by Selena Blake
“I — nothing, mademoiselle. Do you need a ride to the airport? Do you have a flight?”
Izzy had spent the last half hour trying to flash from one side of the room to the other. So far she’d managed to fall off the bed.
“Have you ever been?”
“To Mystic Isle?” He sounded scandalized again.
“Da.”
“Once.”
“Then you know it is a long flight.” One she did not have time or money for. Maybe Coco could — Wait. If he’d been there before, he could flash there again. Izzy pasted on her sweetest, most innocent smile. “I need your help.”
Five minutes later, Izzy was dressed and had run a comb through her hair. Her trademark black eye-liner and ruby lipstick were notably missing. But her appearance didn’t matter at this point.
She plucked her well-worn deck of cards from the dresser and shoved them into the rear pocket of her jeans, still warm from the drier.
She soaked in the heat and stepped toe-to-toe with Pierre. “You are sure this will work?”
“It’s how I learned, mademoiselle. Hold on to me.” He held out his hands and she took them.
She crossed her fingers, prayed that this worked. Closing her eyes she visualized the soft white sand, the pale moonlight, the thick green jungle, and so far away.
“We’ll land at the airport,” he murmured. She felt light. Not quite herself.
“I hope theese works,” she replied softly and squeezed her eyelids even tighter.
There was a moment of weightlessness, a cool breeze, and then warmth. Humidity. Salty air.
She cracked open her left eye. The small airport sat before her, runway lights ablaze. She’d made it.
She squeezed Pierre’s hands. “Thank you!” She repeated the words in Russian, then French. It wasn’t enough. She launched herself at him and hugged tight.
He chuckled. “Be careful, mademoiselle. Shade would have my head if anything happened to you.”
She’d pulled away and searched his face. “Why?”
The old man gave an elegant shrug. “He seems protective over you for some reason.”
That made no sense. He had no reason to feel that way. They hardly knew each other. Though, her debt to him was mounting. Perhaps she could win enough to buy him something nice. A watch, perhaps.
“Thank you again.”
“If you need anything else, mademoiselle…” He held out a folded sheet of paper.
She unfolded it and found his number on it. Beneath that, the name and address for the mechanic that had Gorgeous. “Tha —”
He flashed.
“Miss?”
She turned to see one of Mystic Isle’s employees eying her curiously.
“You will take me to casino? Please.” She smiled through her nervousness. This would work.
“One of the limos has just returned,” the woman said, waving her hand toward the long black car.
Izzy smiled her thanks and headed toward the handsome driver. Another time, without the image of Gorgeous upside down and brutalized in her mind, she would have considered seducing him. Tall, dark-haired with intense silver-gray eyes. She could have licked him from head to toe. But the spark of attraction wasn’t there.
The drive was very familiar, but this time she did not indulge in the minibar. The road wound through the mountains and then back down to the coast. Biting back a squeal of excitement, she leaned against the window and stared out at the lush landscape. With Pierre’s help, she’d actually made it. Hopefully Shade wouldn’t be too upset. Maybe Pierre would not tell him.
Another impulse on her part, but she had a good feeling. For the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel like she was missing something. Looking for something that eluded her. A peaceful calm enveloped her. And then excitement took over. She was good at the cards. She just needed to stay focused.
Her cell phone vibrated in her back pocket. She retrieved it and saw Coco’s name on the small screen. “I am already here,” she said by way of greeting.
“Are you okay? Avery and Ceara told me what happened. He didn’t try to take advantage of you, did he?”
“Shade? No.” In fact, he’d been a perfect gentleman. She frowned, unsure she’d ever met someone quite like that—
“I thought his name was Pierre?” Coco inserted.
“Pierre is his, I do not know. Butler? He dries clothes and makes beds. Shade is the man, the demon, who saved me.”
There was a lengthy pause.
“Where are you?”
“Mystic Isle.”
“And how do you plan to win that much money, chérie? Roulette?”
Izzy heard the worry in her friend’s voice. She did not mean to make Coco worry. “There is a tournament this week.”
“A Poker Tournament? But you don’t play poker anymore.”
Izzy was well aware of that fact. Another moment of impulse gone wrong, but that was in the past. This was now. She was smarter now. She was not trying to impress a silly boy. Now she was making restitution.
“I will keep my clothes on this time,” she promised.
“Come home and let me give you the money.”
“I cannot.” Though that would not be a bad backup plan. “It is my problem, Coco.”
