She didn’t belong here. Nephilim or not, she was an outsider in this opulent place and these women knew it. Could they see that in reality she was a twenty-nine-year-old struggling accountant from Chicago who’d just spent her last five hundred euros merely for the chance to get in the door of this rarefied world?
Could they detect her determination, or the sheer desperation in her plan for being there?
Ashayla stared right back, defiant.
These women and their disapproving, superior gazes didn’t matter. Only one woman’s opinion of her mattered, and that was Ashayla’s grandmother. The aging Nephilim had been Ashayla’s only family since her own mother had died when Ashayla was a child.
Back home in Chicago, now it was Gran who was dying, after more than a hundred years of living in the mortal realm. She probably had no more than mere weeks left, growing more frail and faded with each passing day. The thought put an ache in Ashayla’s chest. It also renewed her resolve to see tonight’s plan through, no matter what.
In all their years together, Gran had never asked anything of her granddaughter. But a few months ago, as the old Nephilim recognized that her time was drawing thinner, she’d become fixated on an heirloom pendant that had fallen out of the family’s hands nearly two decades ago.
That Ashayla’s mother had been the one to lose the pendant—sold it to a local pawn shop without Gran’s knowledge, in fact—only made it harder to bear Gran’s increasing worry over the piece.
Gran wanted the pendant back. She talked of little else lately. She wanted to see it again, to hold it in her hands before she died and know that it was returned to where it belonged.
Against all odds, Ashayla had managed to track the semiprecious gemstone necklace from the pawn shop to a jewelry dealer across the country who later sold it to an antique shop in Canada, who then sold it in a lot of other baubles and trinkets to a private collector. That private collector, she’d eventually discovered, was the House of Ebarron.
Ashayla had thought her search was over. She sent a message through Nephilim channels to the Master of Ebarron, explaining the situation, but her request to buy the pendant back was denied. She sent another, better offer. Another refusal.
She tried again and again over the past five months, but each time, her request was denied. According to the responses from Sorin Ebarron, he was in the business of collecting items of value and interest, not trading them. As he’d so succinctly stated in his final written reply, treasure won by the House of Ebarron was never surrendered.
Ashayla probably shouldn’t have sent her final message, but the arrogance and disregard of Ebarron’s Master had pissed her off like nothing ever had in her life.
How dare he refuse a dying woman’s request? What kind of cold-hearted bastard was the Master of Ebarron?
Really, he’d left her no alternative.
Gran would have that pendant in her hands before she took her last breath, no matter what Ashayla had to risk to get it back. Nothing—and no one—was going to stop her.
Determination steeling her, Ashayla strode to one of the polished marble and gold-fitted sinks to wash the alcohol off her hands and clothing. Her reflection gazed back at her, mouth grim with resolve, cobalt blue eyes unflinching. Not that she wasn’t nervous too.
She was undertaking an enormous risk, plotting to steal from Ebarron’s famed treasury.
But she hadn’t come empty-handed.
Hidden in one of her tall boots was a small vial of Nephilim magic. The black market potion had cost her nearly a full year’s wages—all of her savings, gone. She could always make more money. Gran’s time, however, was limited. And Ashayla’s mission to bring her some peace before she passed had run up against a very stubborn, uncompromising roadblock named Sorin of Ebarron.
So, she had traded her savings for a single dose of magic that promised to render her invisible—completely incorporeal—for eight full minutes on demon soil. Not even the strongest Incubus security spell could prevent her from entering Ebarron’s treasure room.
Now all she had to do was slip away by herself to find it, swallow the elixir and step inside the vault like a ghost.
Then hope to hell she could find Gran’s pendant and hightail it out of the casino without getting spotted by Ebarron’s Watchmen or anyone else.
All in under eight minutes.
The plan had seemed reasonable enough all the times she’d played it through in her mind. Risky as fuck, but doable. Now, she felt a niggle of fear slide up her neck.
