Chapter 16
16
EVANGELINE
S etting my candle on the floor beside me, I crouched before the tall, imposing iron gate walling off the Darkmore Library's restricted section, my pulse quickening when my fingertips brushed against the cold, heavy lock.
Tendrils of blue magic flickered at my touch, that same devouring cold seeping under my skin, leaving a dark burning residue on the pads of my fingers. I’d experienced this same magic before, on my family’s Vault.
Witch magic .
The mark on the back of my neck prickled, and I resisted the urge to reach around and touch the tracking mark branded between my shoulder blades, an experience I had no desire to repeat.
I made sure I was alone, then pressed the tip of my knife to the iron bars, the faint, metallic clink strangely loud against the quiet of this place. The wards shimmered around the steel point, swirls of liquid cerulean that reminded me of the ocean, but they were weak, fraying apart as soon as they appeared, like morning mist melting off in the sun’s rays.
Perhaps Tyrell’s death had weakened the wards, or maybe too many years had passed since he’d had them reinforced, but I was in luck .
I inserted the narrow tip of my blade carefully into the slot in the front of the lock, bracing for resistance, some onslaught of pain, but the metal seemed to yield. After a few delicate jabs and twists, a satisfying snap echoed softly through the dim hall. The lock fell away, clattering to the stone floor.
The gate creaked horribly when I pushed the door open, bound up by rust and disuse, and I slipped through, on alert for something awful to swoop down from the darkness. But other than a faint tingling as I crossed the threshold, the wards seemed to have disappeared.
Then I was inside, close enough to Tyrell’s secrets to learn every single one of them.
Maybe there was something here to help my sister.
To help Riordan win his war, to keep this kingdom— my kingdom, now —safe.
The section was smaller than I’d imagined, the musty smell of aged paper and leather thicker here, mixed with a subtle undercurrent of something ancient. The iron cage left a metallic coating in my mouth, whatever magic protected this place left my senses reeling, as if my own magic couldn’t abide being here.
As if I instinctually recognized the evil lurking on these bookcases.
There were so many shelves, stretching from the floor to the shadowed ceiling, filled with worn books in a spectrum of faded browns and greens. But as if they were outlined in fire, my eyes were drawn to the section bound in rich red leather, their spines embossed with the gleaming, distinctive gold sigil of a wolf's head.
I wasn’t fool enough to believe one of these was the folio Malachi wanted.
No, that one was locked in Riordan’s study, but now I could recognize it within a heartbeat. Knew the exact shade of red leather—the same color as freshly spilled blood—the sharp, metallic gleam of the sigil.
I ran my fingers over the spines, the raised, gold embossing cold beneath my touch. These books hummed with untold secrets I yearned to discover, but when I pulled one from the shelf and flipped it open, my excitement faded.
Every handwritten line, every word, was in Latin, the letters curling beautifully. “Damn it,” I muttered under my breath, scanning the page in vain, hoping to find something that looked familiar.
I flipped through another book. Then another. But every page was exactly the same.
Indecipherable.
Useless.
I sighed. The easiest solution would be to sneak a few of these back to my room and find a way to translate them—if I could get my hands on a cellphone, that would help. The still air shifted, barely more than a breath, but the hair on the back of my neck shot up.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched, and I couldn’t linger here for long.
Making a decision, I pulled three books off the shelf at random, each one barely large enough to fit in my palm, yet each promising to reveal long-kept secrets. I slid them under my arm, and with one last look at the shadowed shelves, I forced myself to turn away.
One deep breath and I plunged through the open doorway, half-expecting some sharp, vicious pain to shred me apart, for the protective magic to strangle me down here in the dark.
Nothing.
Not even a flicker of blue magic clung to me as I slipped back through the gate and into the outer library, a thrill shooting down my spine.
I was leaving with only a handful of Tyrell’s secrets, but I knew where the rest of them were, just waiting for me to crack each and every folio wide open and divulge every dirty deed that bastard had ever committed.
