Chapter Six
Sage
I lock the door behind me and exhale, my back pressed against it, pulse still drumming beneath my skin. Then I look down at the two towels Asher handed me. Lavender-scented. Of course. Lavender towels. In a vampire's house.
It's almost funny.
I glance around the room. It's absurdly normal.
A four-poster bed with neatly folded linens.
A dresser. A wardrobe. A door leading to what looks like a bathroom.
If it weren't for the subtle, lingering tension thrumming in the air, it might pass for a cozy B&B.
A very weird, very upscale B&B run by ancient blood-drinkers.
I sink onto the edge of the bed, trying to slow my thoughts.
They bought my story. Or at least enough of it to stop the interrogation.
But I'm not stupid enough to feel safe. Asher might actually be the do-gooder vampire he claims to be, but Kayden?
Kayden's the kind who tracks your lies to the bone.
He won't let what I did slide, not completely.
Even if he's not planning to kill me—yet—he'll want to know how I fit into that little torture party in the shipping container.
Who I worked with. Who else was there. Names for his vendetta.
Darlene. Johnny. Vanessa. Konstantin.
I wonder what they thought when they realized I ran. Do they think I betrayed them? Probably.
I wasn't forced into that world. I chose to be a part of it. I believed in it. At least, for a while. But what I learned after, about the organization, about Darius, was enough to make me bolt.
And I need to do it again now. Leave. Disappear before sunrise, before they can reassess the whole truce deal.
The storm outside is thinning to a steady drizzle.
Still cold, still dark. But I can handle that.
I've walked worse roads in worse weather.
The real problem is the gas. And the fact that I have zero money.
Whatever bills I had in my pockets probably drowned with me or got washed with the clothes currently drying downstairs, assuming they weren't shredded beyond use.
I start pacing the room, already forming a plan. Wait a few hours. Let the vampires get distracted, or better, fall asleep, if they do sleep. Find my way out. Get to the car. Find gas.
And maybe… find cash.
I glance toward the dresser, then the wardrobe, calculating.
In a place like this, they must have money stashed somewhere.
And I doubt they'd miss a little. It's not like vampires live paycheck to paycheck.
Most have had centuries to accumulate wealth, likely from a mix of investments, blackmail, and robbing their victims blind. Who's the real thief, then?
I'm good at finding where people hide things like cash or keys.
Whatever they don't want touched. It's not a talent I advertise, but it kept me alive when I was living out of abandoned buildings and sleeping with one eye open.
I've picked pockets. Broken into back rooms. Taken what I needed and left before anyone noticed.
I'm not proud of it, but I'm not ashamed either. Survival doesn't come with clean hands.
Stealing from two vampires who could crush me in a blink doesn't even make my top ten list of morally questionable choices.
I wait silently and restlessly. Minutes stretch like hours, and when the storm outside eases into a steady patter of rain, I take it as my cue. I move to the door, press my ear against the wood. Nothing. Not a creak.
I ease it open and slip into the hall, each step silent, weightless. That's the thing about nymphs—criminal record or not, we move like whispers in the wind.
First stop: the laundry room. My clothes are still warm from the dryer, dry enough to wear, but I don't waste time changing. I clutch them to my chest, eyes sweeping the space around me.
If one of the vampires catches me now, I can still spin a story—say I came down for my things. Or a glass of water. Anything, really.
But once I cross that line, once I take what isn't mine, the only way out is through the door and fast.
I move into the main living area, peeking into a few drawers. Nothing but coasters, pens, the random chaos of everyday life. Then I spot another door, half-open. A study. Of course they have a study, and it's not locked. Because what kind of lunatic would try to rob a vampire?
Apparently, me.
I step inside, fingers moving quickly but quietly. Drawer. Empty. Another. Loose papers. Then—bingo. A smaller drawer, nestled near the bottom, not locked. Inside: a stack of hundred-dollar bills, banded, clean.
I don't think. I grab it.
No hesitation now. I cross the house like a shadow, silent and swift, heading straight for the front door. One hand on the handle. Clothes pressed tight to my chest, the money folded in my palm.
I start to turn the knob—
Click.
A slow cluck of a tongue cuts through the dark.
"Well, well, well. Looks like our little nymph's got sticky fingers." The voice is a drawl, amused and sharp enough to cut glass. "What shall we do with her now?"
Kayden.
Shit.
