27. One False Move
Chapter twenty-seven
One False Move
Julian
“ W hat do you want, Cyrus?” I said quietly, doing my best to remain discreet while keeping my eyes trained on the edge of the graveyard as I listened to Nicolette and Daphne moving somewhere beyond the iron gates.
I’d nearly intervened when the tour guide singled Nicolette out with her theatrics, but Daphne had stepped in, and Nicolette seemed to have handled it. The last thing I wanted was to ruin her evening if I could avoid it.
Nicolette already despised me enough as it was.
I’d told Amos to take the night off. I would keep watch over my wife myself.
My wife.
Not for much longer.
The thought was unbearable.
The last couple of days had been a special kind of torment—being close enough to feel her presence, yet shut out entirely. Her forced politeness was worse than outright hostility. I almost wished she would scream at me. Tell me precisely where I could go and how quickly I ought to get there.
At least then the tension might break.
Instead, everything remained tightly wound. I could see it in the way she held herself, in the careful distance she kept. The emotion was there, pressing against the surface, waiting for an outlet.
If she let it go—just once—I wondered if she might see past my mistake. If she could forgive me.
Allow me to earn my way back into her good graces.
Into her heart.
“I thought you might welcome the assistance,” Cyrus said contritely.
That alone was unusual.
“It isn’t necessary,” I replied. “I’m well aware of how you feel about Nicolette.” There was no disguising the bitterness in my voice. Not this time.
I didn’t blame Cyrus for my troubles with Nicolette—but I did wish he’d held his tongue. If he had, perhaps I would have done the same. Perhaps I wouldn’t be standing outside a wall, listening to my wife laugh with someone else on the other side.
Perhaps I’d be beside her.
I wouldn’t be searching for a safe place to send her.
I would be her safe place.
Cyrus took a cautious step closer, his brow creasing. “My concerns are justified. I make no apology for that. But I do regret the wedge I’ve driven between the two of you.”
“Wedge,” I scoffed. “She’s going to leave me,” I admitted. There was no point in pretending otherwise.
He exhaled slowly, as if choosing his words with care. “I’m sorry, Julian. I know you care for her.”
“Care for her? I love her.”
I walked farther down the pavement, straining to pick out Nicolette’s voice amid the chatter and laughter drifting from the tour group beyond the gates.
Cyrus didn’t take the hint. He followed a step behind me. “Perhaps this only proves my point—that she’s hiding something she doesn’t want you to see.”
I stopped.
“You don’t know what the bloody hell you’re talking about,” I said coldly. “And I won’t hear another word against her.” I turned to face him. “I broke her heart—and in doing so, my own. So if you wouldn’t mind, I’d appreciate some privacy.”
Cyrus nodded, clearly recognizing when it was wiser to leave me alone. He turned away—
Then Daphne’s voice rang out, sharp and unmistakable.
“Nicolette? Where are you? This isn’t funny.”
My instincts took over. Without hesitation, I vaulted the wrought-iron fence. Cyrus followed just as easily.
I started toward Daphne, then checked myself. If Nicolette was merely hiding—buying herself a moment of privacy, or even attempting a poorly timed joke—my sudden appearance would only complicate matters. And if something had gone wrong, involving Daphne any further would put her at risk.
Cyrus shot me a questioning look.
I had questions of my own. Doubts, really. Had his appearance tonight been a coincidence? I loathed the thought that it was something more, but Nicolette had been vocal in her suspicions about him.
“What is it?” Cyrus asked.
I’d known him long enough to dispense with pretense. “Have you betrayed me?”
His eyes widened, his mouth tightening as though he were holding back something biting. “How could you possibly think that?” The offense in his voice sounded genuine.
I scrubbed a hand through my hair. “Hell, Cyrus. This entire situation is bloody confusing.”
He clapped a hand on my shoulder. “What would you have me do?”
I had to trust him.
I did trust him.
“You go to Daphne,” I said quietly. “She likes you. Keep her calm.” I hesitated, then added, “Play nice.”
I hoped Daphne’s infatuation with him would smooth over his sudden appearance. And I prayed I wasn’t making a catastrophic mistake.
Cyrus nodded and jogged off.
I forced myself to focus, drawing in a steadying breath even as panic pressed hard against my chest. I needed my senses sharp. Thankfully, some of my edge was back, as the effects of Nicolette’s blood were wearing off. And I knew whatever this was, hesitation would cost us.
I told myself it was a misunderstanding. Some ill-timed whim of Nicolette’s.
But I knew better.
She wasn’t one for childish games—even if she’d left the penthouse wearing a ridiculous costume. And I couldn’t shake the thought of the bastard who’d been stalking her. What better place to strike than a cemetery?
