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“Tais-toi,” Étan snapped. Shut up.
Zaq didn’t seem to hear. His fierce green gaze fastened on me. “I’ll get out of here. And when I do, I’ll come after you, one by one.”
Étan and Blaise snorted but alarm tripped up my vertebrae.
He meant it.
My inner thighs tightened at the picture of me and Zaq Kral locked in combat. No knives, just hand-to-hand.
And he was shirtless so I could see every move his hard, sinewy body made.
Crap. What was wrong with me?
I wrenched my gaze from his and left the cell.
The level above the dungeon was a labyrinth with an operations room, a gym, and bedrooms for both the members of Moreau’s coven and visitors like Étan. Now he and Blaise went to their rooms to take their day sleep. I made a quick stop to change my leggings for Army green tactical pants and a fresh T-shirt, then continued to the ops room.
The room was lit by the bluish glow of a dozen video screens, the feed from various cameras around the mansion. A large digital map took up one wall, a map that currently showed the Paris streets around Moreau’s lair but that could be manipulated to show any street in the world. An open-faced cabinet held an array of silver weapons—ornate daggers, solid-silver stakes, and so on.
Personally, I preferred a switchblade. Easier to conceal.
Samir, the vampire on duty, was kicked back in a chair, eyeing the feed from the security cams. “You’re late,” he grumbled in French.
“Things took a little longer than expected,” I replied in the same language. My French wasn’t great, but I could make myself understood. “Anything to report?”
“No.” He rose to his feet. “It was a quiet night.”
I nodded. “Moreau’s asleep?”
“Yeah. He’ll send for you at dusk.” Samir left the room.
I sank into his chair.
We’d done it. Operation Angel was a go.
I should be excited. I was excited. Months of planning and preparation had gone into this day.
Op Angel was my final test. If we succeeded in eliminating Karoly Kral and his three sons, I’d be promoted to lieutenant. Instead of taking orders from above, I’d get to run my own ops and help choose our targets.
I took out my phone and sent an encrypted message to my alpha, the woman I knew only as Crow, using the code for Zaq Kral.
Reaper: P2 has been detained.
Her reply was immediate, telling me she’d been waiting to hear one way or the other.
Crow: My compliments.
From her, that was as enthusiastic as I’d get. She was happy with me.
Now if I could only drum up some enthusiasm of my own, but all I felt was tired and a little queasy.
I massaged my abdomen. I was hungry. That was the problem.
The cook should be awake by now. I put my phone back in my pocket and pushed a button to order a steak sandwich from the kitchen. “Rare,” I added.
“Of course, Mam’selle.”
As a dhampir—half-human, half-vampire—I could get nourishment from either blood or human food. I chose food except for a single glass of blood-wine per day.
