Chapter 12
Nyx
The human that Nazaire wanted me to meet was Cain’s uncle.
The Maritime Syndicate lieutenant he’d mentioned? It had to be Cain. The man wanted to sell his own nephew to us.
My stomach churned.
I lowered my head to my hands.
I can’t do this.
I pressed my fingertips into my closed eyes, like I could somehow gouge out what I’d just pieced together.
I’d spent most of today trying to figure a way out of this mess. But there wasn’t one. If I backed out now, my father would demand to know why. What was I supposed to say—that Cain was my lover?
I could picture how that conversation would go.
Besides, did I even want Nazaire to send someone else? This was Cain.
They wouldn’t just capture him, they’d torture him and laugh at his pain. And when they were done, they’d stake him.
Nazaire might even make me watch.
I couldn’t let that happen. Not to Cain.
I hadn’t been able to dig up much on Baker—he barely existed online—but I did find a foreclosure notice. He was about to lose his house, and Cain, a syndicate lieutenant with money to spare, could’ve saved it with a single wire transfer. If Baker was drowning, it was because Cain had let him sink.
Then again, Baker was trying to make his nephew disappear, so I guess the “love” went both ways.
Nazaire, of course, hadn’t been able to resist. He’d do anything to hurt Brien. I was starting to think this vendetta against Brien was personal. I just wish I knew why.
But why me? This was the kind of assignment my father gave to his inner circle, not to me.
My head jerked up, a horrible suspicion sinking its talons into my brain.
Maybe it wasn’t a coincidence. Maybe Nazaire had found out about me and Cain.
We’d been discreet, meeting only a handful of times, and always when we were both in the same place for other reasons.
Except Paris.
Cain had made that trip for one reason: me.
Had Jerome or Manny seen something? Heard something?
A knock on my door brought me to my feet, heart racing.
It was only Perla, breezing in to help transform me into something glittering and presentable.
The last thing I wanted was to play dress-up at a party.
But if Dussault had asked for me by name, staying home wasn’t an option.
So I let her choose a dress—a sparkly pewter slip—and pull my curls back with a diamond clip, leaving a few tendrils to soften my face.
“There.” She handed me a pair of diamond-and-platinum hoops. “You’ll outshine every vampire in the place. If I looked half that good in sparkles, I’d bathe in them.”
“Thanks.” I dredged up a smile.
She caught my gaze in the mirror. “Nyx?”
I reached for the second earring. “Mm?”
“If you ever leave…take me, all right? I don’t want to be left behind.”
I stilled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Hurt flashed across her face, and I cringed inwardly. But why was she asking tonight of all times? I’d been so careful.
“Of course,” she said. “Forget I asked.” Her teeth caught her lower lip. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”
We both knew who she meant.
I inserted the second earring, the platinum cool against my skin. “Tell them what?”
She gave a half-hearted smile and held up a sheer silk shrug. “How about something for those bare shoulders?”
“Perfect.” I took it from her, the fabric delicate between my fingers. A breath passed. Then I made the decision to trust her. “The next time I go to Paris, I’ll take you, oui? Or maybe Madrid—it’s been a few years since I was in Spain.”
She understood. Her smile spread to her eyes. “I’d love that,” she said.