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With every step that brought me closer to him, I felt the hard press of the stakes I’d hidden on myself. A thin one within my ponytail, and the second between my breasts and trailing down my sternum. I couldn’t sit down comfortably, but at least I had two deadly weapons on my person. They had confiscated my knives at the door—as expected and planned—but the guards hadn’t patted down my hair, nor had they found the second stake behind my zipper.
Finally, I reached the landing above the stairs and turned toward the man I would be killing tonight.
Eoin Ó Ceallaigh was a handsome bastard, even if he was a monster.
Long, dark strands of hair framed a jaw so chiseled it could be carved from stone. Oddly, stubble lined his chin and I filed that away for later, because I hadn’t known vampires could grow facial hair. I focused on his nose rather than his eyes, but I knew from the television that they were bottle green, and mesmerizing.
It was unnerving that he could likely hear the pounding of my pulse. I just prayed he assumed it was the typical anxiety of meeting an attractive person or, hell, of prey meeting a predator rather than the true reason—adrenaline rushing through my veins as my body readied itself to attack.
The Abhartach held out a hand, palm up, and I nearly glanced up at his eyes but reminded myself at the last moment and kept my gaze on his just below. A dimple dotted his right cheek as I placed my hand in his. His fingers were surprisingly warm against mine, which meant he had already fed at least once tonight.
“Smart for a wee lamb, aren’t ye?” His voice was deep and heavily accented, the Irish brogue thick.
“Not smart enough to avoid this place,” I replied, the truth laying heavy on my tongue as I spoke the words.
“True enough,” was his simple reply as his grip tightened around my hand. The party raged on around us as he led us to a door. It opened before we reached it and a man bowed deeply as we stepped inside.
The door closed shut quietly behind us, but it was as loud as the final nail in the coffin in my head.
Eoin
Chapter Seven
Ottavia’s pulse pounded in my ears, each hard thump growing faster the farther we got into my office. Thud, thud,thud. It hadn’t escaped my notice that she’d been actively avoiding locking eyes with me since the moment on the dance floor. Although I’d known who Ottavia was for quite some time, seeing her in person was an—experience. Paparazzi-style pictures taken by my men certainly didn’t do her curvesanyjustice.
My fingers slipped from hers, putting space between us as I moved across the room to pour her a drink. Her head swiveled the moment my back was turned, not realizing I could see her in the mirror.Perhaps she was looking for something to stab me with, I thought with amusement, studying her a moment. The long shiny tail of her hair swung lightly on her back with her investigation and my fingers itched to turn around and snatch it in my palm, to wrap the undoubtedly silky strands around my fist. Clearing my throat, her eyes snapped to the mirror, quickly flicking down to my chin.
“I’m surprised to see you have a reflection.” she noted. The husky notes of her voice held a false bravado to hide the nervous vibration in her chest.
I hummed, turning with a tumbler of brandy in hand. Contrary to old-school movie beliefs, Abhartachs such as myselfdidhave a reflection. Where the myth started, I couldn’t say, but it was always one that I found mildly humorous. I held the drink out to her, the soft brush of her fingers against mine as she took it.
“Aye. We can’t ’ave garlic ’ither. Allergic ta tha’ stuff.” Her lips tilted slightly at my joking, but it wasn’t genuine. She was here for a reason, one I had yet to figure out.
Her full, dark-painted lips sipped at her drink, her eyes flickering around the room to look at anything but me. I took the moment to shamelessly look her over. Here under the lights of my office there wasa lotmore to see.And appreciate. The dark vinyl bodysuit she wore conformed to her voluptuous body in the mostdelicioussort of way. The shiny material was cut low, the generous curve of her tits trembled with every quiet, shaking breath she took. A zipper pulled down low emphasized the cut of her waist, accentuated the large curve of her ass. Dark fishnets clung to the swell of her thighs.
Thighs that I wouldn’t mind having wrapped around my head.
I’d been with many women over the years, but something aboutthisparticular one intrigued me more than any had in a long while. What was it they always said? The forbidden apple was the most delicious?
I’d never been good at remembering such things, but either way,I wanted to find out.
Ottavia’s shoulders stiffened once she noticed my appraisal, her long neck straightening, heart still pounding away behindher ribs. Her lips pursed, slender fingers tightening around her glass as I moved closer.
“Yer here ta donate, eh?” She swallowed audibly at my question, but quickly covered it with a sultry smile I’m sure would have guiled any stupider man.
“Yes,” she answered almost breathily, the immediate narrowing of her eyes telling me she hadn’t meant to.
She stood her ground even as I inched closer, crowding her. If anything, she straightened even more, refusing to cower despite my knowing her body wanted to.I liked that.
My hand rose to finger a lone piece of hair that laid on her shoulder, lightly flicking it back with the rest. It remained on her warm skin as I spoke, “What’s yer name, love?”
Her carefully crafted composure faltered just a tad, long lashes fluttering as she internally scrambled for an answer.Would she lie?I wondered, pressing myself even closer. The smell of her skin greeted me, warm and sweet like amber but with a hint of heady champaca, deep and rich like the golden honey brown of her eyes. Despite that, my nose wrinkled at the very small but very distinct stench of wetdogthat lingered just above that.
Feckin’ werewolves.
Those golden irises of hers were glued to my lips. They tracked the path of my tongue as I wet them, the tip grazing my pointed teeth. She looked away at that, and I noted the way her chest rose and fell in short, shallow breaths, as if she were purposefully not breathing in too deep to avoid my pheromones.
Clever little mortal.
