Epilogue #3
I held his gaze. “I grew up around Bronc. Powerful doesn’t make me melt. You can’t bullshit a bullshitter.”
He laughed then. That answer he liked.
“What if a patron makes you uncomfortable,” he asked, “but has status enough that refusing them creates complications?”
“I’d follow protocol. Get somebody above me involved if needed. Keep my tone polite. Keep my spine where the good Lord put it.”
“Interesting phrasing.”
“I’m from Texas.”
“I had noticed.”
“Look, I know this ain’t,”—I caught Lucia’s side-eye and corrected myself—“isn’t a normal club. I know I’d have things to learn. Fast. But I’m not stupid, and I don’t rattle easy. And if I don’t know something, I’ll ask before I screw it up. I don’t guess, I ask questions.”
He drummed his thumb once against the desk. “How are you with discretion?”
I snorted. “I was raised in a wolf pack in a human town and work around an MC. Half my life has been not asking questions I’m not supposed to ask.”
“And the other half?”
“Saying what everyone else was too chicken to say.”
Lucia made a quiet sound that could have meant agreement.
Bohdan’s amber eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Obsidian requires charm, but not only charm. It requires discipline. The ability to make guests feel welcome without granting them entitlement. The ability to be warm without being careless. The ability to observe.”
“I can do that.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.” My pulse was going like a freight train, but once I got rolling, I did better with the truth than with caution.
“You want somebody who can make people comfortable and still hold a line. Somebody who can remember orders, faces, habits, and problems. Somebody who can smile at a man while mentally measuring whether he’s about to be annoying, dangerous, or both. I can do that.”
He said nothing.
The silence stretched just enough to make my back muscles lock up.
Bohdan rose and came around the desk. Up close he was even more put together, which felt frankly aggressive. He leaned one hip against the desk and crossed his arms.
“You are outgoing,” he said.
“I’ve been accused.”
“You are also related to an allied alpha with a possessive streak.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Which means if you work here, everyone will need to know at once that you are here under House protection and by my authority.”
I blinked. “All right.”
“It also means if anyone touches you in a way you do not invite, I will have a problem with it.”
Something about the matter-of-fact way he said that hit me unexpectedly. Not because I needed rescuing. Just because he was setting terms before there could be confusion.
He continued. “I can place you initially in service. Floor, possibly VIP support once you learn the rhythms of the club. We’ll see how quickly you adapt.”
I stared at him. “You’re hiring me?”
He inclined his head. “Yes.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Truly.”
“You may save your gratitude for after training,” Bohdan said. “If you survive Amelia’s opinions and Kyra’s standards, we will revisit the matter.”
“Comforting.”
Lucia rose. “There is one more point. Housing.”
Bohdan looked at her.
“Maddie cannot remain indefinitely in the guest wing if her stay is to be extended. I am offering her a room in the Kozlov wing. Mine and Ryder’s, specifically.”
That surprised the hell out of me enough that I looked at Lucia before I could stop myself. Not the guest wing. The Kozlov wing. More permanent. More trusted. Closer in.
Bohdan did not so much as blink. “Fine.”
That was it.
Just fine, like moving a girl from Texas into the family wing of the Vampire King’s estate was no more troublesome than shifting a case of liquor.
Lucia added, “It will simplify transport and training.”
She stood with one hand resting lightly on the chair back. “We’re done here.”
I pushed to my feet, still trying to process the fact that in the span of maybe twenty minutes my whole damn life had tilted.
As we reached the door, Bohdan’s voice stopped me. “Maddie.”
I turned.
“Do not make me regret Lucia’s confidence.”
My spine straightened all on its own. “I won’t.”
He gave one short nod. Dismissal and acceptance at once.
Out in the corridor, I let out the breath I’d been holding so long it nearly made me dizzy. “Holy shit.”
Lucia started walking again. “You lasted more than thirty seconds.”
“That feels like a low bar.”
“It was realistic.”
I laughed, a little wild around the edges. “Did that just happen?”