If she failed to find the pendant? If she got caught…
She didn’t want to consider either of those scenarios.
And the further she delayed in getting started, the worse the chances that her companion or someone else at the table was going to notice she’d been gone for too long.
Steeling herself for what she had to do, Ashayla dried off and stepped out to the hall. Instead of heading back to the roulette room, she went the opposite direction, deeper into the sprawling corridors and sumptuous antechambers of the place.
Research and rumors both speculated that the House of Ebarron kept their treasure secreted somewhere beneath the grand casino. Ashayla strolled nonchalantly, but with purpose, pausing to admire some of the priceless masterworks framed on the walls while surreptitiously taking note of the dozens of dark-suited Watchmen posted all over the casino.
She drifted farther along a promenade of elegant arches and vaulted ceilings, bypassing a trio of pretty little Monet paintings with barely a blink of notice as she concentrated on the positions of Ebarron’s guards. They were everywhere. Big, muscular Incubi whose shrewd eyes scanned the crowds like vigilant hawks.
As she strolled deeper into the corridor, toward the casino’s private salons, the challenge of what she was up against really began to sink in. Every ornate door and passageway seemed to have its own dedicated security detail.
Dammit.
There would be no slipping past any of Ebarron’s Watchmen without their notice.
Which meant she’d have to use the dose of magic even before she located the treasure room, leaving less time to retrieve the pendant and make her esc— “Are you lost?”
The deep, unrushed voice halted her in her tracks. Shit. Speaking of Watchmen keeping an eye over every corner…
Ashayla forced a smile and slowly pivoted her head to look at the guard. “I was just, ah…”
Good lord, he was gorgeous. Standing well over six feet tall, he was golden-haired, tawny-skinned, and had a breathtakingly handsome face that would have seemed more suited to an angel than a demon-spawned Incubus.
Ashayla’s throat went suddenly dry. The rest of her started a slow, heated melt as she stared at him, her female body responding of its own volition to the sex demon’s presence. Her pulse sped toward a gallop. Heat climbed up her throat, simultaneously spreading lower, over her breasts and down to the core of her body.
She tried to ignore the carnal awareness that ran up her limbs and into her blood, but his allure was startlingly powerful.
And she could tell that he wasn’t even trying to affect her. If this was his sexual pull at rest, what would he be capable of with the added strength of his thrall?
She damned well didn’t want to find out.
Like all Incubi, his age was impossible to pinpoint. Outwardly the Watchman in his black suit and crisp white shirt appeared to be in his thirties. In truth, she knew he could be much, much older.
When she seemed incapable of speaking, he folded his arms over his muscled chest, piercing her with a suspicious, topaz-colored stare. “I asked you a question. What are you doing out here?”
He spoke with an air of total authority. And that low rumble of a voice was made even more arresting by the hint of a Romanian accent, which rolled off his tongue like dark, red wine.
Ashayla summoned her composure enough to make up a feasible excuse. As anxious as she was to get away from him, she also didn’t want to give him reason to think she h
ad anything to hide. Nervously, she licked her lips.
“I was just admiring some of the art.” She gestured to a moody Post-Impressionist painting in front of her, an obvious, but rare Van Gogh. “I’ve never seen such an impressive collection up close like this before.”
This painting, like all the others on the silk-covered walls in the palatial casino, was clearly an original, one that any museum would have kept protected from the public by a thick glass case and yards of velvet ropes.
Not Ebarron. They displayed their spoils out in the open, close enough to touch.
As if they were certain no one would ever dare.
The arrogance was staggering.
Ashayla forced a placid smile. “I would’ve expected priceless pieces like this to be under lock and key somewhere. In the House’s treasure room with the rest of Ebarron’s legendary hoard, maybe.”
It was a desperate fish for information—even a small hint—about the vault she needed to locate. But the Watchman didn’t seem inclined to take her bait.
