Chapter Twelve
The Mark Underneath
Knox
Briana walks beside me with a collar at her throat and my mark beneath her dress.
The collar is a lie.
The mark is not.
I repeat that truth with every step through the dark Brooklyn street toward The Marrow House.
It’s the only thing keeping my beast from tearing through my skin and dragging her back to The Gin Room or her apartment, where the walls are warded, the doors are locked, and everyone inside knows better than to touch what she has chosen to give me.
Not what belongs to me. What she has chosen. There’s a difference. A very fucking vital one. My beast is learning it. Slowly. Painfully. But he is learning.
The night is cold enough that her breath fogs in front of her. The slit in her black velvet dress moves around her thigh with each step, giving me brief glimpses of the knife strapped there. Her hand rests in mine, freely, with no hesitation. No flinch when my thumb brushes over her knuckles.
That tiny thing nearly destroys me every time. She chose my touch. She chose my mark. She chose me. And tonight, she walks into a vampire blood club wearing a false collar because the monsters inside still believe they can make her kneel.
They are going to be very disappointed.
“You’re growling,” she says. Her voice is quiet, but a thread of warmth runs through it, brushing the bond between us.
I force the sound in my chest to stop. “Sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“No. I’m not.”
Her mouth curves, and the sight hits the bond like a spark to oil. Want moves through me, hot and sudden. Memories follow ... her body beneath mine, her hands on my face, her voice trembling around the word yes, and the way she fell asleep in my arms after marking me back.
I feel her answering heat through the bond. Faint and startled but real.
She glances up at me, cheeks flushed beneath the streetlights. “Now is a terrible time for that.”
“Most definitely.”
“Are you going to stop?”
“I’m trying.”
Her fingers tighten around mine. “Good monster.”
My entire body goes rigid.
Briana’s lips part, and the bond fills with a flash of wicked satisfaction that doesn’t help my restraint.
“You shouldn’t say that to me in public,” I say.
“Noted.” She tries to hide her smile, but I see it.
“You’re lying,” I accuse lowly.
“Yes, I am.”
Goddess help me. This woman is going to be the death of me.
****
Ahead of us, the old theater waits between two warehouses like something dead pretending to sleep. The marquee is dark, the windows are boarded, and the brick is stained black from old fires and older sins.
But there’s a red door beneath the broken awning that looks freshly painted.
Crimson Door.
I roll my eyes. Subtlety is clearly not their strong suit.
Cruz has already gone in through a side entrance with Moira’s invitation. Krishka and Akasha are nearby with the ward team. Aldron and Malichai stay hidden because their presence would announce war before we reach the lower level.
My job is simple. Stay with Briana, get her out if something goes wrong, and don’t lose control. That last part would be easier if she didn’t look like vengeance dressed in velvet.
We stop beneath the awning.
The vampire at the door wears a white suit and an empty smile. His pale gaze lands on Briana’s collar first. Then her face and recognition flickers.
Not of the woman but of the prey he thinks has returned.
“Well,” he says. “Someone found her way home.”
The bond flashes, ice-cold, through my veins. This time it’s not from me but from my mate.
I look down and watch Briana’s chin lift. Her pulse races, but her hand stays steady in mine.
“The door,” she says.
The vampire’s smile widens. “Still spirited.”
Her thumb brushes once over my hand. A warning. I stay still... Barely.
“She has an invitation,” I say.
His gaze slides to me. “And you are?”
Briana answers first. “My mate.”
The word hits the night like a ton of bricks, and the vampire goes still. So do I.
I knew she had accepted me. I knew she chose the bond. I felt it seal beneath my skin, felt her mark on my shoulder, felt her heartbeat settle beside mine. But hearing her say it here, in front of one of them, while wearing their false symbol of control around her throat?
My beast bows inside me.
The vampire’s eyes narrow. “Mate.”
“Yes,” Briana says. “Try to keep up.”
A sound rumbles in my chest. Pride. Possession. A little awe.
The vampire’s nostrils flare, probably catching my scent on her now. Not just around her. In her skin. In the bond. In the mark hidden beneath black velvet. And his expression tightens.
Perfect. Let him understand the girl they lost didn’t come back alone.
Briana removes the black envelope from her clutch and places it in his palm. She doesn’t let his fingers touch hers.
He breaks the seal and reads. “Briana.”
My hand tightens once, and she squeezes back. I loosen my grip immediately.
The vampire glances at our joined hands. “Lucius will be pleased.”
“No,” Briana says softly. “He won’t.”
The vampire opens the red door, and warm air spills out mixed with sweet smoke, blood, perfume, and fear.
