Chapter 31
EIRA
Leather always makes me feel like myself again.
More hunter. More weapon with a pulse. Less woman-who-can-still-taste-a-vampire-in-the-back-of-her-throat.
I tug on the trousers and let the snug bite of them settle my nerves. The bustier goes on next, black and structured, enough cleavage to be a statement, enough support to be practical, and enough armour to remind me I’m not here to be decorative.
This is not a fucking date.
It’s work.
I mutter that as I clip Widow’s Fang in place, slide a blade into my boot, another at the small of my back. Visible weapons and invisible ones, because a hunter never leaves home unprotected, even when she’s heading to a club with the most powerful being in New York.
The same being who keeps looking at me like I’m his favourite snack and his most dangerous mistake.
I catch my reflection.
Pause.
My eyes look too bright. My mouth too soft.
Dammit.
I swipe on dark lipstick and watch my face sharpen into something familiar.
Better.
The moment I step into Valentin’s penthouse, the air changes.
He stands by the window, jacket on, cufflinks in, untouched glass in hand, pretending he hasn’t been waiting.
Malachi and Luca are behind him.
Valentin turns and looks at me, the silver in his eyes flaring like a match catching.
For one heartbeat, he is perfectly still.
Then he says, very softly, ‘Out.’
Luca’s brows lift.
Malachi blinks. ‘Sire—’
‘Now.’
The word is a guillotine.
Luca goes first, smart enough not to test him. Malachi lingers a fraction, gaze flicking to me with something close to homicide, but one look at Valentin’s face and he follows.
The door shuts.
The silence left behind is thick enough to touch.
My pulse ticks up. ‘You cleared the room because…?’
In a blink he is behind me, hands on my hips, mouth at my neck.
I gasp.
It’s not a kiss at first. It’s an inhale that turns into a growl, as if scenting me is another form of touch he can’t control. His nose drags up my throat, his mouth brushing my pulse, fingers digging into the leather over my ass like he’s checking I’m real.
‘Gods,’ he mutters. ‘How is your scent even stronger?’
‘It’s my perfume. You noticed.’
‘It is not.’ His voice is rough. ‘I notice every fucking thing about you.’
His mouth slides lower, to the top edge of my bustier between my shoulder blades, and he inhales again, deeper, like he’s tasting me through air.
‘What did you do?’
‘All I did was dress for work, Valentin. No big deal.’
His hands flex. A second later, his body presses into mine, tall and hard and hot, his cock thick in the cleft of my ass.
‘You dressed to provoke tonight.’
I bite back a sound. ‘Not my problem if you’re provoked, Don Moretti. Unless you make it so.’
He laughs, low and dark, then nips my throat.
No fangs.
Just teeth.
The jolt shoots straight down my spine.
‘Valentin,’ I warn, except it comes out breathless and completely useless.
He spins me in his arms. His gaze drops to my mouth, my chest, then back to my eyes. The hunger there is so vivid my thighs tighten.
And beneath it, that strange craving wakes in me again.
My attention drags to the healed patch of skin I nicked earlier. The urge to taste him flashes sharp and wrong.
What the hell is happening to me?
‘The way you smell is beyond intoxicating,’ he says softly. ‘I would deem you a witch if I were not certain you are human.’
My heart stutters.
Selphine’s potion. That dubious old crone has turned my blood into bait.
I keep my expression smooth. ‘I ate rare steak. Maybe that’s it?’
His eyes narrow. He does not believe a word as his mouth hovers over mine. ‘If you are lying to me—’
‘I’m not,’ I interrupt too quickly.
His eyes flash. ‘Then kiss me.’
I do.
Because apparently I’m weak. And my body craves him like a drug and he’s already in my bloodstream in ways I can’t name.
I rise on my toes and give him what he wants. A kiss that starts hard and turns frantic, his hand sliding up my waist, one palm cupping my breast through the bustier, thumb brushing one stiff peak until a broken sound escapes me.
His mouth drags from mine to my neck. ‘Gods, I can barely keep my hands off you.’
‘Try,’ I manage.
His hands tighten on my hips. ‘No.’
Pure. Brutal. Honest.
We stay there, suspended in a bubble of hunger and heat, until Aaron appears at the edge of the room.
Valentin’s hand catches mine.
‘Come.’
At the club, I slide into a corner booth and start making calls.
Agency contacts. Fringe informants. People who owe me favours. People who owe the Revenant Agency money.
Nothing.
No one has heard of a contract lure like Tezra’s or seen wards like those used recently.
Whoever killed him is terrifyingly competent.
I know, Valentin, with his preternatural hearing, can hear every word. But with every dead end, his focus slides less to the threat and more to me.
My mouth. My throat. The swell of my breasts above the bustier.
