Chapter 8
Raoul
I did not move for several seconds after the door closed behind her.
The room felt altered in her absence; it was suddenly too quiet.
The air no longer carried the warmth of her presence, but the faint, maddening trace of her scent lingered like a ghost I could not quite grasp.
My gaze drifted, unbidden, to the door, as though I expected her to return immediately and undo the strange tension that had settled beneath my skin.
I exhaled slowly and tried to reassert the control I was famed for.
This was untenable, but then, everything about this situation was untenable.
Her, the strange new city outside the window, and the way my instincts, long dormant and always carefully controlled, had surged to life.
Everything had changed the moment I saw her injured, frightened, threatened.
It was not merely hunger, though that burned insistently beneath the surface.
No, this was something sharper and far more focused.
I moved around the room restlessly and glared at the destruction a thug had wrought on her things.
Possessive—the word floated insidiously to the front of my brain—and I frowned at the thought.
That didn’t sit right; it wasn’t mere possession of her and, thus, her things, I felt.
This was a powerful drive to protect, though the distinction felt thinner than I cared to admit.
I turned, pacing across the room again, as my thoughts assembled themselves into something more coherent.
There was one truth I could not ignore: she had found me.
She had not merely stumbled into the catacombs; that alone might be dismissed as chance.
She had reached my sanctuary, a place hidden, sealed, and forgotten by all but a very select few, and her presence had awakened me.
She’d broken several spells laid on my sleeping body by one of the most powerful necromancers I knew.
The timing, the improbability, it pressed at the edges of reason. There were forces in this world that did not bend to coincidence. Forces not even the most powerful magic wielders would dare to play with: fate, design, intention.
Susie.
My gaze dropped briefly to the disarray around the room, and fury boiled beneath my skin.
Mine, the thought came unbidden, and this time I did not dismiss it.
If there was an answer to be found, Louis would know it, if he yet lived.
The uncertainty settled uneasily. He could have perished, though a necromancer was notoriously hard to kill.
Thibault had not mentioned him, and they had been close once.
For now, there was nothing to do about any of this, not until Susie returned.
I glanced again at the wreckage. There were simpler matters to attend to.
I began with the obvious. Her belongings were scattered in careless violation, garments trampled beneath indifferent feet.
I gathered them methodically, folding each piece with more care than the intruder had shown.
The act itself was grounding—a small restoration of order in a space that had been forcibly undone.
Once I’d taken care of all the clothing, I shifted my attention to the sheets ripped from the bed.
I might have had servants to tackle such a task, but I still recalled how to make a bed.
It was the work of a moment to straighten them, reset the pillows, and fold the blanket.
It was not perfect, but the room definitely looked better.
Something she might return to that did not immediately scream of intrusion.
I inhaled, sorting through the many different scents that clung to the air.
Hers was faint and rapidly fading, the city loud and overwhelming because of how different it was from before.
When I stood beside the bag that had been damaged by something sharp, I found what hadn’t been obvious before.
A scent that raised my hackles, reigniting the fury to new heights.
That was not the work of a knife, but of claws.
A shifter had been here. It was a shifter that had ransacked Susie’s room and destroyed her peace.
Why? Why would a shifter be here, a wolf, from the scent?
She was human, and she definitely had not known about vampires or gargoyles or anything else supernatural.
I did not believe this shifter had been here because of me; he’d been searching for something.
Leaving had already felt impossible, but no force on Earth could move me from her side now. She needed my protection, and I fully intended to give it to her. For that, I needed to be at the top of my game; I needed my strength.
I stood still for a moment, forced my fury to calm, and listened.
The building hummed faintly with life: distant footsteps, muted voices, the mechanical pulse of a world that no longer slept as it once had.
My body was slower than usual but still stronger than a human’s, my instincts sharp but dulled by the changes that dazzled.
Beneath it all, a familiar hunger still pulsed through my veins, sharper when I focused on it.
I glanced toward the window and contemplated the wisdom of the plan unfurling in my mind. It was a risk, but a necessary one. She would return soon, and I would not greet her as I was now: on edge, distracted, one careless moment away from allowing instinct to overrule restraint. That would not do.
The window opened easily beneath my hands. Cool air rushed in, carrying with it the layered scent of the city. It still hit me like a slap, overwhelming, so different, but I was already beginning to adjust. Scents were becoming clearer, noises recognizable, and within it, threads of what I needed.
I stepped onto the ledge and checked the street, making sure I wasn’t seen, then I dropped.
The alley below embraced shadow, a narrow corridor between buildings where the noise dulled and the scent of humanity thickened.
It did not take long to find what I needed; some things, it seemed, did not change, no matter the era.
A transient was taking shelter from the late-summer sun in the shade the alley offered. He was unsteady, smelled of alcohol, but that would not affect me. He was alone, his pulse loud and his awareness dulled. I approached without sound and fed without cruelty, taking only what was necessary.
He sagged slightly, dazed but unharmed, as I pressed a few coins into his palm. It was old currency, yes, but gold remained gold, regardless of the era. A small compensation, a habit I had never abandoned. I helped the man sit and checked his pulse to make sure he was all right. Then I was gone.
I went back up the wall, stone and brick offering easy purchase beneath my hands. The window welcomed me once more, and I slipped inside without disturbance, my eyes checking once behind me to make sure nobody from the busy streets had noticed my presence.
The difference was immediate as the blood sang through my veins. The edge of hunger dulled, replaced by clarity. Now I could focus again, and perhaps not let Susie distract me quite so much when she returned. I closed the window and turned back to the room, letting my gaze sweep over it once more.
The bag, it really didn’t sit right with me, that bag. It was slashed with purpose; fury, by claws, not human hands. This wasn’t theft for value, as all of her belongings remained. This was targeted and very much deliberate. What had they expected to find?
Susie did not strike me as someone who trafficked in secrets or contraband.
She was many things, but subtle in that manner was not among them.
Let alone capable of that sort of subterfuge, she seemed far too honest. Which meant someone believed she carried something, or had carried it, but without her knowledge.
My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening. I shifted guiltily on my feet, even though I knew she couldn’t possibly know I’d fed. I’d never felt shame for the need before, but oddly enough, Susie’s opinion on it mattered.
She stepped inside, a large bag clutched in one hand.
At the sight of her, everything else fell away.
The light had shifted while she was gone, the early evening sun filtering through the window in soft gold.
It caught in her hair, warmed her skin, and softened the tension in her features just enough to make her look radiant.
There was color in her cheeks now, her earlier pallor replaced by something more alive.
Her movements were quicker, restless, with a slight edge to them that spoke of agitation.
Perhaps she was the one hungry now, but I sensed immediately that it was more than that.
Regardless, she was beautiful. The word settled with quiet certainty.
Mine—my mate, my Susie—beautiful beyond compare.
She shut the door behind her and leaned against it for half a second, exhaling. My senses sharpened, honed in on her, and on the distress that slowly began to filter through to me. Her heart was beating too fast inside her chest. “What has unsettled you?” I asked immediately.
Her head snapped up, her mouth half-open in surprise. “What? Nothing.” She immediately denied her anxiety, but I saw the way her hand fluttered at her throat, above the edge of her camisole and the enticing curves of her décolletage.
I raised a brow and crossed my arms slowly over my chest. It was obvious something had rattled her, and in response, the fine hairs on the back of my neck lifted.
Protective instincts soared to the forefront and demanded answers, but I knew how to keep a lid on those and handle this with tact, at least, I hoped so.