He approached now, his gait smooth, his body moving with a big cat’s coiled strength. “Isn’t it better that they aren’t hidden away? Out here, everyone can enjoy them.”
Ashayla scoffed softly under her breath. “Or maybe the House of Ebarron just wants everyone else to see what can never be theirs.”
The Incubus’s dark-lashed eyes narrowed. He moved in close to her, standing beside her in front of the painting. His scent invaded her senses—spicy, warm, and utterly male. She felt his scrutiny of her deepen, and she cursed herself for letting the remark slip.
“I’ve never seen you here before, Nephilim.” The weight of his gaze was a physical thing. Probing. Heated. Far too compelling. “You’re American?”
She really didn’t want to have this conversation with him. The last thing she needed was to create a lasting impression on one of Ebarron’s guards, let alone raise questions about herself she had no intention of answering.
“I should get back to the roulette room. My date is waiting for me—”
The Watchman’s shrewd gaze held her. “How long have you known Korda Marakel?”
Ashayla froze. How could he possibly—? Oh, of course, she reasoned in the same instant. Security cameras. The casino was probably equipped with countless eyes in the sky.
One more hurdle she’d have to clear.
“I only met him recently. In Bucharest,” she replied, figuring it was safest to stick to the truth. Or something close to it. She licked her dry lips. “I’m here on vacation and the famous Ebarron casino is something I’ve always wanted to see. Korda offered to show it to me.”
“Is that so?” The Incubus tilted his head, seeming even more intrigued. His penetrating topaz gaze assessed her in a way that made the sensual buzz in her veins vibrate into the very center of her being. “Can I presume that you’ve come here to play, Miss…?”
The way he asked the question, the way he coaxed her to give him her name, put an uninvited, heatedly erotic image in her mind. Tangled sheets and soft moans, his dark gold head buried between her spread thighs.
Holy shit.
Was he doing that to her deliberately, or was it her own imagination running hot and wild?
Ashayla blinked hard. She stepped back, needing the distance.
This man was more than dangerous. She had to get away from him at once and hope he found another woman to distract him while she tried to figure out how to do what she needed to do.
She anxiously licked her lips again, then cleared her throat. “Like I said, I have to go find my…um, Korda. Which way is the roulette room?”
“I’ll take you there.”
“No.” She shook her head, started to take a step away from the Watchman. “You don’t need to do that. I’m sure I can find it on my own.”
His mouth curved into an unfriendly smile. “I insist.”
Given little choice, Ashayla fell in beside him and walked in silence to the gaming room where Korda waited. It didn’t escape her notice that the Watchman snagged the attention of every pair of eyes in the place—female and male alike. The people in the casino stared at him in open curiosity.
In deferential awe.
And suddenly a terrible dread settled over Ashayla.
She’d made a mistake talking to this Incubus, letting him see her in the casino.
“Korda,” he muttered from beside her as she accompanied him to the roulette table. It was more of an accusation than a greeting.
Ashayla’s hired date grinned around her with a smugness she didn’t understand. “Have you come to kick me out on my arse, old friend?”
“No. I have a more interesting idea.” The Watchman who was no Watchman motioned to the croupier. “I’ve decided to play a few rounds.”
“Yes, Master Sorin. Of course.”
Ashayla stood there in stunned silence, not even certain she was breathing.
She felt wooden, torn between contempt and utter defeat, as the Master of Ebarron—her despised nemesis of the past five months—moved into place on the other side of her at the table.
CHAPTER THREE
As Sorin took his place on the other side of the woman, sandwiching her between himself and Korda where they stood at the roulette table, he swore he felt the air temperature drop a few degrees.
Back in the gallery corridor, there had been heat in her captivating dark blue eyes when she looked at him. Her creamy cheeks had flushed pink as they spoke, and he’d felt her desire for him like a physical caress.