“Then at least let me wire you the buy-in.”
“I will start with Blackjack.” That was the plan.
She heard Coco murmur something about stubborn Russians, and smiled. It was a common joke between them. She missed her friend. Ever since Coco and Grayson had gotten together nine months ago, here on Mystic Isle, Izzy had seen less and less of her best friend.
“I will be home by next week. Say hello to Grayson for me.”
She ended the call over Coco’s protests. Grayson, the damn wolf, was growing on her. Mostly because he absolutely adored Coco.
The main hotel was just as she remembered it. Honey gold, painted with light against a midnight blue sky. Stars twinkled down at her and she felt like a princess visiting a mythical castle.
Only this was a pleasure playground for paranormals. There was nothing sweet or wholesome here, nothing to base a fairy tale on. That suited her just fine.
She just needed money. The limo pulled past the statue of nude women pouring water over themselves and stopped beneath the portico. A moment later she took the driver’s hand and stepped out into the warm night air. “I can make it from here. Thank you.”
Valencia had tipped the driver. And the men who carried the bags. But she only had fifty Euros with her and needed every one of them if she was going to win enough to cover the cost of repairs for Gorgeous.
She offered the driver a smile and then scurried up the path toward the hotel. The automatic doors opened wide and she strode inside. Gone were the holiday touches, the evergreen and fake snow. This visit, soft neutral colors and tropical palm fronds welcomed her.
She could hardly believe she was back on the island. Nine months ago she’d come on vacation. This time, there was no time for play. At least, not until she’d won enough money. But that was easier thought than done.
Turning left, she headed for the casino.
She’d start with Blackjack. She had four days to turn those fifty Euros into two and a half million. And if the last day was any indication, luck was not on her side.
She could do this. She had to do this. Otherwise she’d have to figure out how to transfer money from her savings. No. She did not want to do that. Not yet.
Seated at the first Blackjack table she’d seen, Izzy kept her hands on her cards. Ten of hearts and a Queen of spades. Anything other than an ace would shoot her out of the water. A mixture of anxiety and excitement fizzled through her blood like carbonated water. A scientist would probably tell her it was adrenaline, but she didn’t care for proper and logical.
That was Avery’s department.
Right now, all she cared about was… “Twenty-one,” she whispered under her breath.
The dealer flipped himself one
more card. And went over.
“Yes,” she hissed.
The two fae at the other end laughed. Izzy slipped off her leather jacket and settled in for the night.
And so it went. Hours staring down at white cards, red hearts, black spades. Numbers swam before her eyes. At one point she accepted a house cocktail from one of the waitresses, but that seemed like a long time ago.
A small crowd had gathered to watch her lucky streak. But the more eyes she felt, the more she felt her luck was about to run out. Unfortunately, she couldn’t afford to stop. Not yet. If she kept this up she’d be able to enter the tournament without having to sit at a poker table.
She glanced at the oblong tables across the room. Suddenly she was seventeen again, rebellious. High on hormones and lust. She’d wanted to show off for the boy she liked. A girlfriend was dating one of his friends and suggested they hang out. Life was a party. She was a rich man’s daughter. And strip poker had seemed like a lark. After all, she was too good of a player to lose her shirt.
Or so she’d thought.
Luck didn’t matter much when she was purposely trying to lose to make the guy like her. Unfortunately, he’d betrayed her trust and she’d learned the hard way who to trust. Looking back, he wasn’t all that trustworthy. Or even worthy of her attention really. But youth and hormones made people do silly things.
The dealer pulled a seven. Break.
Her lucky day. If she could keep this up, she’d have enough to get a room. What she wouldn’t give for a hot bath right now to soothe her muscles. And maybe a shirt that wasn’t stained with blood. A girl could hope.
The next hand gave her eleven. She doubled her bet. Five thousand. Izzy held her breath once more as the dealer flipped over his remaining card. A Jack of diamonds. That put his total at nineteen.
She silently calculated her total winnings thus far. She’d need fifty thousand to buy in.
The murmurs around her started seeping into her ears. She makes it look easy. She’s on a roll. She has to lose eventually.
And she did. The next two hands.
She was so close and so very tired. A few more mental calculations. Five hundred a hand… if she could win five that’d —
“Miss?”
The dealer raised an eyebrow at her.
“Oh.” She glanced down at the cards. “Sorry.”
Fifteen.
