by Sarah Piper
Thanks to Jacinda’s clever spellcraft, Duchanes turned the foul beasts into a weapon. One Gabriel and his brothers needed to defuse before the human authorities figured out the real story behind a rash of so-called animal attacks plaguing the tri-state area.
“I did what I had to do to survive,” she said. “Same as the rest of the freaks in this city.”
“In this city, witch, death is a kindness. That you’d seek to defy it is nothing less than madness.”
“The grays are already dead.”
“No more than I.” Crowding into her space once more, he ran a finger along her jawline, his touch as deceptively soft as his whisper. “Would you bring me back? Breathe your venomous words, deliver me from hell’s doorstep?”
Her heart pounded with new fury, so loud and defiant he sensed the disturbance beneath her skin. The hot, sudden rush of her blood unleashed a scent that nearly brought him to his knees.
With hunger.
With desire.
His fangs burned to break free, his control slipping…
“You know nothing,” she spat, jerking away from his touch and shattering his momentary trance. “Nothing about me. Nothing about my life or my magic.”
“Resurrection is a devil’s bargain—that I know. When Death finally claims you, be certain he’ll demand a reckoning.”
She lowered her eyes, cheeks darkening. With shame, frustration, or pleasure, Gabriel hadn’t a clue.
Dorian thought Jacinda was innocent, forced into the work by a stronger, deadlier foe. Duchanes. Chernikov. Any number of rival vamps or demons looking to make a move, using the witch as their own personal warhead.
But necromancy wasn’t a natural talent. Wasn’t something a witch or mage picked up on a whim—even under threat. It was a dark, unwieldy thing, a razor-sharp skill set whose cultivation took years of study and intense dedication. Defying death went beyond even the darkest of known magics, a practice so vile it could seep into your soul and eradicate all traces of humanity.
Another beat passed. Two. No answers, no confessions, no sounds but the muted din of the cleanup crew downstairs.
With a deep sigh, the witch dragged the back of her hand across her brow, leaving a pale smudge in the grime. “Look, Prince. As much fun as this is, I really need a shower, and you should probably get back to pulling the wings off butterflies or whatever it is you do for fun.”
“Butterflies? No, not exactly.” Gabriel fingered a lock of her moonlight hair, silky as a flower petal, resisting the urge to press it to his lips.
A deep tremor rumbled through her body.
In a flash he dropped the lock of hair and grabbed her face, jerking it upward, forcing her to meet his gaze. Her breath caught, heartbeat clamoring, eyes wide.
The pressure of his touch was light enough, but they both knew he could shatter her jaw.
Gabriel hovered close—so close he could see the galaxies swirling in the blue depths of her irises. So close a breath could turn into a kiss.
In a dark whisper, he said, “Why do you insist on making this more difficult than it needs to be?”
Her gaze scorched the air between them. “Because I’m no one’s fucking butterfly.”
A twitch of his lips, a smile nearly set loose.
It wouldn’t do.
Gabriel released her and turned toward the small bar at the corner of the room, spared the destruction that had decimated the main level. He reached for a bottle of bourbon, poured two glasses.
Over his shoulder, he said, “They say my brother has a tender heart.”
She laughed, a sound full of nails and teeth. “Yes, you bloodsuckers are all such lovable softies.”
“He’s forbidden me from killing you. And while I’m not in the habit of taking orders from my brother—and I despise witches almost as passionately as I despise demons—I’m feeling sentimental today.” He turned toward her and held out one of the glasses. “Lucky for you.”
Daggers glinted in those bright eyes, but she took the offered beverage, downing it in a few gulps. “Unlucky for you, King Tender-Heart hasn’t forbidden me from killing anyone.”
Gabriel’s laughter finally escaped. Dry and brittle, like dust blown from a long-forgotten heirloom. Crossing the room, he turned to her once more and said, “You’re my prisoner, witch. Stripped of your charms and amulets. Exhausted. Easy prey. Think you can take me down? Have a go.”