I freeze. My heart leaps into my throat and pounds there like a trapped bird. For a split second, I weigh dashing outside. But I wouldn't get far. Not from him.
I turn slowly, forcing my spine straight, my chin high. "You said I could leave," I say coolly, evenly. "I'm taking my things and leaving."
He steps out of the shadowed hallway, his shirt unbuttoned, sweatpants hanging loosely on his hips.
"Your interpretation of 'morning' is creative.
Very ambitious. What is it, four A.M.?" His eyes glitter in the low light.
"And here I thought we were starting to bond.
Whiskey. Secrets. Near-death flashbacks. "
His voice drips with sarcasm, but there's something behind it. That edge again. Like he doesn't know whether to bite me or laugh, or maybe both.
I tighten my grip on the money, trying to decide which story buys me time this round.
"Look, I'm just getting out of your hair—"
I barely get the words out before he moves.
"Shh," he says, closing the distance with predatory ease. One arm lifts above me, palm flat against the door, and I hear it shut behind me with a soft, definitive click.
He's so close now. That scent of spice, whiskey, and everything sinful envelops me.
His grin widens as he towers over me, his head tilted in that lazy, maddening way that makes him look like he's enjoying this a little too much. Like a lion playing with its food.
His other hand comes up, deceptively gentle. He pries open the fingers of my fist one by one, until the rolled-up bills lie exposed in my palm.
The air between us tightens. The room shrinks.
"A kidnapper, a runaway, and a thief," he murmurs, eyes glinting. "You really are full of surprises, sunshine."
I swallow, throat dry. My gaze drops in shame, or maybe just to escape the heat of his. "It's not like you're short on cash," I mutter. Even to my ears, it sounds like a pathetic excuse.
His fingers brush my chin, tilting it back up. Forcing me to meet the burn of his stare.
"That's not the point. We're not lacking, sure," he says, voice velvety and low.
"But there's this quaint little concept called decency.
You don't rob the people who patch you up, give you shelter, warmth.
.." His eyes flick down to his brother's shirt still on me, then slowly back to mine. "And their clothes."
He leans in close enough for me to feel the hum of his dangerous presence under my skin.
I can't breathe. Can't think. My grip loosens, and everything falls from my hands. The bills, my clothes, the remnants of my escape plan—all hitting the floor with a soft, humiliating thud.
"What now?" I ask, the tremble in my voice not fully hidden. "You gonna hurt me? Kill me?"
I lift my chin, trying for defiance, but his touch lingers, and I know it's too late to pretend I'm not shaken.
He chuckles, dark and low, a sound that curls through my spine.
"Hurt you? Kill you?" he echoes, tone thick with mockery and something feral. He leans in again, his mouth brushing my ear. "If I wanted you dead, we wouldn't be having this delightful conversation."
He draws back just enough to see my face, his eyes burning dangerously.
"But hurt you?" His grin sharpens. "Now that wouldn't be out of the question. Especially when someone's been very, very bad."
It's a threat, but his tone… his tone is more seductive than menacing.
My breath catches again. That same electricity from the club coils in the space between us, thick and alive. I feel it skimming over my skin, setting every nerve on edge.
My lips part, maybe to argue, maybe to speak another lie, but nothing comes out.
His gaze drops to them.
"So, Sage," he says, drawing out my name like he's savoring it. "Tell me... what exactly should I do with a pretty little thief who thought she could rob her hosts?"
The intensity of his presence, the sheer power radiating off him, make my knees weak. I realize I can't sense anything else, not even that chronic hum I've lived with since becoming a nymph. Just him. Ever since I heard his voice, it's like he eclipsed the world.
I look up at him. His eyes hold a feral glint that's pinning me in place. We're dancing on the edge between seduction and violence. It's a dangerous game, and somehow, I'm choosing to play it.
"I don't know… what do you have in mind?"
His grin widens.
Kayden
I look into her big green eyes—bright with trepidation, laced with defiance.
Even after getting caught red-handed, she's still pretending to have the upper hand. Cute.
Irresistible.
She's not screaming. Not begging for my noble brother to come rescue her from the monster's clutches.
Maybe she figures he'd be a little less merciful if he knew she was stealing his cash stash.
Or maybe... she wants to play this little dark game we started a year ago.
And then she answers me—voice edged with heat and curiosity: What do you have in mind?
Fuck me.