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“My bank accounts survived me. From before. I don’t have to conjure anything.”
He was aware that he was answering more candidly than he normally would, but the subject of finances didn’t particularly interest him, and he wanted to understand his collapse without drawing more attention to it. If she was inclined to compete over who could pull more dollars out of thin air? Fine. What the fuck did he care.
“That’s a different outfit,” he commented as his eyes traveled down her thighs, her calves.
The Louboutins she’d changed into had thin straps that highlighted her delicate ankles. And good ol’ Christian was right. Toe cleavage was sexy.
Garbed as she was, she fit right into the house, all lady of the manor. But like the past he’d been thinking he could return to, there was no depth to her in that role.
“You know,” the demon said, “I keep thinking about that mess outside my lair, that inky, stinky mess. You’re creating an army, aren’t you. You’re recruiting humans to fill out the Lessening Society.”
Jesus, if she expected an A+ for that math, she was really reaching. Any idiot could deduce that goal.
Putting the teacup off to the side in its saucer, she got to her feet as well. With those heels, she was almost as tall as he was.
As she approached him, he caught the scent of her under the Poison she wore. She was aroused, but he wasn’t going to fuck her. Even as he hardened in the slacks of the suit she’d found for him, he wasn’t about to get into any habits that were going to be a distraction.
And if she’d somehow been able to find him here, he didn’t need to encourage her stalking.
Bringing her breasts against his pecs, she eased her body into his. Then she locked mouths with him, the kiss ending in a bite of his lower lip that, if it had been any sharper, would have drawn blood.
“I have an idea for you,” she drawled. Before he could don’t-bother that, she continued, “I’ll meet you in the basement of that nasty-ass walk-up with the bathtub at nine o’clock tomorrow night. If you want more humans to turn, I’ll get you some. Feminine intuition tells me you’re missing an opportunity. Have a good night, honey. Loooooove you.”
She backed off and then drawled out of the room.
“I don’t need your help, honey,” he muttered.
Tilting to the side, he watched her leave through the front door, and when he sensed her presence was gone, he sat back down, crossed his legs knee to knee, and looked around. The silence bore upon him like a physical weight and his mind churned over things he could not change.
He didn’t know how long he stayed there, in the elegant drawing room, breathing deeply of the scents and feasting upon the beauty around him with his eyes.
In his soul, he wanted to return to where he had started. Nostalgia did not come with a rewind button, however, no matter how powerful the yearning. And even if it did, jumping backwards in time would not undo his own evolution—
Why was he wasting time with this introspection.
With an emphatic push into his Ferragamos, he rose and walked out to the front door. Opening things up, he stepped outside and noted that that Mercedes was gone. Which suggested the realtor had been safely released back into the human wild, but who knew. Who cared.
It would be more efficient to ghost away, but he put his hands in the pockets of his slacks and strode down the walkway. Hooking up with the drive, he continued along, and it was as he ascended the rise that he realized he was providing the demon with a chance to give away her presence. Either because she couldn’t help herself or because she didn’t mean to.
He wasn’t looking for a partner in the war.
He didn’t need help.
Period.
As he came up to the gates, he willed them open, enjoying the parting of the way before him, imagining that on the far side, victory awaited.
After he passed through, he paused and listened to the clanking as things closed in his wake. Maybe later he’d buy a proper place like this. Right now, there were too many things to get organized—
A vehicle approached on the street, moving slowly, and at first he didn’t pay any attention to it. Except then, as it passed, he noticed that it wasn’t a Rolls-Royce or a Bentley. Not even a Benz or a Beamer. It was a blacked-out box van, the kind of thing that a security force or servants might be driving.
When it paused at the barricaded entry that was across the street and down a little to the right, he imagined whoever was at its wheel was lost, but then they pulled in next to a video checkpoint. Which made no sense. Why would servants or employees use the front entrance? That would never be allowed—