And once I knew his secrets, I’d understand what, exactly, we were fighting against.
After I’d stowed the books safely in my room, and spent that entire night and most of the next day paging through them only to admit defeat, I finally knocked on Riordan’s office door, feeling the familiar flutter of nerves.
I wasn’t going to remember what happened the last time I was here, or the way my body started humming like a goddamned tuning fork, the second I picked up his dark coffee scent.
There was a darker hint to Riordan’s scent now, a fecund, primeval smell, and I shivered. I waited, then knocked again. There was a long pause before he called out, his voice muffled through the thick wood.
“Come in, Evangeline.”
Rolling my eyes, I slipped into the room, shutting the door softly behind me. I kept my eyes off the messy surface where he’d fucked me, why the papers were all shoved to one side, why there was still a pen lying in front of the desk, my cheeks burning.
Riordan stayed seated, his gaze sharpening. “Evangeline,” he said, with maddening mock-politeness. “What brings you here?”
I took a steadying breath, trying to soften my expression, to look as vulnerable and pathetic as possible, “I’ve…uhm…come to ask you a favor, Riordan.”
He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “You, asking me for a favor? Did the world stop spinning?” His scent deepened around me, sending ripples of heat straight to my core. I hated how I was a slave to my desire, how easily he brought my urges to the surface, without even touching me.
“Evangeline? What do you need?” His voice was an octave lower, and endorphins flooded my system, stealing my breath. “How can I help?”
I managed a shallow nod, keeping my thoughts blank, my tone pleading. “I was wondering… would it be possible to get a cellphone? I really need to talk to Blake. It’s been hard these past weeks, feeling so alone. Angel’s still so broken and I… I don’t really have anyone else.”
His face softened, his usually guarded expression slipping. “I know these past days have been difficult. But a phone…” His eyes hardened, like he was trying to calculate the motives behind my request. “You’ve never asked for a phone before.”
The accusation hung between us.
Tell me what you’re really up to, Silver, tell me what this is really about.
“Please, Riordan,” I pressed, pushing a flood of tears into my dry eyes, desperation into my voice. “I’ve always had a phone, and without one, I feel so cut off.”
I wiped my cheeks. “I’m not good at being cooped up, these past few days, I’ve felt like the walls are closing in. Blake is my mate. I didn’t want to admit the truth, not even to myself, but being alone…makes you realize certain things.”
Reaching up, I rubbed that deep, empty hole in my chest for good measure, “I can’t see him, can’t be around him, but if I could just talk to him…” I searched his face, putting all my misery into my aching heart, hoping he might feel that, at least, through our bond.
He sighed, hand drifting up to rub his temple, where a vein throbbed madly. “I know this hasn’t been easy, Silver. But… I would be willing to work something out,” he said too slowly, too carefully.
My heart leapt, and I gave him a small, grateful smile. “Thank you. Really, thank you.”
“In exchange for another favor. Tit for tat.” Fury coalesced like a storm inside me, but I kept my face blank, hopeful. Of course, this bastard couldn’t give me something for free. Of course, he wanted something in return.
“You want to drink from me again?” I asked softly, seeing the truth before he could hide it.
A deep red fire ignited in his eyes, blocking out the navy blue, his face twisting into a mockery of his usual handsome features. I wondered if Riordan even knew what he looked like.
Wondered if he realized he was turning into a version of Tyrell.
“Yes, that, but…” He closed his eyes, like he was praying for strength. “There is something else I’ve been thinking of.” His gaze skimmed over me, face tightening. “I want…I want you to feed from me. I know you’re hungry, I know I’ve been neglecting you. And I want to be the one you feed from, not some anonymous donor on a list.”
That last part came out in a rush, a plea edged in needy desperation and heat surged through me in an endless wave .
