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Jean-Michel was still watching me. I took my hand from my face and rose to my feet, uncomfortable at letting him see my weakness. I’d been trained too well, and I couldn’t be sure whose side he was on.
“Excuse me,” I said, and went into the bathroom.
The tie holding my ponytail had fallen off, leaving my hair an untidy mass around my face, and the black dress was spattered with blood. My eyes were wide and shocked, and I had fading marks on my cheek where Étan had hit me.
“You’re free.”
Relief surged up in me, wave upon wave of it. I gripped the edge of the sink, gulping in air.
Thanks to Rafe, Étan was in his final grave. Neither Victorine nor him could force me to accept him as my mate. I told myself I wouldn’t have caved to their combined pressure, but I wasn’t completely, one-hundred-percent sure.
Rafe had saved me in more ways than one, and I suspected that had been his intention from the moment he’d attacked.
I splashed cold water on my face and glanced at myself a second time. This time, I winced.
You’re a princess, Zoe.Actlike one.
Keeping up my polished image was so ingrained in me that I’d washed my face, brushed my hair, and was reaching for a lipstick when I jerked my hand back like the little metal tube was a live wire.
That was Victorine’s voice in my head, telling me I had to be perfect. To always put on my best possible face.
I set my hand on the mirror. The surface was smooth, cold, unforgiving. Like my mother.
I dragged my fingers down the glass, smearing it—and returned to the bedroom without touching up my makeup.
I poured myself a glass of blood-wine and offered the bottle to Jean-Michel, who helped himself to a glass as well. I considered him and decided to take a chance.
“They kidnapped Rafe’s brother, you know. You heard Étan. And they were drinking Zaquiel’s blood—I saw the photo. Philippe or one of his people. Maybe more than one.”
Distaste touched his lean features. “I didn’t know.”
I stepped closer. “They’ll do the same to Rafe if I don’t do something. You have to let me out of here.”
“I can’t. You shouldn’t even be asking me.”
“Please.” My fingers tightened on my glass. “I saw the cell where they held Zaquiel Kral myself.”
Jean-Michel blew out a breath. “I’m sorry, Zoe. But I can’t.”
“Please. You don’t have to do anything. Just look the other way.”
He set down his glass with a thunk. “I’ve sworn a blood oath to Victorine. You’d ask me to break it? You think I’m a man of so little honor?”
“No.” Appalled, I gaped at him. “I don’t think that, not at all. But don’t you see? This is bad for everyone in the Tremblay Syndicate. If Victorine’s behind Zaquiel’s kidnapping, then she broke the truce. Karoly Kral already suspects her. If he can prove it, she’ll be in big trouble. And if the other syndicates find out she’s working with Slayers, Inc., she could take us all down with her.”
It wasn’t an exaggeration. The vampire code was simple but harsh. You could lie to another vampire, cheat another syndicate—if you could get away with it—but when it came down to it, you fought your own battles.
You didn’t use the slayers to settle scores.
If word got out, Victorine would become a pariah in our world. She’d be seen as weak and lacking in honor. The other syndicates might even band together to take her out.
“Rafael Kral broke into Philippe’s lair,” Jean-Michel pointed out. “He staked Victorine’s lieutenant. Now he has to take the consequences.”
“To save his brother,” I shot back. “That’s the only reason he came to Paris.”
“Zoe.” Jean-Michel sighed. “Drop it. I can’t help you, even if I wanted to. She’d know it was me.”
I pulled up short. He was right. Victorine would never buy it. She’d know Jean-Michel had helped me, and this time, his punishment would be even worse.
