Chapter 25
Twenty-Five
T he beast in her heart raged against its cage as she felt his hot breath on her neck. Emrys was immortal and powerful and most likely a vampire. Her whole body tensed, waiting for him to speak, to strike, to do something. But he only hovered behind her with preternatural stillness.
He was a vampire. She knew it in her bones. But would he hurt her? What did monsters do with maidens in all the fairytales?
“You are trespassing in a vampire’s lair.” His lips caressed her earlobe.
It was a confession.
“I believe I was invited,” she breathed, her body trembling because he was the villain that plagued her nightmares.
His fingers hovered over her shoulder. “Hmmm, were you?”
Now, he was toying with her, but that’s what monsters did. They toyed with their prey. Their food.
“Are you here to kill me?” Her voice was a shiver.
“No.” She felt him bristle behind her.
This fear was unfounded. There was no reality to it. He’d never hurt her, and he couldn’t kill her. She knew that, but it didn’t keep her heart from pounding or her body from trembling.
She angled her head slightly to look back, and her red hair fell down her shoulders and mingled with the layers of her dress. Her breaths were stilted and filled with dread. She couldn’t trust Emrys. He was a devil and a murderer. Maybe not Jane’s, but he was still far too dangerous, and Quinn was in way over her head. She was just a ballerina. A silly little girl who dreamed of dancing and fame.
She never should have investigated this case or got herself tangled in this secret underworld. Not like she could run away from it now. Her life was on the line . . . in more ways than one.
His breath tingled against her ear. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“How can I believe you? You’re—”
“A monster?” he finished.
She inhaled sharply. “Yes.” She whirled around to face him, her back against the wall, his chest inches from hers.
A dark silence cut between them like a machete. His countenance was a dark and stormy night. He embodied a creature of darkness. A creature of death.
“More accurately, you’re a vampire.” Her voice was a lilting, withering soprano.
From down the hall, two people spoke in sultry tones. Emrys glanced around, the muscle in his jaw feathering. Worry colored his face. “Please, don’t say that so loud,” he whispered.
That was the last thing Quinn wanted to hear. A rich, powerful, selfish vampire did not tell her what to do. Her fear melted away and was replaced by anger. “I will say whatever I want when I want at whatever volume I want.” The voices got closer. “VAMP—”
Emrys placed a hand over her mouth. He flinched slightly before pulling her out of the hall and into a room just as a maid and a footman stumbled by, intoxicated and exuberant. He closed the door so that they could have a more private chat.
“Stop it,” she mumbled into his hand.
“You stop it.” Emrys pinned her to the wall with his hand still over her mouth, a painful expression coloring his face. “You cannot say vampire out in the open like that. Your tattoo binds you. If you spill the secrets to a non-council member who doesn’t already know, your tattoo will punish you. It won’t kill you like it would me, but it will hurt you.”
It would hurt her. So, the tattoo was as much a punishment as it was a boon.
Quinn opened her mouth to either respond or bite him when she noticed where they were. An extravagant bedroom with a four-poster bed draped in crimson curtains.
Oh, many gods. She was alone in a bedroom with the Playboy Prince. A clandestine meeting at night. It looked terrible. Not to mention, she’d never been so alone or so vulnerable with a man. She hadn’t experienced much young adult mischief, if she were truly being honest. She was far too controlled—too sheltered. Plus, imagine the scandal. The newspapers would jump for joy to run a story about the prince and a ballerina meeting in a bedroom in the dead of night.
Her breaths came in a quick and unsettled pattern. She stared at his full lips, and an image of him kissing her danced through her mind. And all their previous encounters mingled there, too. Emrys was built for passion, and as much as she had resisted before, she wanted to know what it was like to kiss a wicked vampire.
Fireflies buzzed in her stomach.
Stop it, mind. Don’t imagine yourself kissing a vampire. Are you insane? This is Emrys Avalon, your nemesis. Do not fantasize about him.
But the image didn’t leave; it was like a foreign body in her mind—a parasite—that wanted to latch on and stay forever.
“You need to be quieter,” Emrys said, his hand still resting on her lips, still silencing her. He flashed an expression that said, can I trust you enough to let my hand go?
She nodded, frustration lighting up her core. This stupid, arrogant man told—
He dropped his hand from her mouth, but instead of freeing her from the wall, he instead placed his hands on either side of her face, boxing her in.
But she was having none of it. She may be a foolish human, but she still had weapons. As fast as she could, she reached into her skirt pocket, pulled out a knife—she always had a small medical kit with her—and slid it against his throat. “Please, get out of my way.”