Being an Incubus, Sorin’s senses were highly attuned to sexual interest and arousal. A few moments ago, the Nephilim had been throwing off both like hot sparks.
Now? It was as if she blocked him with a wall of ice. With barely restrained contempt, if he had to guess.
Interesting.
Most women would trample each other to get near one of the Incubi Masters. Not her. He was positive he’d never met the female before, yet it was clear enough that she detested him.
Why? He was eager to find out.
He was even more eager to feel her desire again. To taste it.
To taste her.
The approving growl that worked its way up his throat made her inch slightly farther from him. Sorin didn’t allow her the distance. He edged her way as the croupier spun the wheel and took the first bets at the table. Korda made a cautious wager on a split. Sorin called a single number and slid half his chips onto black.
Beside him, the Nephilim arched a slender brow. He could see her mentally calculating the tens of thousands of euros he’d just staked on the wheel, but she didn’t so much as glance at him. Not even when Sorin allowed the outside of his thigh to brush against hers.
But he caught her sudden intake of breath at the contact. He detected the sharp spike of her heart rate at the same time, and it was all he could do to refrain from touching a lot more of her as the ball rattled in the slowing roulette wheel.
Oh, she wanted him, even now.
But she was determined as hell to deny it—to herself and to him.
Because of the Incubus on the other side of her? Sorin doubted that. She didn’t seem interested in Korda Marakel either.
So, what kind of game was she playing?
She stared straight ahead, ramrod still, as the roulette ball found its pocket and the croupier called the winner. “Twenty, black. Congratulations, Master Sorin.”
He won the next spin too, and all of the players but Korda Marakel retreated from the table with their pockets emptied into Ebarron’s bank.
Korda was down to his last few thousand in chips. The Incubus gave a low chuckle as he toyed with his dwindling stack. “What is this, old friend? Some kind of revenge for what happened with Greta?”
Sorin smirked at the attempted jab. “If I’d been after revenge, you would’ve paid it a long time ago, old friend.” Now the Nephilim glanced at him, confusion in her night-dark eyes. Sorin held her curious gaze but spoke to the demon beside her. “You’re i
n my House now. If you sit down to play, you’d better be prepared to lose.”
To his surprise, she scoffed quietly. “No doubt especially in your House.”
Her accusation was so unexpected, it took him aback. Sorin cocked his head at her. “Are you implying that Ebarron would stoop to cheating?”
“You tell me.” Her expression was placid, unreadable.
Maddeningly so.
As the croupier put the wheel in motion and called for bets, Sorin reached over and took the Nephilim’s hand in his.
She sucked in a sharp breath as his fingers closed around hers. “What are you—”
He drew her hand toward him without explanation, feeling her pulse jackhammer under his fingertips. Their contact felt electric, hardening him in seconds.
Her eyes were wide now, uncertain. But underneath her confusion, curiosity flared. The chilly front she tried to erect between them couldn’t hide the heat that still burned inside her.
Sorin smiled a dangerous smile. He was a man accustomed to getting what he wanted, and right now, he couldn’t think of anything he wanted more than to make this icy blond female combust in a screaming, soul-shattering orgasm. He could do it right now, with the power of the thrall, but where was the challenge in that?
“You seem to think I don’t play fairly,” Sorin murmured as he brought her fingers down onto his pile of chips, his own hand still covering hers. “So, I want you to place my next bet.”
“No, I—” She shook her head. Even though his grasp was loose on her, she didn’t try to pull away.
“You and I both know this is what you want.” His grin deepened with meaning, and he could see she was smart enough to catch his innuendo. “Go on,” he demanded. “My fortune is in your hands.”
Her soft features froze over a bit at his remark. The instant Sorin relaxed his hold on her, she shoved an entire stack of chips across the table onto the red number five.
On the other side of her, Korda chuckled, then bet the same amount on a black number.
The black won.
Masters of Seduction Volume 2: Books 5-8: Paranormal Romance Box Set Page 2