Hunger seethes off him.
The next time I lower my phone and shake my head, his eyes flare silver.
‘Fuck all,’ I say. ‘Not a whisper.’
His hand closes around my wrist. ‘Then we are leaving.’
‘Wait. Are you calling Ciaran O’Rourke, like Navarro suggested?’
His eyes go black with fury. I hold my ground. ‘Tezra was my friend, Valentin. I need answers.’
‘I am aware, little hunter.’ His grip tightens. ‘We are still leaving.’
I should challenge the high-handedness. I absolutely should. But the word ‘leaving’ hits like a promise, and my body answers with humiliating enthusiasm.
I stand. He follows close behind.
We move through the club, the crowd parting around him with prey-level politeness. Instead of heading down, we climb. Up a private stairwell, along a narrow corridor, towards a skylight cut into the dark like a slice of sky.
I look up and Valentin follows my gaze.
Silver glints. Then his arms are around me and the world drops away.
He leaps upwards.
Impossibly.
I’m cradled against his chest, air rushing past, breath snatched from my lungs. Then we’re on the roof with the city spread beneath us in glittering lines.
‘You promised me a pick up later,’ he rasps. Then he kisses me.
Hard. Hungry. Deep enough to erase thought.
And then he moves again.
Rooftop to rooftop, the city blurring beneath us in violent flashes, his mouth finding mine between leaps like even seconds without tasting me are an insult. Wind tears at my hair. Night bites at my skin. His body stays hot against mine, grip absolute.
It should terrify me. Instead, I’m laughing into his mouth by the time the Tower rises ahead, black glass and shadow welcoming its king home.
He lands and we’re inside before I can blink.
Into his bedroom.
The door shuts and the quiet that follows is raw with anticipation.
Valentin stands a few feet away, chest rising, eyes dark-shot silver, jaw clenched like he’s holding himself together by force. I’m still catching my breath, still buzzing from the rooftops, still throbbing with a need I don’t have words for.
When he walks towards me, it feels like gravity has chosen a side.
‘You’re shaking,’ he says softly.
‘Barely,’ I lie.
His mouth quirks. ‘Like a leaf.’
I swallow. ‘I’m fine.’
His hand cups my face. Thumb drags over my bottom lip, slow and possessive. ‘I will not be stopping tonight, little hunter.’
My throat tightens. Because this is the moment. The one that matters. Past the banter and the dares and the chase.
This moment.
I look up at him and my voice comes out smaller than I want it to. ‘Maybe I don’t want you to.’
Something in his expression fractures and reforms into savage intent, tinged with… reverence.
Before I can explore that surprising second part, he pounces, kissing me with feral lust, all heat and punishment.
And yet something slower, deeper, a pensive claiming that makes my eyes sting for reasons that have nothing to do with lust.
He takes his time unfastening my weapons first – one by one – hands deliberate, respectful, as if even in hunger he understands what those blades mean to me.
Protection.
Control.
Self.
When the last weapon is set aside, he returns to my mouth and kisses me again, and the kiss changes – heat threading back in, urgency building, my hands sliding under his shirt to feel skin and muscle and that mark I can’t stop thinking about.
Then he breaks the kiss with a hiss and looks at my throat.
I stiffen. Instinct. Old fear.
His voice is rough. ‘You know what’s coming, don’t you, Eira?’ he grits out, almost a question.
My pulse trips as Selphine’s warning flickers like ghostly shadows.
Do not let him drink deeply.
He might like it too much. So might you.
I should say no. I should hold the line. But I’m fucking tired of lines. Tired of running, pretending I’m not already in too deep.
And beneath all of it, a darker curiosity curls, hot and inevitable and older than time.
I nod.
Valentin exhales like he’s been denied oxygen for centuries. ‘Verbal,’ he murmurs, gaze locked on mine. ‘I need to hear it.’
Consent.
The one clean rule in all this darkness.
I lick my lower lip and revel in the jump of his thick shaft against my belly.
My voice shakes, but it’s mine. ‘Yes. With fangs.’
His fangs descend before the words have fallen from my lips, digging into the flesh of his lower lip.
And they’re… beautiful, terrifying, and utterly real.
He passes his tongue lazily over them, as if already savouring the moment they sink into my flesh, and Gods, the sight of tongue and teeth push slickness between my thighs.
Slickness he smells and groans at before his heads descends. ‘Can’t wait to eat you out again, cacciatrice. Netheris fires, but I’m losing count of the very many things I plan to do to you. Things I guarantee you will enjoy immensely.’
‘Ah, there’s that unsullied smugness again. Good thing I now know how good a kisser you are. So how about you put that excellent mouth to good use, Don Moretti?’
A punch of laughter barks from him.