Without hesitation she touched her neck, lips muttering a silent hex—all part of the show. Short of a demon’s hellfire, the well-aimed throw of a sharp stake, or a very long sword, nothing could kill a vampire at any sort of distance.
“Do you feel it, Prince?” Her husky whisper rolled over Gabriel’s flesh, making him shiver.
It seemed to unleash something, that whisper. An uncomfortable itch in his chest. A flicker of doubt in his mind.
“Is it just the dryness in the air?” she mused. “Ash from one of the many vampires you and your friends staked last night?”
Gabriel’s throat tightened. Ached.
She brought her fingertips to her lips and blew away imaginary ashes, a child wishing on dandelion seeds. Then, through a menacing grin, “Or maybe, bloodsucker, I’m not such easy prey after all.”
Chapter Two
“Need some water, Prince? A lozenge?” The witch frowned, shiny black fingernails fluttering over her collarbone like beetles. “Cherry’s my favorite, but they say honey-lemon’s better for a scratchy throat.”
Gabriel coughed. The tightness in his chest progressed to a burn that quickly stole his breath.
He panted like a dog, hands trembling as he reached for her. “If you’ve… poisoned… I’ll kill—”
“No. You won’t.” She lowered her hand and flashed a saccharine-sweet smile.
At once his throat relaxed. Breath rushed back into his lungs, clear and crisp. The tremor vanished, hands steady once again.
Gabriel blinked away the blur in his eyes. Couldn’t be certain it’d even happened—already, his memory of the last few seconds was fading. He took another breath. Pressed a hand to his chest, testing his heart.
Still beating, for fuck’s sake.
“Feeling better?” she cooed.
Bloody hell. He stalked toward her again, done with the games. Done with the niceties. Done with all of it. The sooner he could set her straight, the sooner he could escape her intense presence. “I need three things from you, witch.”
She glanced at her fingernails, calm and collected. “You and every other bloodsucker in this city. Take a number, Prince.”
“One, you’ll reveal the location of your former vampire master. If you don’t know his location, you’ll help me discern it by any means necessary. Two—”
“I already told you, I have no idea—”
“Two, you’ll break a blood curse—dark magic, demon-bought, definitely in your wheelhouse.”
“Excuse me? Curses aren’t—”
“Three, you’ll confess your crimes and accept your punishment.”
“Ah, and there it is, folks.” Jacinda rolled her eyes. “The final threat of a desperate vampire. Also, a boring one. Confess your crimes and accept your punishment? Really? Did you practice that line in front of the mirror last night? I bet you did. That and the sexy eyebrow thing.”
“Sexy eyebrow thing?”
“Straight out of a vampire soap opera.”
Amusement stirred inside him, but he kept it in check—along with his sexy eyebrow—and swallowed another mouthful of bourbon. “I’m not prone to threats, witch. Or soap operas. Only promises.”
“Why don’t we just skip to the good part, then?” She made a slicing motion across her throat, then held out her glass for a refill, defeat finally settling on her shoulders. “What a fucking day this turned out to be. TGIF, motherfuckers!”
Gabriel smiled. A real one, utterly unintentional.
Fuck.
He was starting to like this witch. The fire. The fight.
He
poured them each another round.
“Tell you what.” He downed his drink and refilled his glass again, emptying the bottle. “I’ll let you pick two out of three. Player’s choice.”
“Is this a joke?”
“It’s a kindness.”
She shrugged and ran a black-tipped finger around the rim of her glass. “I thought you wanted me to work behind the bar. Isn’t that what you told your brother?”
“That was a joke. Putting a poisons expert in charge of serving drinks to New York’s supernatural elite? Not exactly good business sense.”
“That’s too bad, because I’ve got zero experience with curses and no clue about Duchanes.”
“That is too bad. Choosing death, are we?”
She folded her arms across her chest, assessing. “Death by what, exactly?”