Him on top of me, his fangs in my throat, mine in his, his cock slamming into me…if Riordan checked, my pussy would be soaking for him and without this desk in the way, I could be on my knees right now, his hand fisted in my hair while he…
I released a shuddering sigh. “I’d be willing to agree to that, but there is something else that’s been worrying me,” I said, hesitating.
He gripped his chair with white knuckles, nostrils flaring. “Go on.”
“It’s about the dagger,” I said, lowering my voice as though confessing some inner secret. “I’ve been having nightmares. About… about killing Tyrell. The dreams have been hard to shake.” I swallowed, glancing down at my shaking hands to avoid his scrutiny. “I thought if I could see the pieces, know they are locked up, that might… make the dreams stop.”
He was silent for a long time, his gaze sharpening. I could tell he was trying to gauge my honesty, so I forced myself to look up, letting my eyes reflect the turmoil I was feeling.
He had to smell my arousal, like I could smell his.
Musky and dense, the masculine scent clouded my head, sending another furious rush of heat through me, another gush of wetness between my thighs. Riordan’s entire body tensed, hands cranking down on the arms of his chair, knuckles bone-white.
“Please,” I whispered. “It’s like I can’t escape him, not even in my sleep.”
Riordan let out a low groan and pushed himself up in one long, sinuous twist of muscle that left my mouth watering. “Very well. What’s left of the dagger is secure, but if seeing it will bring you peace, I’ll show you.”
I came around the desk as he swung open the painting of my sister and Tyrell, and then I saw why he’d kept the thing up this long.
Behind the painting was an enormous metal safe with an intricate, raised design and a complicated looking lock. Riordan pulled a brass key from a drawer of his desk, and with a practiced precision and a mechanical click, the safe opened, a thick outer door swinging open to reveal an even fancier inner door.
I held my breath as he produced a smaller key, unlocked the final compartment and when he unlocked it, a flash of color caught my eye. At the top, under a stack of yellowed papers, a sliver of familiar red leather peeked out.
Found you .
Riordan straightened, lifting the dagger from its black velvet bag. The silver seemed dull, as if all the magic had drained out, the end of the hilt still stained with Tyrell’s blood, and my heart gave a violent little lurch of triumph.
“There it is,” he said softly, holding up the shattered hilt so I could see the gold glinting inside. “As I said, perfectly safe. You needn’t worry any longer.”
I forced myself to focus on the dagger, though my mind was spinning with the implications of the folio hidden in his safe. Did Riordan even know what the folio was? And if he did, what else was he keeping locked away?
I nodded slowly. “Thank you, Riordan. I… I feel better knowing it’s here.”
He returned the dagger to its shelf, locking the safe up with the same careful care as before. When he turned back to me, his face was set in harsh lines, his body tensed, as if he was holding himself back…or waiting for something.
Waiting for me , I realized.
One word, and I could feed from him, right here, right now .
Knowing how our feedings usually went, I could slake more than my thirst this afternoon, I could get my fill of his blood and his cock, enough to last me for a few days. God knew my body was a sweaty, trembling mess, craving the feel of his hands on my skin, his teeth in my throat, the taste of him sliding down my throat in a warm, velvety slide of intoxicating power.
But… never again .
The memory of the pain—the humiliation—he’d caused was stronger even than my hunger, stronger than my lust and I’d be damned to ever be that vulnerable ever again.
I’d tried, once, to give him my heart and he’d rejected me.
Tried to win his trust, his approval, his affection.
The time for me to beg on my knees to Riordan Graves was over. Now was when I took what I wanted, and looked out for me and Angel. Until Blake and I could be together again, I’d learn to go hungry…or use one of the donors.
Riordan’s face changed, as if he clearly read my decision, something like disappointment darkening his eyes. He sat down heavily, “I’ll arrange for you to have a phone by nightfall. And if there’s anything else you need, Evangeline, anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask.”
I nodded. “Thank you, Riordan, I have everything I want.”