Briana’s hand jolts in mine, and I step closer, not in front, not blocking, just enough that my shoulder brushes hers.
“I am here,” I say under my breath.
“I know.” Her answer comes quickly, and the bond steadies.
Inside, Crimson Door is exactly what nightmares wear when they want to look expensive. Red velvet walls. Black tables. Candlelight. Crystal glasses full of dark liquid. Masked faces turn as we enter, every gaze sliding first to Briana’s collar, then her face, then me.
Some look amused. Others curious. Most hungry. One by one, the hungry ones catch the scent of me on her, and their smiles fade.
Mine, the beast says.
Chosen, I answer.
He accepts the correction with a low internal rumble.
A woman in a gold mask approaches us. She’s a vampire. A very old one. Her white dress clings like smoke, and her red mouth curves as if cruelty is a language she learned before speech.
Her gaze drops to Briana’s throat. “Lovely,” she murmurs. “He did wonder whether you would wear it.”
Briana’s fingers remain laced with mine. “Did he?”
The woman steps closer. “Such a shame to cover pretty skin. But some pets need reminders.”
A cold, bright fury fills the space between us and my beast stills in recognition. This is not fear, this is the woman who came back for vengeance.
The vampire lifts one hand toward the collar, and I move. But Briana moves faster. She catches the vampire’s wrist before those red nails touch silver, and the room around us quiets.
The vampire’s smile falters.
Briana leans in slightly. “No.”
One word. Steady and beautiful.
The vampire’s eyes flash. “The collar says otherwise.”
She whispers a command, and magic snaps through the air, aimed at the fake collar.
Briana speaks the spell-word.
“Mordane.”
The silver at her throat flares white-hot without burning her. The vampire screams as the magic rebounds through her wrist, black veins racing up her pale arms.
I don’t move. I want to, Goddess, I want to. But Briana’s hand remains in mine, and through the bond I feel the force of her choice. This victory is hers.
She releases the vampire’s burned wrist. “I said no.” Her voice shakes, but she says it anyway.
I lift her hand and press my mouth to her knuckles before I can think better of it. Not for the room. Not for theater. For her.
Her breath catches, and the bond warms.
Across the club, someone laughs. Slow. Elegant. Rotten. Lucius appears at the top of the stairs. He looks like Aldron if every ounce of restraint had been carved out and replaced with silk-wrapped rot. Silver hair. Black suit. Pale face. Empty smile.
His gaze locks on Briana before dropping to our joined hands. Then, worse, to the place on her shoulder where my mark hides beneath velvet.
He smells it, and his smile disappears. For the first time tonight, something in me settles. Let him know. Let him understand. The woman he tried to collar walked in wearing my claim beneath his lie, and she did it by choice.
“There you are,” Lucius says. “The girl we lost.”
Briana steps forward, and I go with her.
“Wrong,” she says, and a whisper moves through the room.
Lucius descends one step. “Is that so?”
“I’m the woman who came back.”
His eyes flick to me. “With a bull on a leash.”
Briana smiles, but it’s all teeth. “My mate,” she corrects. “Again, keep up.”
Cruz’s laugh carries from somewhere near the west wall, and Lucius’s expression hardens. Perfect. Anger makes arrogant men sloppy.
“You allowed yourself to be marked,” he says.
Briana’s hand tightens in mine, and the bond flashes with fear for one breath, then heat, then defiance.
“I chose to be marked.”
Lucius’s gaze turns ugly. “Human sentiment.”
“Consent,” she says. “I understand why you wouldn’t recognize it.”
The room inhales, and Lucius stops halfway down the stairs. My heart hammers against my ribs, not from fear but from her. From the beauty of her standing under a false collar, my mark not so hidden beneath, telling an ancient vampire exactly what kind of pathetic creature he is.
I want to kiss her. I want to kill for her. I want to kneel at her feet and worship her. And not necessarily in that order.
Lucius lifts a hand. “Kneel.”
Power lashes through the room. Vampire glamour and witch magic. The command pattern is linked to the real collar.
Briana stiffens beside me. I feel it through the bond, the sudden spike of panic, the old memory trying to drag her under, the way her body almost obeys because trauma knows commands faster than the mind can refuse them.
I turn toward her. Not grabbing, and not touching beyond our joined hands.
“Briana.” Her eyes find mine, and I let the bond open enough for her to feel me.
Her breath shakes before her gaze hardens. “Mordane.”
The collar flares again, and Lucius jerks as red light slices across his palm. Not enough to drop him, just enough to surprise him.
Briana smiles at him. “You really should stop trying that.”