CHAPTER FIVE
Crude. Overbearing. Despicable.
Seated alone in an elegant dining room inside Ebarron House’s living quarters, Ashayla mentally recited a litany of condemnations for the demon Master who’d brought her there about an hour ago. Sorin had personally escorted her from the casino to the private elevator that carried them up to the Incubi stronghold a dozen floors above, then he’d left her by herself without a word of excuse or explanation.
As she waited, dreading what might come next, she couldn’t help reliving the time she’d already spent in Sorin’s company.
She couldn’t help recalling the way he teased her, taunted her, even charmed her—all against her will. The memory of his kiss still blazed on her lips, on her tongue. Just the thought of his hot, demanding mouth on hers made liquid heat pool in her core.
But he was wrong if he thought he could seduce her. No matter what she’d wagered tonight, she had no intention of giving herself to him willingly.
She would rather chew off her own arm than give the demon that satisfaction.
Arrogant. Infuriating. Bastard.
He may have won their bet, but she hadn’t forgotten why she was there in the first place.
Reaching down to her boot, she slipped her fingers inside the black leather to where the small metal vial of Nephilim magic was concealed. Still there. Maybe this awful detour could be used to her advantage. Maybe there would be an opportunity to slip away from Sorin later tonight and search for the treasure room.
Or maybe she should use the potion for her own self-preservation and escape before the Incubus returned to collect on her debt.
As her fingers curled around the vial, the massive double doors opened across the room and Sorin strode inside.
“I apologize for leaving you here by yourself for so long. Family matters required my attention.” He said it as if she was a guest invited for tea and he the polite host.
Ashayla casually brought her hands into her lap and shrugged. “I hope you didn’t rush back on my account. You could’ve stayed away all night as far as I’m concerned.”
He grunted, the corner of his mouth quirking. As he approached the table and took the seat at the head of it to her right, several Incubi servants in formal attire followed from outside the room.
The men wheeled in two large dining carts draped in white linen and loaded with dome-covered dinner plates and fine china table service for two. On another cart came a chilling bottle of champagne and sparkling crystal glasses. The servants began efficiently arranging the silver and glassware on the table in front of Ashayla and him. They placed one covered plate in front of her, another in front of Sorin.
It was lovely, all of it. And oh…it smelled delicious, even from under the polished silver lids.
She swiveled a suspicious glance on Sorin. “What’s the meaning of this?”
“Dinner. I thought you’d be hungry.”
Was he kidding? “No.” She shook her head. “You can’t actually expect that I’m going to sit here and eat with you like I’m your guest and this is…what, some twisted kind of date?”
One tawny brow lifted. “Would you prefer we skip the formalities and head right to my bed?” Sorin’s handsome face was placid as he looked at her, but dark power stormed in his penetrating gaze. “Or shall we have the meal cleared away and make use of the table instead?”
Ashayla snapped her mouth closed before she could wade any further into his snare. She sat in mute outrage as the servants hastily finished setting the table.
When they left and closed the doors behind them, she glared at him. “I suppose you enjoy humiliating women in front of your household staff?”
“Not at all,” he said, his tone solemn. “Not ever.”
She scoffed. “I see. Only me, then.”
“Not even you, Asha. I have the utmost respect for any female in my care or safekeeping. As for my staff, this is an Incubi House. Talk of sex and pleasure doesn’t shock them, I assure you. I could’ve spread you beneath me right in front of them and they wouldn’t have batted an eye.”
The image leapt into her mind with instant, vivid clarity and she swallowed. Hard.
“Heathens,” she muttered, even as the thought of being pinned to the table under Sorin’s strong body wreaked havoc on her thoughts and sent arrows of heat streaking through her veins. “If that kind of behavior passes for respect in your world, it’s no wonder so many Nephilim prefer to live among humans instead of being a mate to one of the Incubi. Is that what happened with Greta?”
He drew back at that remark, frowning in question. “You don’t know anything about that.”
“Back in the casino, Korda Marakel made it sound as if she was important to you. Was she?” Asha studied him. “Is she still?”
His sharp, short exhalation was dismissive. Derisive, even. “Greta was a brief, pleasant diversion from my duties, and a family-approved candidate as my mate. At least she was, until she started fucking any Incubus who would have her. Including, finally, my former friend, Korda. I cut them both out of my life five years ago. I haven’t looked back since.”
He chuckled darkly after he said it, those unnerving eyes holding her in an oddly amused stare. Asha stared right back, utterly confused.
Lord help her, but she did not know what to make of this man at all. “You can laugh over losing a lover and a friend? Are you crazy, or just that callous?”
“Neither.” He leaned forward, his elbows braced on the edge of the table. “I find it funny to realize I was more disappointed when your letters and emails stopped coming than I was when Greta moved on with Korda.”
Now it was her turn to laugh. “I don’t believe that for a minute. I’m pretty sure I called you a selfish, pompous jerk in the last message I sent you.”
“Actually, you called me a selfish, pompous jackass. One who, and I quote, obviously doesn’t have an ounce of compassion in his Hell-spawned body.”