Laughter and squeals echoed around me, dissolving into meaningless noise as I moved forward. Then I heard Daphne—her voice tight, bordering on frantic—telling Cyrus that Nicolette had been beside her one moment and gone the next.
Gone.
I moved at once, keeping to the shadows along the edge of the path. I couldn’t draw attention to myself. Not yet.
There was no telling who—or what—was watching.
Then the scent hit me.
Formalin and sodium fluoride.
My blood ran colder than I thought possible.
I followed the scent as I heard Cyrus tell Daphne, “Julian and I thought it might be fun to surprise you both. They’re having some . . . couple time.”
The delivery was stiff. Awkward.
Still, I appreciated the effort—especially given that I’d just accused him of treachery. And given the way Daphne squealed, she didn’t mind the turn of events. She seemed to forget that her best friend was missing.
I edged toward Potter’s Field—the mass grave.
The deeper I went, the darker the cemetery became, the fog thickening with every step. The scent I’d been tracking grew stronger too. It was unmistakable.
Then I caught Nicolette’s.
Earth after rain, mingled with strawberries.
A sense of relief washed over me. She was close. Alive.
So why couldn’t I hear her?
I pushed the thought aside and moved faster, every sense straining for a sign—any sign—that I wasn’t already too late.
When I reached a half-hidden vault tangled in moss and shadow, its brickwork darkened by age and damp, I heard the voice I’d been searching for.
Relief hit first.
Then unease.
“I can’t believe it . . . Are you a vampire?”
The words stopped me in my tracks.
How the hell had I missed that?
I didn’t hesitate.
I leaped over the low vault in a single motion, trusting my instincts alone, and reached for my wife. All that mattered was getting her out of harm’s way. What came after—explanations, consequences, bloodshed—I would deal with later.
If it came to a fight, so be it.
I gathered Nicolette into my arms, pulling her clear and away from Delia in one swift movement. She was warm. Breathing. Whole.
Safe.
For one perfect, fragile moment, Nicolette pressed herself against me, as if the last two days hadn’t happened at all.
I stroked her hair and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, never once taking my eyes off Delia.
She stood unmoving, fog curling around her as if it lived and breathed.
And she smiled. Just smiled as if this were all some game to her. She seemed satisfied rather than surprised.
“I was waiting for you to show up.”
“Were you?” I asked evenly. “And why is that?”
“I saw you keeping watch outside the wall,” Delia said mildly. “You’ve made it rather difficult for me to get Nicolette alone. I’m not sure she even realizes how closely she’s been watched.”
“You mean protected?” I said coolly.
“That’s fortunate,” Delia replied. “Because she needs it.”
Nicolette twisted in my arms, and though every instinct told me to hold on, I didn’t tighten my grip. For now, she didn’t pull away either.
“I can’t believe you want to hurt me,” Nicolette said, her voice breaking.
The smile slid off Delia’s face.
The softness vanished with it—her skin seeming to sharpen in front of our very eyes, her beauty turning cold and lethal, the truth of what she really was bleeding through.
The only other time I’d ever witnessed anything like this was when I’d watched Amos morph from human to vampire. But this was different. It was almost as if she’d been wearing a disguise and was shedding it.
A disguise I hadn’t seen through.
How had she kept this secret?
“I would never hurt you,” Delia said quietly. “I need your help. And I fear for you just as much as it appears your husband does.”
“And why is that?” Nicolette demanded.
“Because your mother was murdered,” Delia said. “And I fear I know why, or at least some of it.”
Nicolette stiffened. “How do I know it wasn’t you?” she seethed. “You’ve obviously been lying to me my entire life. Did my mother know what you are?”
“Your mother knew everything,” Delia said with a weary sigh. “Probably more than she should have.”
Voices drifted closer—laughter, footsteps, the low murmur of another couple wandering too near.
Delia lifted a finger to her lips. “We shouldn’t continue this here,” she whispered. “We need to talk somewhere else.”
I didn’t trust this woman. Not for a second. I had always known when I was in the presence of another of my kind—and something about Delia felt wrong. Off. Whatever she was, she wasn’t telling us everything.
I looked down at Nicolette.
“What do you think?” I asked quietly. “Do you want to hear what she has to say? Or would you like me to kill her now?”
Delia laughed softly. “Please. Put me out of my misery.”
“No,” Nicolette said at once. “We—I mean, I —need to hear her out.”
And just like that, the moment between us was gone.
She slipped from my arms and once again felt out of my reach.
The least I could do now was give her the answers she deserved about her mother’s death—assuming Delia was telling the truth.
I turned back to Delia, my voice cold.
“Fine. You’ll come with us. But make one false move—one—and I will end your life.”