Chapter 8
Nyx
I stared dazedly at Cain, my body still buzzing, my mind scrambling to catch up. One moment I’d been curled in his lap, warm and loose and letting myself forget—and the next, I was undergoing an interrogation.
I shook my head. “It was nothing.”
Don’t tell. Never tell. Nobody will help you anyway.
Hot tears pricked my eyes. I blinked them away. You didn’t show weakness to a vampire.
His expression hardened. “What. Did. He. Do?”
The weight of his dominance pressed against me, demanding an answer.
My pulse kicked up. My gaze slid sideways, my instincts screaming at me to comply, yield, survive.
Fuck that. This was one vampire I didn’t have to obey. I’d already told him too much. I met his eyes and pressed my lips together until they hurt.
“You were helping me,” he said to himself. “Giving me intel. If he suspects—” He halted, jaw tight. “Damn. That’s why nobody saw you in public for weeks after.”
“He doesn’t suspect.” My hands landed on Cain’s naked chest.
I meant to push him away, but I didn’t. He felt too good. My reward for making sure he and his friends survived the explosion, even knowing I’d pay for screwing up.
“How do you know?” he asked.
“I’m a female—and a dhampir. He doesn’t think I have the guts to betray him. Actually, he blames Pascal. I told him Pascal broke when you tortured him.”
“So then where have you been? He kept you locked away for what—a month? Two months?”
“Thirty days,” I found myself saying.
Thirty endless days. And since then, he’d been keeping a close eye on me. I was lucky he’d allowed this trip to Paris.
“If he doesn’t blame you, then why did you get locked up?”
I lifted my shoulders, let them drop. “There was no one else to take his anger out on.”
The neon blue faded from Cain’s eyes, but his expression remained dark. “And—?”
“He confined me to my apartment.” My gaze slid from Cain’s. “And ordered me not to paint—or anything.”
“What’s that mean—anything?”
“He had them throw out my pencils and drawing pads, too. A few months worth of sketches—all gone. Burned.”
But first he’d called me a birdbrain and backhanded me across the face in front of a group of his men and their thralls. Then he’d made me stay and serve everyone drinks, my cheek still throbbing, before ordering Rodrigo to lock me in my apartment.
It wasn’t the first time he’d humiliated me in front of the lair. It wasn’t even the first time I’d been confined to my quarters. But before, I’d always had my art to disappear into. I guess he’d realized that I could survive anything as long as I could paint.
I was reduced to sketching on napkins with lipstick and eye liner. One night, I grabbed a bar of soap and drew a woman on the bathroom mirror, her mouth open in a silent scream, hands tearing at her hair.
Cain growled. “He burned your work?” He framed my face with his palms, his brows two fierce slashes. “What the fuck’s the matter with him? Doesn’t he know how good you are?”
Actually, no.
But I didn’t tell Cain. Instead, I gave a tiny shake of my head.
I hadn’t forgotten that threat Cain had made about going to Dussault with this. I didn’t think he would—he seemed truly angered on my behalf. But I wasn’t sure.
His thumbs brushed along my cheekbones. “Tell me how to get to him, firefly. Let me end the motherfucker.”
I leaned into his palms. That nickname—firefly—made me want to melt, to agree to anything. If only this were a story, a painting, and the two of us could disappear into a fantasy world together.
But it wasn’t. And this was my father, my sire.
“No.” I caught his wrists, pushing them away from my face. “I’m not a blood-rat.”
His expression tightened, but he released me. “I’ll keep you out of it, I swear. No one will ever know you helped.”
“I’ll know.”
His mouth flattened. “So you’re protecting him, even now.”
“I’m not a blood-rat,” I said again. “Honor means something to me.”
Maybe I’d given up on ever winning Nazaire’s respect. But you didn’t betray your sire. It was drilled into us—vampires and dhampirs alike—from the moment we could walk.
When I left the QCS, I was leaving with my head high and my conscience intact.
“I see.” Cain rose, zipping his pants in one swift, final motion.
I got dressed just as fast, not caring when the fragile lace tore under my hands.
He shrugged into his jacket and leaned back against the hotel’s limestone wall, head tipped toward the single star that had managed to punch through the fog.
