Chapter 19 #2
I wanted to drag her out of that cell, pin her to the wall, force her to meet my eyes.
Make her admit she was mine.
But wanting that—wanting her—felt like a weakness I refused to show. So I punished myself instead.
I got Brien and Talon to meet in the gym and drove my body past the edge. Weights until my muscles screamed, then hand-to-hand combat until my knuckles split and iron filled my mouth.
Sweat, muscle, pain. Like I could beat the weakness back one strike at a time.
After, I took an icy shower and fed from another of my regulars before heading for the war room. I opened my laptop and stared at the screen, still wound tight, the kind of tension that made the walls feel too close.
Unable to work. Unable to stop thinking about Nyx.
It was a relief when William, the castle butler, poked his square, buzz-cut head through my office door. “Chief Valente wants to see you—about your uncle.”
“What about him?”
“He’s dead,” said William.
I sat back. So the sonuvabitch had washed up somewhere. “What does Valente want?”
William shrugged a beefy shoulder. “You’re Baker’s only family on the island.”
“Tell him I’m busy. Brien left me in charge.” He was with Twilight—the two took a nightly swim in the Atlantic (which was insanely cold in early March, even for a vampire)—and Talon was still on parental leave.
“I’m afraid Valente is being persistent, sir. Your uncle’s death was suspicious. Broken bones and such. There wasn’t much of him after the sharks got to him, of course.”
I smiled. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Me, too, sir.” The butler smiled back.
“And Valente’s here, you say?”
“Yes, sir. He insists on speaking to you in person.”
I closed my laptop and rose to my feet. It’s not like I was getting much done anyway. “Where is he?”
“In the upper lair. The drawing room.”
“Tell him I’ll be right there. And make him comfortable—give him something to drink, pastries, whatever.”
“Very good,” he said and left.
The upper floors were all old-world decadence.
Brien’s father, the first Maritime primus, had carved the place out of stone and ego.
French opulence welded to Nova Scotian grit—crimson wallpaper, bone-white panels, polished marble floors, furniture that could’ve been stolen from Versailles. There was even a godsdamn ballroom.
Sometimes I still couldn’t believe I ended up here. The luxury felt like a costume, and me a stray dressed up in borrowed clothes. Yet here I was, a fucking syndicate lieutenant.
Two decades ago, even I wouldn’t have bet on me ending up as one of Brien’s righthand men. I flashed on myself, wild and half-starved, trailing Brien’s mother, Prima Lenore, into the castle’s foyer. I’d been wide-eyed at the sheer wealth, and the power behind it.
Tall and blond like her son, the prima had appeared in the island jail where me and Talon were doing thirty days to offer us both a deal: agree to be Brien’s bodyguards and she’d turn us.
The two of us had exchanged a slack-jawed look, then said “Yes, ma’am,” at the same time. We were nobody then, just a pair of idiots trying to prove what badasses we were.
As the willowy blond vampire had led us through the halls to the cavern beneath the lair where she would turn us, I made myself a promise. I’d survive transition, no matter what. No twenty-year-old kid wants to die, but I didn’t care that much about living.
What I wanted was payback, to shove my new status in my aunt and uncle’s faces.
And I’d done it. Over and over and over.
Talon had wondered why I didn’t simply off Baker, put the bastard out of his misery.
But I’d enjoyed humbling him. Had fucking loved hitting him again and again—in his pocketbook, where it hurt him the most.
It still hadn’t been enough. Nothing I did could make up for my aunt and uncle’s abuse. I hadn’t even wanted an apology. They could’ve crawled to me on their knees begging forgiveness, and I would’ve laughed and buried my boot in their soft bellies.
In the drawing room, Valente was on his feet, cradling a coffee cup in one long-fingered hand, studying the ornate gold clock on the mantel like he was trying to figure out how it was put together.
A fifth-generation islander, he was tall and lean, and steady in that way locals trusted.
I didn’t know him well, but he had a rep as a fair man.
“Lieutenant.” He set his cup on a saucer on the antique coffee table and calmly met my gaze. “Thank you for seeing me.”
“Of course.” We shook hands, then I waved at a pair of green brocade couches. “Sit, please.”
“I’ll stand, thanks anyway.” A grin creased his leathery cheek. “I spend too much time on my ass as it is.
I clasped my hands behind my back. “I hear you found Baker.”
