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Étan was dead, and Rafe clearly wasn’t an option.
A smug smile. “Several men have expressed interest. You’re a prize, cherie.”
Dread wrapped itself, serpent-like, around my chest. “What about your promise to let me choose my own mate?”
“You clearly aren’t capable of it. So, I’ll be interviewing your suitors when we return. They’re all strong men who can impregnate you. I don’t need you, Zoe. I can take your spawn and raise him or her to be my lieutenant.”
I’ll kill you first.
I kept my mask firmly in place, but inside, whatever love I’d felt for Victorine shriveled to nothing. She’d finally gone too far.
I wouldnotmate with a man I didn’t love, and I wasdamnedif I’d allow Victorine to raise any spawn of mine.
I had allies in the Tremblay Syndicate, vampires who’d back me when I let the world know what my mother had done. When we got back to Montreal, Victorine would have a civil war on her hands.
But first, I had to get out of Philippe’s lair and back to my home territory, even if it meant leaving Rafe behind.
“As you wish,” I said expressionlessly.
I waited until Victorine had left. Only then did a few tears trickle down my face.
Because I didn’t want to leave Rafe behind. It would take time to organize any kind of resistance against my mother.
Time Rafe didn’t have.
I scrubbed the tears away and went into the bathroom to wash my face. I’d learned a long time ago that crying got you nothing but red eyes and a stuffy nose.
After that, I downed two glasses of blood-wine in rapid succession. It wasn’t the same as fresh blood, but it was better than nothing.
I needed to be strong, to be the woman Rafe seemed to see in me.
To be the woman I wanted to be.
I took a shower and pulled on some underwear. When I returned to the bedroom, Lainey Q was seated on the Louis Quinze chair filing her nails.
She grinned. “Hello, love.”
I expelled a breath. “Go away, Lainey.”
“I don’t think so.” She stowed the nail file in a pink-and-black designer bag. “Get dressed.” She lobbed a black dress and a pair of little black socks at me. “We have to talk.”
I caught the clothes. “I don’t need a stylist,” I snarled. “I need a fucking fairy godmother.”
“Or a slayer,” she said.
I narrowed my eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
A shrug. “Get dressed. Then we’ll talk.”
I got dressed. Lainey watched closely as I sat on the chair to put on my boots.
I stilled. My silver stilettos were back in their sheaths. I glanced at her.
Her mouth curved in a half-smile I couldn’t interpret. “Vampire chic.” She waved a hand at my outfit. “I like it. The stilettos are a nice touch.”
I growled. “Take a picture.”
“Maybe I will.” Her hand went to her purse.