I ached to go to him, give him a last, hard hug. But he was once again the Maritime Syndicate lieutenant.
“Goodbye,” I said in a low voice.
“Lemaire was going to sell Eden,” he said. “Did you know that? To Nazaire—as a blood slave.”
“No. He—what?” I took a step backward. “Where did you hear that?”
He brought his gaze back to me. “Lemaire told Eden himself.”
“Then he lied,” I returned, on surer ground now. “Lemaire, yes. He and Fleur were running that blood slave ring, the one your syndicate broke up.”
“And Nazaire’s still pissed off about that.”
“Not because he was a part of it. The entire upper hierarchy is seething. You think they don’t know why your primus invested in that casino? He won’t stop until the QCS is under Maritime control. Already, he’s pressuring Dussault to allow more investment, more oversight of our private business.”
“You really don’t know, do you?”
Uneasiness skittered along my skin. “Know what?”
“Nazaire was up to his neck in Fleur and Lemaire’s shit. In fact, before Twilight mated with Brien, your father tried to buy her, too—at a private auction. At the Black Dahlia.”
My stomach dipped. I had a childish urge to clap my hands over my ears, like if I didn’t hear it, it wasn’t true.
The Black Dahlia wasn’t just any QCS club, it was the club, the one reserved for the upper hierarchy. Nazaire had never taken me there. I used to wonder why, used to think it was because I wasn’t important enough. These days, I knew enough to be grateful.
“She told you that?”
“She didn’t have to. I saw it for myself—I was there that night.
Dussault invited Brien personally, and Brien didn’t want to turn him down; they were in the middle of the casino negotiations.
Me and Talon went along as bodyguards. And in case you’re wondering, until Brien saw Twilight, he had no plans to bid on anyone. ”
“Maybe my father was there because of Dussault, too. It’s not like he can refuse him. When your primus invites you to something, you go.”
“Nazaire didn’t drop out until the bidding on Twilight hit four mil. That’s a nice chunk of cash just to keep your primus happy.”
“It is.” I gulped, my uneasiness creeping back. “But if he was part of Fleur & Lemaire’s ring, why would he try to buy Twilight and Eden?”
He moved a shoulder. “Maybe he wanted exclusive access. Or maybe he was just fucking with us. I’m not sure he knew what Twilight was to Brien, but he definitely knew Eden was carrying Talon’s spawn.”
It made sense. It even sounded like my father.
I still shook my head, rejecting his logic. “I’m telling you—my father doesn’t keep blood slaves. I’d know.”
Wouldn’t I?
“That you’re aware of,” Cain murmured like he’d read my mind.
“I’ve been in all three of his lairs. My guess is Dussault wanted him to push up the price so Brien would have to pay more.”
“So you’re saying they tried to cheat Brien.”
“He didn’t have to bid.”
The QCS primus pretended to be willing to work with Brien, but behind his back he called him the “princeling.” He resented that Brien had been groomed to be the next Maritime primus, that he hadn’t had to work his way up through the hierarchy like Dussault had.
And, like my father, Dussault hated how powerful the Maritime Syndicate had become.
The two of them would’ve happily cheated Brien if they believed they could get away with it.
“True,” Cain said. “But I was there, and it sure seemed like your father wanted Twilight. You should’ve seen his face when Brien outbid him. That wasn’t a man trying to keep his primus happy.”
“Maybe he had a reason I don’t know about.”
Cain grunted, clearly unconvinced. I was grasping at straws, and we both knew it.
I worried my lower lip. “Well… if he had bought her, I would’ve helped her.”
“Like you helped Eden?”
The words hit like a slap. I flinched, and he exhaled.
“I’m sorry. That was low.”
I jerked my chin in acknowledgment. It hurt, but I deserved it. “I really have to go. But first, can I ask you something?”
He eyed me moodily. “What?”
“If you go to Dussault, don’t bring The Haunt into it. You can tell him you found out I was on the island. Just don’t out me. Please?”
His brows lifted. “They really don’t know?”
I shook my head. “Only you. I know I don’t have the right to ask this, but…” I spread my hands.
His chest heaved. “Only if you promise me something in return.”
“What?”