“Exsanguination.” Devil’s balls, how he loved the way that word rolled off the tongue.
“I see. And who’s doing the drinking?” Her smile was lighter now. Teasing. Bordering on flirtatious. “You, I presume?”
He grinned and spread his arms. Welcome to the party, witch.
She stood from the chair and set down her glass, the tatters of her blouse lifting to reveal the expanse of skin across her lower abdomen, smooth and unmarred. Kissable.
Gabriel’s cock stirred.
Then, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin, his bold little witch huffed out a breath and said, “Fine. Do it. Make it quick, though—I hate melodramatic endings.”
She was still smiling. Still teasing.
The woman had no idea who she was playing with.
And that’s all it was. Games and spells, smoke and mirrors. Gabriel and his cock would do well to remember it.
He set down the empty bottle. The glass.
Gave her one last look, dark and deadly.
He was on her in a flash, one hand gripping her hip, the other fisting her hair and yanking it to the side, exposing her neck.
She gasped at the roughness of his handling but didn’t draw back. Didn’t flinch. Not even when he pressed his mouth to her soft flesh, that tantalizing spot just below the jaw.
Jacinda trembled in his arms.
Fear? Lust? Shock? Gabriel didn’t give a fuck.
A steady pulse throbbed beneath his lips. His tongue darted out to taste.
Everything about her drove him mad.
The salt of her sweat. Soft wisps of hair tickling his nose. That forbidden, dark-earth scent. The heat of her, warm and throbbing and full of life, like the very heartbeat of existence.
Blood rushed beneath her skin, darkening her neck. Singing to him once again. Begging.
His fangs barely broke through, sharp points grazing her tender flesh, and—
“Wait!” she gasped, adrenaline spiking once again. “Please… please stop.”
It was nothing more than a whisper, but a concession nevertheless.
“Fear makes honest fools of us all,” Gabriel said.
The words rang hollow. He should’ve been thrilled at his victory, but this one left a bitter taste, the reasons for which he had no interest in exploring.
Grudgingly, he released her and backed off.
Jacinda swept her hair back in front of her shoulders, hiding that delectable neck from view. Her smile was gone, eyes no longer glittering. “How long?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“If I agree to help you, how much longer will you let me live? A week? A month?”
At his obvious confusion, she continued, “Everyone was terrified of Augustus, Prince, and with good reason. But that old bloodsucker? He had nothing on you.”
Gabriel bristled at the mention of his dead father. At the comparison. The witch was utterly clueless, and her presumptions put his lingering desire on ice.
“I know your game,” she pressed. “Everyone in this city talks, and believe me, I’ve heard all the stories about the ruthless Redthorne prince.”
“Have you, now? And what do the stories say?”
“People are nothing but transactions to you—even your own family members. Once they’re no longer useful, they… they disappear. Usually after you torture them to death.”
She lifted her eyebrows as if she were daring him to deny it.
Those blue eyes blazed right through him.
He blurred into her space once more, hand curling possessively around that delicate neck, thumb brushing the pulse point.
Jacinda sucked in a startled breath, and he thought again of her kneeling in the dirt at Ravenswood, face turned up, a pale flower blooming in the darkness.
His fangs descended in earnest. It took everything in him not to sink them into her flesh and fucking break her.
“Then I suggest, little moonflower,” he whispered, “you find a way to remain useful.”
Chapter Three
Seeing no better options at the moment—not her finest, mind you—Jacinda Colburn followed her captor out of Bloodbath and into the bright Manhattan day.
Gabriel winced at the sunlight and hurried their pace, weaving them through the stumbling, post-hangover brunch crowd toward a nondescript building across the street, about halfway down the block.
If anyone noticed the fact that she and the vampire were covered in blood and looked like they’d been set on fire and run over with a dump truck six times, they kept the commentary to themselves.
A small comfort in what was otherwise a flaming-shit-sandwich of a day.
