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“Your tattoo.” His fingertip followed the stem of the rose twined around the dagger’s blade. “A slayer doesn’t have tats.”
I tossed him a taunting smile. “Don’t tell me you haven’t figured it out.”
“I can think of two explanations. The most obvious is you’re not a slayer anymore. Maybe you’ve even been disgraced—kicked out. That would also explain why you ended up singing at Le Dahlia Noir. The PI told me you had some money put away, but I’m guessing it ran out.”
My smile faded. He was within spitting distance of the truth.
I’d been forced to accept that tattoo. Kuro had said that if I fought back, he’d handcuff me to the table and the end result would be the same.
So I’d obeyed, each prick of the needle reminding me that I was no longer a slayer—and might never be again.
I hadn’t moved or made a sound the whole time. Not even when my back had grown slick with blood and my mouth filled with the taste of bitter iron from the hole my teeth had torn in my lower lip.
I was Twilight. Daughter of Shade, granddaughter of Ghost.
I’d survived SI training camp. I was damned if I’d let this bastard break me now.
Brien’s eyes narrowed.
“Or?” I asked to wipe that considering look from his face.
His face hardened. “Or you’re still a slayer, and this is an elaborate ruse—the auction, the tattoo. A way to insinuate yourself into my life and my syndicate.”
My laugh held zero humor. “You nailed it.” I pushed off his lap and turned to face him. “I got the tat and let myself be ensnared by that fucking Quebec City coven, because I somehow knew you were going to be at the auction last night. Five hundred miles from where you live.”
But Kuro could’ve known, muttered a small voice.
Brien came to his feet and loomed over me. “And yet, there you were. The woman I’ve been searching for. The one woman I would’ve never let go to another vampire.”
I stared up at him, a crater-sized lump filling my throat. “You were still searching for me? It’s been two years…”
I meant that much to you?
His face shut down like I’d pushed a button. “You—I wasn’t finished with you. And I don’t like it when people make promises they don’t keep.”
“Oh, I see.” I snorted. “Ileftyouinstead of the other way around. Perfect Prince Brien couldn’t stand knowing that a woman might not want to stick around for a second act.”
His mouth turned down. “Don’t. Call. Me. That.”
“What? Perfect Prince Brien? That’s what they call you on social media, you know.”
Okay, I’d started that hashtag myself. But it had stuck because it fit.
“Fuck social media. But you—” He ran his fingers through his hair. It was almost dry now, with strands of gold and bronze mixing with the blond. “Just don’t, okay? I amnotperfect.”
His expression was oddly naked, like it mattered that I understand he wasn’t perfect. It tugged at my heart, something I couldn’t allow.
“Fine.” I grabbed my dress and shimmied into it. “Whatever. You’re the boss, right?”
He watched me pull up the straps and smooth down the skirt. “Twilight…”
“What?”
“Why are you here? Really?”
I nailed him with a fuck-you smile. “Because you bought me,sir. And as you keep saying, you own me now.”
He waved that aside. “Not here with me. Here in Quebec. If you’re not a slayer anymore, why are you singing in Canada? You’re from California, right?”
