Chapter 6
Nyx
Back in my suite, I waited while Manny swept through the rooms, checking for anything out of the ordinary.
When he finally left for the night, I locked the door behind him and sank onto the velvet couch.
The keycard Cain had slipped me lay in my palm, small and innocuous—yet it felt heavier than anything I’d carried all day.
I stared at it, unsure whether to laugh, curse, or hurl it across the room.
I didn’t have to meet him. When it came down to it, his only evidence was a painting by an anonymous artist. It was only damning if you’d been there that night.
Which Brien and Talon had been.
I briefly closed my eyes. The last thing I needed was a pair of alpha vampires out for revenge breathing down my neck.
Even worse, Cain knew. Knew I was The Haunt. He could ruin everything with a few words in the right ears.
He wouldn’t. Not to me.
At least, that’s what I told myself. But I didn’t know for sure.
Cain was a vampire to the marrow—ruthless, cold, a man who’d clawed his way to stand just one step below his primus in barely two decades. And my father had pushed him and his friends to the brink.
Why had I put that painting in the show?
I’d known Cain might crash the opening night party—hell, I’d hoped he would. But I’d felt safe; no one had yet connected it-girl Nyx Nazaire to The Haunt.
And maybe, deep down, I’d wanted him to piece it together. To see this part of me my father never had. My paintings were my soul, unbared.
I grimaced. That had gone well, hadn’t it?
And I was wasting time.
I pushed back to my feet. In the bedroom, I exchanged my heels for a pair of short leather boots, then cracked open a window.
The rain had ended, but a patchy fog had rolled in.
On the sidewalk below, streetlights rose out of the mist like wrought-iron stems tipped with golden glass buds.
Across the street, the Seine was a dark ribbon flowing through the white wisps.
I fingered the keycard. I should cut it into confetti and toss it out the window, then barricade myself in my suite for the night.
Anything to keep myself from doing something stupid.
I was so close to getting out—one wrong move and everything could blow apart.
But I couldn’t.
Because tonight was it—my last time with Cain. Once I left my father and the QCS, I’d have to disappear completely.
Nyx Nazaire was going to meet her end in a dark alley, leaving behind nothing but ashes and a few pieces of charred jewelry.
No forwarding address, no trail, no loose ends.
Keycard in hand, I stepped into the shadow world, then slid through the narrow gap between the window sash and the frame. I flowed down the exterior wall, weightless as the mist, until my feet touched the sidewalk below. I ducked into a recessed doorway and exited the shadows.
Safely shrouded in the fog, I pulled a glamour over myself—the face and body of another dhampir I’d seen around the hotel.
Back in the foyer, I headed for the elevators, head high, steps unhurried.
I waited until I was certain I was alone, then stepped into an empty car and jabbed the button for the third floor.
When the doors reopened, my previous glamour had been replaced by a forty-something maid in a black Hotel La Nuit uniform, a tiny gray gargoyle embroidered above the left breast. I walked briskly down the hallway, my low heels tap-tapping on the marble tile, the illusion settling around me like a second skin.
It was my superpower, my secret weapon—the ability to glamour my appearance as quickly and easily as the oldest, most powerful vampires.
And no one knew about it, even Nazaire.
Cain’s suite appeared empty. Without dropping the glamour, I continued through the tasteful maroon-and-cream parlor and peered into the bedroom. The massive pedestal bed hadn’t been slept in, and the washroom held only toiletries stamped with the hotel’s gargoyle logo.
He clearly wasn’t staying here at La Nuit.
Back in the parlor, I cleared my throat. “M’sieur Cain?”
I had no idea what his last name was. Maybe he didn’t have one— some vampires shed them, cutting loose anything that tied them to the past.
“Here.” He spoke from behind a pair of thick black-out curtains. “On the balcony.”
I released the glamour and pushed through the heavy curtains. They swished shut behind me.
Cain stood with his hands behind his back, staring down at the mist-shrouded people strolling along the Seine. He looked so alone, his face shadowed.
Sometimes I thought that was what had brought us together. Not the sex, as good as it was, but this need we both had for connection, for someone to ease the loneliness. For a few hours, anyway.
He turned to face me, hands on the wrought-iron railing behind him. His right leg started jiggling.
I waited for him to start on me again, but all he said was, “Come here.”
Fine by me.
I crossed the balcony, the night air cool on my skin, and unbuttoned his midnight-blue velvet jacket. No shirt. I eased the jacket open and spread my fingers over the firm planes of his chest.
He stilled, his eyes silver in the dim light. Even the jitter in his leg cut off like someone had flipped a switch.
A shark tattoo—the mark of a made man in the Maritime Syndicate—curled over the pale skin of his neck. I didn’t know what he’d done to earn it; he wasn’t the kind of vampire who bragged about the lives he’d taken.
I lifted a hand, tracing the shark tat with my fingertips. His throat tightened. It was an intimate act, and a bold one, especially with a vampire so dominant to me. I should’ve asked his permission first.
But fuck that. I stretched up and pressed a kiss to the shark’s curved body.
Beneath my lips, the blood in his carotid pulsed. Unable to resist, I flicked my tongue out, tasting salt and Cain.
His chest rumbled, the beginnings of a growl, and I stilled.
“No, don’t stop.” His fingers wrapped around my skull, keeping me where I was. Taking control and yet indulging me. The combination sent a curl of heat through me.
He liked it, too. The proof pressed against my stomach, long and hard.
I slid my hand down his belly, toying with his waistband. “I believe I owe you something,” I said against his throat.
He drew a slow breath. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I squeezed him through his pants.
“That’s right.” His hands settled on my hips, gathering up my dress. He smoothed a palm over my bare bottom, his voice a sexy rasp. “I made you come, didn’t I? Twice. You owe me for that.”
I met his eyes. The silver-blue had darkened, his irises encircled by a flaming cobalt. Tension thrummed between us.
I wet my lips. “I always pay my debts.”
“Good, because my dick intends to collect.”
“Yeah?” I cupped him through his pants. “I might like that.”
He smacked my ass, hard enough to make me gasp. “Take off your dress.”
He released me and watched, his gaze hot enough to scorch my flesh, as I wriggled out of the fishnet. “The bra, too,” he ordered.
I complied, ass still stinging, then lowered to my knees in front of him, my hands on his thighs.
He put his hands on the iron rail on either side of his hips, jacket falling open, chest gleaming, like one of those blond, blue-eyed angels from the stories my human nanny used to tell me. Except this angel had teeth and hunger and a darkness that called to mine.
I undid his pants, eased the zipper down. He’d gone commando so his cock sprang out, brushing my cheek. I ran a finger up the smooth, veined length.
He regarded me from beneath thick, dark lashes. “Keep going.”
“Yes, Lieutenant,” I said, only half-teasing.
Closing both hands around him, I rubbed a thumb over the tip, wet with pre-cum, enjoying his hiss of pleasure. I licked the salty liquid, then drew his head between my lips, slow and easy.
He let me take the lead for a minute before moving his hands to my head, holding me still so he could stroke deeper into my mouth. I sucked harder and his body went rock-hard.
“That’s it,” he said, tone hoarse. “Take me—all of me. Show me how good you can be.”
At his praise, I felt a pull between my legs. I wanted to please him. Wanted to replace his anger with me with something that pleasured us both. To apologize for rigging that damn boat to explode.
Sweet Luna, I was fucked up. We both were.
Like a sexual act could make up for that.
But Cain didn’t seem to care about my fucked-upness, and I didn’t care about his. In fact, it turned me on.
Maybe it was the same for him.