“Yes.”
“He actually hired me.”
“Yes.”
“And I’m moving into the family wing.”
Lucia glanced at me sidelong. “If you decide to panic, do it after lunch. I have a schedule.”
That made me laugh harder, which was dangerous because right under it sat the reminder of what still waited for me. Bronc.
The leather skirt felt shorter than it had in Lucia’s full-length mirror, and the boots pinched just enough to remind me I wasn’t in Pearl’s non-slip flats anymore.
Kyra’s voice cut through the low thrum of Obsidian’s Monday-night quiet—half instruction, half pep talk.
Her dark eyes scanned the near-empty floor as she gestured toward the bar’s polished expanse.
“If someone orders the ’89 Bordeaux, you page Bohdan immediately.
That’s 1889, and it’s older than most of the patrons.
” She flashed a quick grin, adjusting the cuff of her own sleek black top. “Nervous?”
“Excited,” I lied, smoothing my tank top. The truth sat like a live wire under my ribs. Bronc’s furious silence still echoed in my head, but here, under the club’s violet glow, it felt distant. Dangerous, maybe, but mine.
Kyra nodded toward the far corner. “Start easy. High-top table. Three witches. They’ve been nursing sparkling water for twenty minutes. Probably deciding whether to hex the ice cubes or order actual drinks.” She handed me a leather-bound menu. “Go charm them.”
I took a breath; the air cool and faintly sweet with spilled liquor and expensive perfume. Turning, I fixed my gaze on the witches—elegant in velvet and silver rings, their murmured conversation a soft counterpoint to the ambient music. One step. Two. Boot heels clicking softly on the dark floor.
Then I saw him.
Nikolay stood near the staircase, half-shadowed, watching me.
Not the gentle, composed Nikolay from the wedding or the estate.
His amber eyes burned, jaw tight, shoulders rigid beneath his tailored jacket.
Anger rolled off him in waves; I felt it like heat on my skin.
My wolf stirred, hackles rising instinctively.
Before I could blink, he closed the distance. His hand clamped around my upper arm—hard, bruising—and yanked me sideways into the deep alcove behind a stone pillar. My back hit a cold wall, the impact jarring my teeth. The menu clattered to the floor.
“What the hell are you doing here, Madelyn?” he growled, voice low and rough, nothing like the calm officiant from Devon’s ceremony. Nothing like the steady Kozlov vampire everyone knew him to be.
I tried wrenching free, but his grip was iron. He had used my given name, which nobody used.
“Working! What is your problem? Let me go!”
His other hand pressed flat against the wall beside my head, caging me. The scent of mint and rain—clean, sharp—wrapped around us, at odds with the fury in his eyes. “You were supposed to leave with Bronc this morning. Supposed to go home.”
“I decided I didn't want to go back to Texas. Bohdan hired me.” I shoved against his chest, but he didn’t budge. “Get used to it, asshole. I’m staying.”
His gaze dropped to my throat, then lower, tracing the line of my tank top, the skirt’s hem riding high on my thigh.
A low sound rumbled in his chest. Not human.
Predatory. His eyes flickered, the amber deepening, almost glowing.
Then he leaned in, nose brushing the curve of my neck.
Cold shock raced down my spine. His breath hit my skin—cool, uneven.
I felt the faintest scrape. Fangs. Descended.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he whispered, lips grazing my ear. The words vibrated through me, too intimate, too wrong. Mint and rain flooded my senses. My wolf surged, a frantic, undeniable whisper in my blood: Mate.
I froze. Then leaned into him without meaning to, drawn by that scent, that voice, the terrifying rightness of it. My hand fisted into his shirt. “Nikolay...”
He recoiled like I’d burned him, shoving away so violently I stumbled.
For a heartbeat, he stared at me, eyes wide, fangs still bared.
Horror. Hunger. Something raw and shattered flashed across his face.
Then he turned and stalked toward the stairs, and I was left standing there alone. Always alone.