“Yes.” He explained that his skull and few spare parts—a shin, a hand—had washed up on a beach a few kilometers south.
“You need me to identify him?” I asked.
“That won’t be necessary. The dental records confirmed it.”
Behind my back, I tapped one finger against the opposite wrist. “So why are you here?”
“Your uncle didn’t leave a will. That means the house will come to you.”
No fucking way.
“He has a sister,” I pointed out.
“Not anymore. The sister passed a couple of years ago. And her children aren’t keen on hanging onto some run-down place on a syndicate-run island. No offense, Lieutenant.”
I lifted a shoulder. “None taken.”
“So, that leaves you. The land will revert to the syndicate, of course, but the house will have to go through probate, which could take years. In the meantime, I’m sure you’ll want to maintain it.”
“Let the bank have it,” I said. “I hear he was about to lose it anyway.”
Valente’s gray eyes turned cold as the ocean in January. “I think we both know your syndicate owns the bank. So to my way of thinking, you already own it.”
My own eyes narrowed. “Then let it rot.”
His jaw worked—but he didn’t let up, like a terrier with a bone.
“I think we both want to avoid making waves, eh? I’ll write up Baker’s death as an unfortunate accident—guy went in the water and didn’t survive.
All I’m asking is that you patch up his old place.
It’s either you or the town footing the bill, and seeing as you’re set to inherit the building, it seems fair you step up.
We’ve got young families here, decent folks who’d be happy to rent a big house like that from you. ”
His meaning was clear. Sure, I could pull rank on him—on Lilith Island, the syndicate was the law—but keeping the locals happy was good business.
If Valente put it around that a Maritime lieutenant had pitched one of their own off the cliffs, it’d cause trouble, even if the guy was an ass like Baker.
“In that case,” I replied, “I’d be happy to take responsibility for the house.”
He gave me an easy smile like he’d never doubted I’d see it his way. “I’ll let the mayor know.”
I walked Valente out. He gave me another firm handshake and drove off in his syndicate-issued SUV. I followed him through the portcullis and stood on the edge of the cliff.
The wind tore at my shirt, cold teeth chewing at the cotton, while the sea below battered itself against the rock—relentless, beautiful. I stayed until salt coated my tongue.
Wondering why I didn’t feel more.
My aunt and uncle were gone. On their way to being erased from even the islanders’ memories.
I should’ve been satisfied. Triumphant, even.
Instead, everything felt muted. Off.
And where triumph should’ve been, there was only…emptiness.
Back in the castle, I headed for the dungeon like a damn homing pigeon, stopping only long enough to grab the bag of clothes I’d ordered for Nyx—underwear, a camisole, another sweater, designer jeans.
I found her seated yoga-style on the cot, sketchpad balanced on her knees, hand moving in quick, graceful strokes. Too absorbed in what she was creating to notice me enter.
Curious, I edged closer.
A mysterious blond man in a peacoat—like the painting in the show—stood among the trees. Me, I guess. Only this time, Leclerc Castle loomed behind me, its battlements sprouting wings, huge bats tearing their way into a dark, furious sky.
My shadow fell across the drawing.
Nyx jolted and slammed the pad shut. “Yes?” she said without looking at me.
She’d washed up—she had that clean-soap smell—but her hair hung limply around her shoulders. Maybe I should take her upstairs for a shower? But it wasn’t just her hair. She seemed smaller, her cheeks pale under her natural tan.
I raised the bag like an offering. “I brought you more clothes.”
“Thank you.” Still no eye contact. Not even a glance at the bag.
I dropped the bag on the cot and crossed my arms over my chest, fighting the twitch in my knee, the urge to pace, to shake off the feeling that she was slipping further and further out of my reach.
“Don’t—” I ground out.
“What?” She raised her eyes, but her gaze landed somewhere around my shoulder.
“Don’t thank me. You were right the other night. I don’t—just don’t do it, alright?”
She placed the pencil and a blobby gray eraser in a metal box—just so—and closed the lid. “Whatever you say, Lieutenant.”
My lungs gusted with frustration. I had the urge to smash my fist into the stone wall behind me. “Why are you so stubborn?”
Her fingers clamped around the pad, knuckles whitening. “Why are you asking me to betray my sire?”
“Weren’t you going to betray me?”