Quinn flinched. She was threatening a powerful immortal, and she chose to say please. It did not display confidence.
Emrys chuckled but didn’t budge. “What are you going to do with that, Quinnevere?”
Her heart pounded in her ears, and she tried to pull together a logical plan, but she had none.
Infuriatingly, Emrys raised one of his raven eyebrows. “For clarity’s sake, you think I am an immortal—”
“I know you are.”
He sighed and raised his gaze to the ceiling. “Right. And you think I am a murderer.”
“Yes.”
“And your plan was to hold a tiny knife to my throat?”
Quinn gritted her teeth, her heart still raging. “This is a scalpel. It may be tiny, but it’s very sharp.”
“Sorry.” His lips twitched. “You think your very sharp, tiny knife is going to be able to kill an immortal?”
“Well . . .” Quinn’s knuckles curled tighter around the handle. “When you put it that way . . .”
This was going utterly horribly. Not only was she threatening a dangerous immortal, but he was taunting her—playing with her.
Like prey.
“So, to be clear”—his smile widened, and his eyes sparkled—“the great, brilliantly talented, brilliantly intelligent Quinnevere Ashelle hadn’t thought this through? Is that right?”
Oh, he was so pleased with himself. The arrogant prick. Emrys loved it when she was wrong. Loved to throw it in her face .
With that spirit in mind, he leaned into the knife, and his eyes darkened with amusement as if he were saying, and what will you do now, little ballerina?
“What in all the fucking mirrors are you doing?” Quinn sucked in a breath and tried to steady her unusually shaky fingers. “I said it was a sharp tiny knife, and that is your fucking carotid artery.”
“It is.”
“Emrys.”
“Quinnevere.” He pulled her name out like he was tasting chocolate.
“I hate you.”
“I know.” He curled his fingers around the scalpel, plucked it from her grip, and slid it inside his impeccably tailored suit jacket. “You have mentioned this several times now.”
Emrys finally stepped back, freeing her from the wall, but as he did it, she noticed the freckle on his middle finger. She froze like a glass sculpture.
Spiders of fear crept down her body, and she gulped. She knew he was a vampire, but it wasn’t until she saw the freckle that it fully hit her. He was the Emrys Avalon from the Blood Rebellion. The human who led the war and became a king.
“How many people have you killed?” She stepped farther away from him, trying to get closer to the door. Her fear returned with a vengeance.
“Too many.” His throat bobbed.
She moved again, now directly in front of the door.
“I know you didn’t kill Jane, but . . . you’re a—” Flashes of her nightmares returned. A vampire standing over her, blood dripping from his fangs. Her breath hitched, her fingers biting into the metal door handle.
“I am no monster.” He took a hesitant step toward her. “At least not the type you are so afraid of.”
She wasn’t sure what to believe, but she wanted to believe him. “But you’re a—”
In a blink, he pinned her against the door, his strength superhuman. Again, he flinched as if touching her physically hurt. With a hand around her neck, he hissed, “Yes . . . is that what you want to hear? Is this what you expect me to do?” In a blink, his fangs appeared, and before she could move or gasp, his fangs glided against her jugular. “Is this what you imagine I would do?”
“Yes.” She trembled but held her head high. Fear spiked in Quinn’s blood. If he wanted to kill her, there would be no way of escaping. Her heart played percussion in her ears.
His fangs retracted, and he was left with his lips on her ivory skin, the blue of her veins lining her neck. He softly kissed the spot before he loosened his grip and stood at his full height once more.
Dragonfly wings scraped along the lining of her stomach, sending a tingling sensation through her body. Her heart didn’t believe Emrys was evil. She didn’t believe that he wanted to hurt her, especially when he had every opportunity to compel her to do his bidding, injure her, or kill her.
She rubbed her neck, feeling a phantom sensation where his fingers touched.
He hadn’t even left a bruise.
With all that power and speed, he showed intense control.
Quinn inhaled sharply before saying, “I believe you’re utterly arrogant, but I hope you won’t hurt me.” She pinched her eyes tight for a moment and drew in a long breath. “I also believe you enjoy playing with people.” Her voice cracked.
“That would depend.” His words were an eerie lullaby.
Her chest rose in frantic beats. “Do you enjoy toying with me?”
“Always,” he purred.
“You seem to have a talent for it.”
He scrutinized her, his gaze traveling from her dark green dress to the shimmering makeup dusting her skin and landed on her green eyes. “I have many talents.”
She placed a hand on the door handle. She wanted to turn it and desperately escape whatever emotions were bubbling in her chest. But that’s not what she did. Her insatiable curiosity got the better of her.