“If it gets too much—if Nazaire goes too far—you get word to me, and I’ll come for you.
Or just get the hell out. We’ll take you in, give you sanctuary.
He won’t lay a hand on you again. Just get yourself to Halifax and I’ll send a chopper for you.
There’s a bar on the waterfront.” He gave me the name.
“Tell any of the bartenders to contact me.”
My heart squeezed painfully. “You’d do that?”
Yeah, Cain had his own agenda, but that didn’t make his offer any less generous. If I accepted, his syndicate would be painted as the villains. You didn’t steal another man’s spawn without consequences.
“Fuck, yes,” he said.
I swallowed over what felt like a handful of grit. I wanted that sanctuary, wanted it so badly it scared me.
But wanting and taking are two different things.
“Think about it,” Cain urged. “You could have your own studio. A big one. There’s more than enough space in the castle. You could keep painting, keep showing your work. Your father doesn’t have to know. And if he finds out—tough shit. I won’t let him touch you.”
“He’ll find out. He’ll come for me. You know he will.”
“Let him.”
I studied the hard line of his jaw. “But maybe that’s what you want,” I added slowly. “Maybe you’re hoping he’ll follow me to the island so you can take him out.”
A muscle jumped in his cheek. “It’s a genuine offer, damn it. Yeah, I want your father in his final grave, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to help you. And yes, you have my promise. I’ll keep The Haunt out of it.”
I nodded, more grateful than he knew. “Thank you. And Cain? That you offered me sanctuary? It means a lot. But I’ll be okay. I can take care of myself.”
I’d survived a childhood in Nazaire’s lair, hadn’t I?
I started the fade.
“Hold on.” Cain crossed the balcony, pulling me into his arms. “When will I see you again?”
Never.
I halted the fade—if I didn’t, I’d take him into the shadows with me—and touched his cheek, memorizing the feel of him. Cool, a little rough. “Wait a couple of months. Let things settle down.”
“Nyx…”
Hope welled up in me. “Yes?”
My defenses were down and it all poured out of me. An aching yearning, a wish that we could actually be together.
He shouldn’t have been able to sense my emotions—I was a dhampir, not a human. But he went taut, then released me like a hot coal.
It was all the answer I needed. A sad smile tipped up my lips. “Goodbye, Cain.”
“We’re not done,” he insisted. “I will see you again.”
I just shook my head. I stepped sideways, putting more space between us, and vanished into the shadows as he watched, tight-jawed.
It took me less than a minute to crawl down to the second floor and along the wall to my suite. I flowed back into the bedroom, eased the window shut and dragged the blackout shade down. I shed my clothes and headed into the washroom.
I barely had time to scrub Cain’s scent off my skin before Jerome’s knock rattled my door. I opened it, dressed in a tee and yoga pants, an open bottle of blood-champagne in my hand.
“What?” I flashed him a loopy smile.
Disgust flickered over his lean face. It wasn’t easy for a dhampir to get fucked up, but I’d faked it enough over the years that my bodyguards figured I had a low tolerance.
“Everything all right?” He scanned the suite behind me.
“Absss—absoluutely,” I mumbled. “Everything’s perrrfect. Wanna drink?” I waved the bottle at him.
His lip curled. “No,” he said shortly, and left, locking the door behind him.
I took another gulp of blood-champagne and put the bottle on the wet bar, then crawled into the massive bed.
My sex felt empty. We hadn’t finished. Not really.
I sighed.
My hand crept beneath the waist band of my yoga pants. But after a few rubs, I gave up because the emptiness was coming from elsewhere, somewhere deep inside me.
I’d just left Cain for the last time. If all went as planned, I’d never see him again. The moment the gallery money hit that secret Swiss account, I was gone. Out of my father’s lair. Out of the syndicate world.
I’d backpack across Europe, moving only by daylight, supporting myself by selling my paintings. At night I’d lock myself away, safe behind bolted doors where no vampire could reach me.
Safe—and alone.
I should’ve felt a spark of excitement, a flicker of the freedom I’d dreamed about for years. Instead, I felt…flat. Like someone had drained all the color out of me.
With a low, unhappy exhale, I pulled the soft sheets over my head.