“No.” Her brows formed a dark V above her nose, but she finally lifted her gaze to my face. “I told you, I was just there to hear your uncle out. Then I would’ve gotten word to you.”
“I wish I could believe you.”
The truth pulsed beneath my ribs. I want to believe you.
A bitter smile tugged at her mouth. “You never trusted me, did you? That whole time, I’ll bet you were checking up on me, making sure I wasn’t playing you.
But I never did, did I? I could’ve tipped my father off about our meetings.
You were careful, but you were also vulnerable.
I could’ve stabbed you in the heart myself. ”
She was on her feet now, the pad tossed aside. Her chest jerked in short, uneven breaths, and two spots of color burned on her cheeks, her hurt and anger slamming into me like a physical blow.
I let my arms fall to my sides. Nobody could fake that kind of pain. Or at least, Nyx couldn’t. Not with me.
With me, she’d been unguarded, allowing me to see the woman beneath the gloss and bravado.
My stomach caved in. What if I’d screwed up? What if she’d been telling the truth all along? And I hadn’t believed her, even after she’d shown me, again and again, that she was on my side. I’d been too blind, too suspicious, too ready to see treachery in every corner.
And because of it—just like Rio had warned—I’d turned her against me. Made an enemy of the only woman who could make me feel something.
“You’re a screw-up, boy. Always have been, always will be.”
Now I didn’t want to punch the wall. I wanted to drive my skull through it.
Nyx wasn’t done. “I could’ve taken advantage, turned you over to my father long before the other night.
But I didn’t. Because I wanted you. I liked you.
I wouldn’t have hurt you for the world. But I will not betray my sire.
” Her finger stabbed into my sternum, one sharp poke for each word, and I kept my hands at my sides, accepting I deserved that and more. “I. Am. Not. A. Blood-rat.”
She stopped and drew a serrated breath. “Think about it. If I help you get to him, how can you ever trust me to be loyal to you and your syndicate?”
I worked my jaw back and forth, unable to come up with a good answer.
She turned away, shoulders rigid. “Just go, okay?”
I stared at the back of her head, at the way she held herself too stiff, like she was bracing for more pain. She was right. Why would we trust her if she switched sides like that?
But I knew why I’d pushed her.
I’d wanted her to choose me over Nazaire.
I’d wanted her, body and soul. Complete surrender.
The admission poked a tender spot inside me. I fisted my hands. Pathetic. That was the abandoned three-year-old talking, the toddler who’d lost his father and didn’t even remember his mother. Family was just a word for me until I met Talon, and later, Brien.
It was different for Nyx. She had a father, even if he was a twisted mofo. I couldn’t fault her for being loyal to him. Blood chains ran deep in our world; most of us could trace our lineage back a thousand-plus years.
Didn’t mean I didn’t resent the grip the man had on her. I did.
Irrational, sure, but I wasn’t rational about Nyx. She got under my skin, past every defense I thought I had.
But that was on me, not her.
The real enemy here wasn’t Nyx. It was Nazaire.
I caught her by the shoulders. “Hey.”
She tried to wrench free, but I turned her to face me so I could look her in the eyes. “You’re right,” I said.
She drew herself up to her full height, proud as a queen. Then she frowned. “I am?”
“Yes. You’re right, and I’m wrong. You’re loyal. I respect that, actually.”
A scoff. “If I’m right, then why am I in a cell?”
“You’re not.” I released her and grabbed the bag of clothes from the cot. “Let’s go.”
She slow-blinked and didn’t move—until I reached for the sketchpad and box of pencils. Then she snatched them up, clutching them to her chest.
“Where are you taking me?”
“The garden suite. You’ll still be confined to one area, but there’s an enclosed garden, a shower, a comfortable bed.”
“What about Brien? He’s okay with this?”
“Let me worry about Brien.” I pulled the door wide. “Now, are you coming or not?”
“I’m coming.” She jammed her feet into the short black lug-soles without tying them and stumbled after me, art supplies hugged to her chest, boots clomping against the stone.
“You’re gonna break your neck.” Shaking my head, I handed the bag of clothes to the guard and crouched to tie them myself.
When I rose, her straight, dark brows were pinched together. “I can’t figure you out.”
A humorless breath escaped me. I took the clothes from the guard and guided her out of the cell.
“That makes two of us. Because I can’t figure me out either.”