And then, as I rounded the corner of a stand of cedar, there he was, waiting for me. Roman was leaning against a cedar, a smart-assed look on his face. I skidded to a halt as the mood shifted in a fraction of a second. My hunger grew strong, my thirst burning in my throat. As he began to walk me back against a tree as big around as a car, I locked eyes with him, watching him cautiously.
His icy gray gaze swept over me, and I felt naked. The next moment he lunged forward and had hold of my hands. I found myself back up against the tree, as he thrust my arms over my head and caught my mouth with lips soft as silk, sweet as blood and wine. His fangs began to descend and I moaned, wanting him. Wanting to dive deep under his skin, to taste the blood rise to the surface, bubble into my mouth with its foaming crimson warmth.
Blood. It was the only part about him—the only part of me—that retained any heat. Blood, the life force. Blood, the passion and the pain. Blood, the crimson flowers that stained the snow, that stained alabaster skin, that stained sheets and clothes and bodies. Blood, the drink of the damned—and I wanted it, wanted Roman’s blood so badly I screamed.
“Feed me. Drink me. Taste me. Fuck me.”
He laughed, low and sultry, and his arms enveloped me, holding me tight. “Can you moan for me, pretty one? Can you beg for me? Because I would beg for you—I’d beg for a taste of your blood, to fuck your cunt, to fill you up and drive you deep into the night.”
I shifted, exposing my neck, and Roman leaned his head back, fangs gleaming in the shock of lightning that flashed overhead. He reared back, then with a low moan of desire, of lust, he plunged deep into my skin. I felt the blood begin to flow, and the ache of his bite, the pain of his fangs, drove themselves deep into my heart.
“Hurt me, make me bleed, make me feel.” I begged him, pleading for the pain. Pleading for the sensations that reminded me I was still here, still existing.
He made it hurt for me, made it ache, driving me under with a wash of bloody tears and searing pain. And in the pain, I began to weep. Weeping for my father, for my sisters, for the thousands who had died in Elqaneve. I wept for the victims who had been caught in the fire at my bar. I wept for Nerissa, who was stuck with loving me—who deserved so much better.
As the tears stained my face, Roman began to murmur something, and the next thing I knew, we were standing in the middle of a brilliant shower of blood, in a waterfall of energy—red and gold and burning orange, and all around was the scent of copper, the copper of blood, the cloying wash that gave the creatures of the earth their substance. Blood was life. Blood was power.