Asha bit her lip, recalling that heated final reply with fair accuracy herself. “I don’t hear you denying it.”
He shrugged mildly. “No, you don’t. What about you?”
“What about me?”
“You’re a beautiful woman,” he pointed out. “Headstrong and reckless, obviously. Opinionated and judgmental too—”
“Gee, thanks.”
“—but lovely,” he said. “So why hasn’t another man—another Incubus—convinced you to become his mate? Don’t bother to deny it. I checked into your family background after your first letter arrived.”
“You what?”
He shrugged again, utterly unapologetic. “I was…curious. I am curious, Asha. Do all of the Nephilim women in your line despise my kind?”
“Of course not.”
“Do you?”
She frowned. “No. I don’t despise all of your kind.”
He grunted. “I see. Only me, then.”
A twinge of guilt pricked her to hear her own words tossed back at her, but she shut it down just as swiftly.
No, no, no. She was not going to let him make her feel that her dislike toward him was misplaced. After five months and a dozen denied requests for him to show one tiny ounce of sympathy for the wishes of a dying old woman, Sorin Ebarron had earned every bit of her resentment.
After his profane wager that had landed her in his hands for the duration of the night—God help her, in his bed—Ashayla had even more cause to despise him.
She shook her head. “Why wouldn’t you just give the pendant back?”
“The piece belongs to Ebarron now. That’s why. We acquired it honestly and fairly, the same way we’ve acquired every other piece of jewelry, art and arcana in the Ebarron treasury.”
Indignation flickered inside her as she watched him calmly reach for the champagne and pour some into her glass as if the discussion was over. “That pendant is my grandmother’s. It never should have been sold at all. Haven’t you amassed a large enough hoard without this one item? How deep is E
barron’s greed that you won’t part with a single trivial piece?”
“Value is a relative thing. And if we forfeited every bit of treasure each time someone expressed regret over losing it to us, the House vaults would be empty.” He offered her the filled crystal flute, but instead of letting go when she reached for it, Sorin’s fingers closed over hers. His grasp was light, but firm. Startlingly possessive. “Why would I let go of something I won fair and square?”
Rattled by the contact as much as her body’s reaction to it, Ashayla pulled out of his hold and exhaled a short, frustrated sigh. “We’re not talking about priceless treasure. We’re talking about a simple, polished stone on a silver chain. It’s hardly worth anything beyond sentimental value and you know it.”
“I know no such thing. I know only what you’ve told me. That it’s a family heirloom supposedly sold by mistake a long time ago, and now a dying old Nephilim is suddenly desperate to have it back before she pushes out her last breath. Maybe the person I should be asking about all of this is her.”
“Don’t,” Ashayla murmured, wounded by his cold tone. “Don’t speak of my grandmother so dismissively. You don’t know anything about her. She raised me. She’s all the family I have in this world. You have no right to talk about her as if her life and the things that matter to her are not important.”
He’d gone silent as she berated him, solemn. When he finally spoke, his deep voice was quiet with sincerity. “Forgive me. I didn’t realize—”
“No, you wouldn’t have. But now you do, so leave her out of this.” Her tone was still bitter, her heart still stung and defensive.
She took a drink of her champagne, missing Gran like crazy now. Hoping she was okay back home without Ashayla to look after her.
Sorin moved his chair out and stood without speaking. As Ashayla took a larger sip from her glass, she felt, rather than saw, him come around to the other side of her.
As formally as the most meticulously trained server, he unfolded the crisp white linen napkin and gently placed it on her lap. Then he lifted the dome from her dinner plate, revealing a gourmet meal of roasted chicken, perfectly steamed vegetables and aromatic sauce.
“Please,” he said softly. “Relax and enjoy your meal, Asha.”
He returned to the head of the table, resuming his place without another word. They ate in a strangely companionable silence, and she found it difficult to keep from stealing glances at him as he carved his meat and drank his champagne.
She couldn’t deny her attraction to him on a physical level. With his glorious golden hair, arresting topaz eyes and that wickedly sensual mouth, to say the Incubus was handsome was an understatement. And his body…even in his conservative dark suit and white shirt, it was more than obvious that Sorin Ebarron was six-plus feet of lean, muscled perfection.
Worst of all, he knew it.
Looking at him at the table beside her, dining with him as though they weren’t engaged in an impossible standoff, Ashayla would have preferred his infuriating arrogance and demonic swagger.
This thoughtful, civilized man in the room with her now was more dangerous by far.
Finally given some peace, Ashayla realized she was hungry after all, and her dinner, as she suspected, was amazing. She finished most of it a few moments after Sorin had cleaned his plate completely.
They drank the rest of the champagne, then he rose and walked over to help pull out her chair. “Shall we?”
“Shall we, what?”
“Come with me, Asha.”
Oh, God.
Left with little choice, she stood up and faced him, uncertain. Nervous to find out what was to come next.
CHAPTER SIX
With his broad palm hovering possessively at the small of her back, Sorin guided her out of the dining room and down a long hallway. Like the casino a dozen stories below, Ebarron’s mansion fortress was opulent and awe-inspiring. Rare art decorated every wall space and corner. Intricate parquet flooring gleamed beneath her feet.