“Why did you want me to come here?” The question stormed from her scarlet lips.
Emrys pulled his features into a mysterious mask. “I wanted you to know the truth. I wanted to be able to tell you everything, and I couldn’t do that until you already knew my secrets. I am bound by the Accords and couldn’t say anything before tonight.”
Quinn’s hand dropped to her side. She no longer wanted to escape. Instead, she wanted to learn more of this man’s secrets.
“You wanted me to know,” she repeated as she suddenly realized he was the only person who trusted her with the information. Her uncle, the council, and even Constance wanted to hide everything from her, including why and how her parents were murdered.
“Yes, you deserve to know.”
“Thank you,” she said, biting her lip, trying to process how much it meant to her that he fought for her to know the truth. That he cared enough to tell her.
“Of course.” He nodded, the mask slightly sliding, showing a vulnerability she’d never seen in his eyes.
If he wanted to tell her everything, she had questions. “How are you a vampire if you were the human who led the Blood Rebellion?”
He sucked in a breath. “The short version is that during the war, I was captured and turned as a punishment. I would become my worst fear.” He grimaced. “It was their greatest mistake because as soon as I became a vampire, I knew our weakness.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I used it to win the war. And when the dust settled, humans decided to let the five vampires who aided in the war live. We lived peacefully for a time until we created too many new vampires, and things got out of hand, and the Accords were created.”
“And you agree with the laws?” Quinn asked .
“More or less.” He shrugged. “I agree with protecting my people. I am the King of all New Swansea, not just the vampires. It is my duty to keep humans safe. I cannot always protect people from the mirrors, but I can protect them from vampires.”
It made sense. If he never wanted to be a vampire, it would make sense that he spent his immortal life trying to protect humans.
“Will you tell me about Jane?” she asked.
“Yes.” A muscle feathered in along his smooth jaw. “Jane and I were working together to solve the council murders. Her . . . parents were also murdered the same night as yours.”
A surprised sound crossed her lips. They were called the Ashelle murders for a reason. “But that would mean . . .”
Shit. Holy shit.
“Jane wouldn’t want me to tell you this, but she is . . . you’re related to her,” Emrys confirmed.
“She’s my cousin?” There was no other reasonable explanation. Quinn didn’t have a sister. She’d remember that. Wouldn’t she?
Wouldn’t she?
When Emrys didn’t respond, Quinn asked again, “She’s my cousin?”
He nodded. “Jane didn’t really share much about herself or her family . . . even with me.”
Fuck. Her family. Quinn was Jane’s family.
She didn’t know what to do with that realization. So she chewed on it for a moment before deciding it was better not to think about it, because if she thought about how Jane was her cousin and brutally murdered, the dam of emotions would break.
And that could not happen.
So, instead, Quinn asked, “Why were you fighting the night she died?”
“Jane found the second Blood Mirror but refused to tell me where it was.” His voice sent a prickle of anxiety down Quinn’s spine. It was hard and filled with immense sorrow. “I was too forceful and upset. I wanted to find the mirror to protect the paintings inside it. If the murderer gets to them first, it will mean disaster.”
“What are the paintings? I gather they are the secret inside the mirror.”
Emrys sucked in a breath and placed a hand on the wall beside Quinn’s head as if he were steadying himself. “A vampire’s life is tied to their Blood Painting. When a marked human dies, the blood spilled during death forms into a painting that contains their life force. It looks like a normal painting once formed. However, vampires must sustain their life force by drinking blood. The painting feeds off it. If a vampire doesn’t feed, they will become weak until they eventually turn solid like a true painting or statue.”
He stepped back, and his unfeeling mask slipped more. “To kill a vampire, you must destroy their painting.”
“If the murderer gets to the paintings before we do, what will happen?” Quinn asked, her throat bobbing.
“They would be able to control us or kill us.” Emrys’s eyes sparked like thunder clouds gathering beneath a murky ocean of raging waters. “If someone holds our painting, they can compel us like we can with humans.”
Quinn’s veins pulsed with lightning, and her skin prickled as if thousands of fire ants stormed along the surface.
The killer absolutely could not get access to more of these paintings. It could be terrible. They were already an unstable murderer. What would they do if they could control all the vampires? “I’ll help you find them and protect your people.”
“Thank you, Quinnevere,” he said with a whisper, his hot breath caressing her cheek. Emrys moved his face to meet hers, his amber eyes grasping and holding on to her like prey. No, not prey. It was a lustful embrace.
They stood so close. Her chest rose with the nervous beats of her heart, her stomach tumbling with fireflies.