“Where are we going?” Jaci demanded, struggling to keep pace in her bare feet. She’d lost her favorite heels in the attack last night, which sucked almost as much as her current predicament.
“Home,” came the prick’s reply. No elaboration.
Reality, harsh and sudden, bitch-slapped her across the face.
“Wait. You expect me to move in with you?” She stopped on the sidewalk before the building’s entrance, forcing him to turn around. “No. No way. That was not part of the deal.”
Gabriel grabbed her arm, glaring down at her with those deadly green eyes that made her shiver.
Damn it. Being in such close proximity to the vampire prince was like being stuck in perpetual winter. Forget exsanguination—the first time those cold green eyes pinned her this morning, she’d nearly died of hypothermia.
Until he’d put his mouth on her skin and damn near set her on fire…
No. She wouldn’t even give that thought room to grow. The prince might’ve set her nerves ablaze with that little stunt in the VIP room, but clearly that was some temporary Stockholm-Syndrome-induced insanity on her part, because Gabriel Redthorne was just all kinds of wrong.
You could see it in those eyes.
“I expect you to obey me,” he growled, the threat in his gravelly voice turning an otherwise panty-melting British accent into a thing of nightmares. “If you think I’m above making a gruesome scene on a public street, feel free to push me.”
Jaci didn’t need to push him. Crazy eyes never lie—she’d learned that from her sister.
A different sort of shiver threatened to overtake her, but she fought it off.
The vampire continued his brooding glare. Out there in the daylight, his eyes were a lighter shade of green than she’d first thought, like new moss clinging to an old stone.
“Are you coming willingly, witch, or are we already renegotiating our terms? Not off to the best start, it seems.”
She opened her mouth to tell him just how far off he could go fuck, but then thought better of it.
Bide your time, girl. Pick your battles.
As much as Jaci hated to admit it—hated getting stuck in this ridiculous predicament with yet another cocky vampire who thought witches were their personal property—she needed him. Even more than she needed a shower and a bucket of bleach and some new heels, which was saying something.
Besides, as monstrous as Gabriel Redthorne was, Renault Duchanes was worse.
Renault would always be worse.
Blowing out a
heavy sigh, Jaci gestured toward the door. “Lead the way, Prince.”
Chapter Four
The fourteenth-floor apartment was sunny, spacious, and a serious upgrade from the perpetually dank basement her former vampire “master” had stashed her in.
It was also not Gabriel Redthorne’s residence. As an earth witch with a nose for magic, Jaci was good with scents. The royal vampire’s was cold and mysterious, like evergreens in winter, like crushed mint on ice, like something fervently alive trapped beneath an eternal snow.
This place held no trace of it.
“Who lives here?” she asked, bracing for the answer as she eyed up the living area—spacious, pretty, fully furnished. French doors led to a balcony outside, a café table and two chairs waiting invitingly in the sunshine.
A grim smirk turned up the corner of his mouth. “A newly acquired witch eager to prove her usefulness.”
“So you’re paying my rent now, vampire?”
“Think of it as a bonded arrangement, only without the actual bond, without the promise of my protection, without unfettered access to my blood for your spellcraft, and without any further obligation from me—aside from allowing you to keep existing.”
Jaci narrowed her eyes, trying to see through his self-satisfied mockery.
It was a trap. Had to be. Gabriel believed she’d willfully tried to murder his brother, not to mention all the other crimes he’d rattled off earlier. Now he was putting her up in damn-near luxury accommodations? Without supervision?
She peered over his shoulder into a short hallway that led to the back of the apartment, half expecting it to be overrun with a writhing horde of grays. It would serve her right, getting mauled by the very ghouls she’d helped unleash on this city.
Guilt simmered in her gut, but beyond Gabriel’s unnervingly motionless physique, she found nothing but white walls and gleaming hardwoods, the faint smell of fresh paint floating on the air like an invitation to a brand-new life.