Sorin led her deeper into the sumptuous Incubus stronghold, his warm hand at her spine generating heat she felt like a brand. They passed a large banquet room filled with other Incubi and several beautiful women, all dressed in sophisticated clothing and conversing in hushed, serious murmurs over a generous spread of food and wine.
Most of the females were Nephilim, Ashayla noted, as more than a few heads turned to look at her in question or surprise as Sorin shuttled her past the open doors without a word of excuse or introduction.
As for the males in the room, they all bore the golden good looks of the Ebarron line, though none seemed quite as commanding a presence as Sorin. A fact that only made sense, considering he was the Master of his House. She wasn’t familiar with the intricacies of Incubi politics, but she’d learned enough here and there to know that each of the nine surviving Houses was ruled by the strongest, most capable male of their line.
Not to mention the most ruthless.
Sorin smoothly guided her along the length of another labyrinthine corridor. No one was in this part of the fortress, and each step seemed to carry them deeper into a world she was unprepared to face. Was he taking her to his bed now? Or did he have some other game in mind?
Ashayla awkwardly cleared her throat. “Where are you taking me?”
His voice was dark velvet beside her. “You’ll see.”
She braced herself as they finally paused in front of a set of ornately carved double doors. The dark wood was emblazoned with the Ebarron griffin and a fluid script written in a language she assumed would date back to the first generations of Incubi, eons past.
Sorin opened the doors without preamble and swung them wide. “After you.”
She glanced into the darkness, confused. Then she heard a soft click behind her as he turned on the switch and light flooded the massive treasure room.
Ashayla whirled on him. “All the rumors say this room is located beneath the casino.”
“Of course they do. Who do you imagine started those rumors?”
His smile was unreadable, somewhere between pride and cautious scrutiny as he gestured for her to enter ahead of him. Ashayla walked inside, not even sure she was breathing as she took in the sight of thousands of rare works of art and sculpture, busts and figures made of precious metals and cases of glittering, priceless jewels. Scores of vibrant tapestries and rolls of parchment scrolls filled another part of the expansive room.
“It’s incredible,” she gasped.
Sorin’s reply was matter-of-fact. “Yes, it is.”
She gaped at him. “It’s an obscene fortune.”
“Yes.”
He started walking ahead of her, heading toward an opened clear case at the far end of the massive collection. When he stopped in front of it, Ashayla glanced down at what it contained and her breath caught in her throat for a different reason.
“Gran’s pendant.”
She’d only seen it a few times when she was child, before her mother pawned it. But she would recognize the tear-shaped, light blue cabochon stone and the modest silver chain anywhere.
It was right there in front of her now. Close enough to touch.
Close enough to take.
Did he mean to give it back to her now?
She looked up at Sorin in question.
If she thought she might find softness in his eyes, that hope vanished the instant her gaze met his. His voice was equally unyielding. “Tell me what this pendant really means to you, Asha.”
“I did tell you, numerous times. It belongs to my gran—”
He made a sound of impatience in the back of his throat. “I don’t think it does. It’s an unusual piece. An unusual stone, if not particularly remarkable. And a chain made of silver? Everyone knows that material is one of the most toxic to the Incubi.”
She had no idea what he was talking about. “It’s been in my family for generations. It would still be with us, if my mother hadn’t pawned it. If she hadn’t been…”
&nb
sp; “What?”
Ashayla shook her head. When she tried to avoid his gaze, Sorin reached out, his fingertips light under her chin as he guided her eyes back to him. “If she hadn’t been what, Asha?”
“Desperate for money.” The words crept up, bitter as bile. “Desperate for her next fix.”
Sorin frowned. “She was an addict?”
What was the point in trying to deny it now? Her mother was gone, dead long ago. Ashayla nodded. “From before I was born, according to Gran. My mother might have been Nephilim, but she had her own kind of demons inside her. Gran said my mother was a little mad, even before her addictions took hold of her.”
“You never mentioned any of this when you wrote to me.”
“Air my family’s shame to a stranger?” she asked softly. “Plead for pity?” God, she would never do either of those things.
Sorin studied her. “You never mentioned it.”
“Would it have made a difference?”
He didn’t answer. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything at all. Then he heaved out a sigh. “It doesn’t matter what either of us might have done before. This is now, after you’ve come to my House under false pretenses. Compassion isn’t part of this equation.”
His level tone stung her worse than had he bellowed at her. She shook her head, trying to think of a way to explain herself, or to justify her reasons. “Sorin, you have to understand—”
“Understand that you didn’t accept my decision, so you thought you would defy it instead? You’ve lied to me about your name and your intentions. I can only guess what you thought you were going to do once you got here.” His sharp-edged features seemed to harden even more as he spoke. He brought his hand toward her face, but despite his cold words and glacial gaze, his fingers were tender when they lit on her cheek. “I’m not a fool, Asha. If you make the mistake of thinking I am, you’ll also find I’m not a forgiving man.”
Masters of Seduction Volume 2: Books 5-8: Paranormal Romance Box Set Page 4