“You’re so beautiful.” Emrys’s eyes rested on her lips, and she gulped. “Your aid means more to me than you could possibly know.”
He laced his fingers into her hair and tipped her chin up, tension eating at her core.
Silence hung in the icy air between them. A silence deeper than the greatest depths of the Kardic Ocean. Her chest quivered as she scrutinized his body, starting with his silk lapels and his purple cravat. She marked his unnatural existence scientifically. Surprisingly, he had a slight stubble on his chin, framing the hard edge of his jaw. Apparently, vampires' hair grew. Her study turned medical as she reached up and touched his jugular. Feeling for a heartbeat and then counted it as she felt it.
Unfortunately, he didn’t give her enough time to figure out the beats per minute because his fingers curled around her wrist and pulled her away. Her fingertips grazed his chin in the process. Their attention focused on each other like a gentle caress, and his lips moved toward hers, hovering too close.
“Are lessons in passion still forbidden?” he asked.
Her breath hitched. All at once, she wanted him both to move closer and further. It was a strange battle in her mind—an unfamiliar one. “No.”
His lips grazed hers. Soft and gentle, light and tender, exploring her and the moment. But shock stitched her lips together, tight and unyielding, until he ran a highly experienced tongue across her lower lip, and she gasped.
Opening her mouth to him, he deepened the kiss and pressed his fingers into her hair, cupping her head as he invaded all her senses.
Emrys tasted of peppermint and daydreams. He smelled like a mix of dry cedar, ginger, and longing.
Her body trembled, and she wondered if she was kissing properly. She was so inexperienced, and she didn’t want to get it wrong, but he was a brilliant teacher, patient and tender. With every stroke of his tongue, he taught her and coxed out her bravery and passion .
Kissing was new and exciting, like the first time she’d learned a pirouette or walked on pointe. It was exhilarating and terrifying. But more than anything, she was lost in it. Her thoughts, her fears, her control faded away—locked in a deep cave, and she only knew this moment, and she melted into it.
His kiss was a spell, an enchantment consuming her soul.
Quinn whimpered as her hands curled into the small of his back, pulling him closer. He laughed against her lips, enjoying the pleasure he pulled from her. As he plundered deeper, his fingers stroked her waist, exploring and learning her body like an impossible puzzle.
The sensations he coaxed and the way his hands moved were like nothing she’d ever experienced before, and she should’ve been horrified, but instead, she was intrigued. It was a different kind of science experiment. A better, more tantalizing one.
Quinn’s toes curled in her shoes, and she wanted to be even closer to him. He must have felt the same way because he lifted her up by the waist and pressed her against the door. Her legs wrapped around him, the process pushing her skirts up to her pelvis, allowing him to slide a hand up her nearly naked thigh.
He deepened the kiss with both his talented hands and experienced mouth. It was like pure possession, claiming her—all of her, and she wanted it and more. Emrys’s hands cupped her ass and squeezed as he asked, “Do you want more of me, sweet Quinnevere?” His lips pulled away, but his eyes locked on hers, sparking with sensual delight.
Yes. Oh, mirrors, she wanted everything. She was a student of passion, and she needed to learn it all from him. She wanted to feel his hands touch her most sensitive parts. Quinn had studied her own body enough to know the magic of an orgasm, but she’d never allowed anyone else to give her one. Would it feel different if his mouth stroked her clitoris? Her hands were talented, but she imagined Emrys’s tongue far outmatched her, especially after he had just used it to destroy her composure so thoroughly. But more than anything else, she wanted to experience his hard length inside of her. Twenty-three years was far too long to stay a virgin.
Yet all of it was still utterly terrifying.
But Quinn was in a curious mood, so she nodded. “Yes, I want so much more.” She curled her fingers beneath his shirt, allowing them to climb up his bare chest, digging into his impeccably sculpted muscles.
Emrys’s eyes held her captive, searching for something beneath her gaze. “There is a bed.” His voice was dark, forbidden chocolate. “It probably wouldn’t be best to fuck you against a wall for your first time.”
Excitement stroked through Quinn’s core. The words should have horrified her, but they did just the opposite, and she nodded again, unable to speak.
A low chuckle resonated from his throat. “The bed it is.” Shifting his grip, he held her as if she were light as air—and to a vampire, maybe she was that easy to carry. Gently, he laid her down on the bed, her head resting against the pillow as he hovered over her. All the while, his lips claimed hers again. Now, instead of pressing her to the door, he was pressing her to the bed. And oh, how glorious it was.
As his hand traveled beneath her skirts, seeking her forbidden folds, his gaze latched on her—like he was asking permission with every new liberty he took. “This will be—” But she didn’t hear his last words because they were covered up with her gasp. Emrys’s hand was met with slick wetness as he circled her pleasure center with his thumb.
“Oh,” she breathed as her head fell back, and she pinched her eyes shut. He plunged two fingers into her core, stroking her most sensitive spot. “Yes, you’re much more talented at this than I am. I wonder if there is a scientific reason . . .”
“Stop talking, Quinnevere, and enjoy it,” he growled before capturing her lips once more.
It wasn’t easy for her to shut her brain down and simply be in the moment. But she desperately wanted to try. Passion was the goal, and if she could learn to do it with him, then maybe she could get out of her head while dancing.
Pinching her eyes shut, she focused only on the sensation of his fingers driving into her channel and circling her clitoris.
Emrys drove her to the edge of ecstasy and then pulled away, releasing his mouth and fingers. Once again, torturing her with pleasure and withholding it. “Please, Emrys.”
“Only if you are good.” Emrys bit her lip, and with a low possessive growl, his fingers returned to their ministrations.
“I can never be good for you,” she sighed, the words only breath. Even in a sex-addled state, Quinn still had her priorities.
Emrys chuckled, increasing his speed. “I guess that’s the appeal of you. Obstinance.”
“Yes, obstinance.” She released a moan as the waves of her orgasm began climbing. “Emrys, that’s—” She didn’t finish the words because she fell apart beneath his touch, trembling as wave after wave hit her, and his fingers kept striking, prolonging her pleasure.
A loud noise knocked against the outside wall as Quinn let out a final moan.
“Someone is coming,” Emrys said, moving with human speed off the bed and away from her. “You need to fix your clothing and hair if you prefer not to get caught.”
The space around her suddenly felt cold, his body no longer warming it, but also, the change was so abrupt, and she was not ready for it. The moment was breaking apart, piece by piece. Quinn panted, her chest rising in frantic passion-filled breaths, as she adjusted her drawers and swung her feet to the ground, her skirts tumbling down as she moved. The hardwood was cold against her toes as she curled them and tried to ground herself.
“What was that?” It all hit her. Everything she’d just done and allowed. Reality hit like a sledgehammer. Holy, fucking mirrors, she’d been about to fuck her biggest enemy. The reason Jane was dead . . . at least a partial reason. Anger flared in her blood, coating it with fire and fury. If Emrys had done that on her birthday, Jane might still be alive.
“I find myself . . .” He trailed off, pausing for a long moment, his eyes an unknowable midnight fire. Then he shrugged before straightening his cravat. “You’re a very beautiful girl. A rake like me, well, I couldn’t help myself.”
Just like that, the remaining magic of the moment vanished and turned to ash in her mouth. She was another one of his conquests in a long, long list of conquests.
Nausea pooled in her stomach.
“Chin up, Quinnevere darling. Perhaps it will help with your dancing.”
“You are very cruel,” she breathed.
He flinched as if her comment disturbed him. As if he wanted to take his words back, but his demeanor remained rigid and distant. “But isn’t that what you wanted me for? To teach you passion.”
“No, it wasn’t.” Tears gathered in her eyes, but she refused to let them out. To let him see the pain he caused with his careless words. Yet the pain seeped into her chest anyway. Her first kiss, the first time she ever allowed herself to be so vulnerable, so open, so touched by another person, only occurred on the whims of a roguish prince. A cruel, hurtful devil.
She felt so foolish.
“I shouldn’t have said that.” He appeared in front of her and ran his thumb along her chin, his eyes softening.
Quinn licked her swollen lips, her chest unfortunately still rising in passionate breaths. His amber eyes traced and tracked her tongue, and she felt the sudden terrible urge to close the distance between them again—a stupid, stupid magnet drawing her toward—
“What in all of the mirrors are you doing?” Emrys and Quinn pulled apart at Giselle’s words. “This is definitely not gathering fingerprint samples.”
Quinn felt like red calla lily petals were blossoming on her cheeks as she cleared her throat and flattened her skirt. Emrys slid his fingers into his pocket and struck a devastatingly nonchalant pose—like it was normal for him to seduce sheltered girls.
Ever the Playboy Prince.
Giselle dropped through the window gracefully as if scaling walls and sneaking through palaces were second nature to her.
Giselle arched an eyebrow as if to say, but you hate him?
Quinn shrugged and silently responded; I do. I think I do. Yes, yes, I hate him very much.
Oh, broken fucking mirrors, she was so confused.
“In case either of you are curious, I gathered about fifteen fingerprints, and I finally figured out where I’d seen this key before.” Giselle held up said key like a prize.