Shade leaned back against the bar, keeping his gaze focused on the petite blonde beauty across the room. He wasn’t the only male in the casino enrapt by her shimmering white-gold locks and dewy pink tongue. In the thirty-five minutes he’d been sitting here watching her, she’d touched the tip of her tongue to her top lip six times. And six times he’d heard the groans of men around the room as they fell deeper under her spell.
He’d been under her spell from the moment he’d found her lying, lifeless, on the side of the road.
Unfortunately for the other gentlemen in the casino, Shade didn’t share.
He took another long swallow of his forty-year-old Scotch and folded his arms across his chest. There went that tongue again. If she’d been sitting at a poker table, he would believe she was doing it to keep the other players off their game. But there was no point in that at a blackjack table.
How long had she been here? He couldn’t count her chips from where he was sitting, but there was a tidy pile stacked in front of her. And she seemed to be winning more often than she lost.
Maybe she did have a head for cards.
But could she compete with the big boys?
Would she even earn enough to buy a spot at the table?
“Shade.” He turned to see Charles Latham striding up to the bar. “Glad you could make it.”
Shade shook the god’s hand. “Not a problem.”
Latham cut him a look. “I know you retired.” Shade inclined his head. That was common knowledge. “It’s also common knowledge that you’ve never lost a game. The chance to dethrone the Poker King will be an incredible draw for the charity fundraiser.”
As he spoke, Latham raked the casino with his gaze. Shade couldn’t be sure what had possessed the god to create a pleasure resort. Boredom perhaps? Too much time and money? Whatever his reasons were, he’d done a crackpot job of putting everything together.
The casino was just the right mix of fun and classy. Bright lights, twinkling chandeliers, plush carpet, rich wood tones. And endless drinks. Yes, Shade had played in some real shitholes. Stinky. Dirty. Drab. Dark. Smokey.
This place was heaven.
Latham laughed. “Not heaven. But pretty close to it.”
The bartender slid a drink across the bar and Latham settled himself on the seat next to Shade. Times sure had changed. For centuries the gods had kept to themselves. Holed up. Hands off. Ruling from on high. To be sitting next to one, having a casual conversation… a shiver raced over him.
The corner of Latham’s mouth quirked up.
Shade was still having to get used to the whole “all knowing” bit.
“Any particular reason you’re staring at Izzy Lukin like you want to eat her whole?” Latham asked.
“You know her?” Fuck. That was one mile Shade would not tread. One did not fuck with a god’s property.
“Calm down, demon. She’s been a guest here before.”
Air rushed out of Shade’s lungs. He hadn’t even realized he’d been holding his breath. She wasn’t out of bounds. Thank gods.
Again, Latham smiled.
“So the usual reason then,” the god surmised.
“Yep.”
“How do you know her?”
Shade sighed. “That’s a long story.”
“I’ve got nothing but time.”
Shade nodded. That was true. That was all either of them had.
“Well, that, and looks.” Latham laughed.
A jovial god. Who would’ve thought?
The story came out about Izzy crashing the Bugatti and how Shade had taken care of her.
“So she flashed here?”
“I guess so. I didn’t take her to the airport and Pierre didn’t either. Last time we saw her, she was in my guestroom asleep.”
“Persistent little thing,” Latham commented.
Shade had thought the same thing when he’d found her bed empty. And he’d felt unusually bereft, but admired her gumption at the same time.
“So she’s trying to win enough money to fix the Bugatti?”
“She’s gonna need a new one. I just got a text from my mechanic. The car is trashed.”
They glanced at each other and cringed. “Such a beautiful car,” Latham murmured. “You could offer to buy her a spot at the table. She’d be indebted to you.”
“She wouldn’t take it.”
“You don’t think so?” Latham held up a finger to signal the bartender.
“I think a snowball has a better chance surviving in Hell.” Lucifer loved to taunt snowballs. Bastard.
Latham cracked another smile. Shade couldn’t get over how surreal it was to be having a drink with a god as if they were bar buddies.
“I make a great wingman,” Latham said, turning to pick up the heavy crystal glass.
Only the best for a god, Shade mused.
“Forgive me, but I doubt that. What woman is going to want this,” Shade waved his hand at his horns, “when they could have that?” He waved in the general direction of the god. Even Shade knew the god was physically perfect, and was man enough to admit it.
“I don’t think I’d be the problem where your Izzy is concerned.”
Shade grunted. His Izzy. He liked the sound of that. Had long craved a woman of his own. A single woman that would know him, horns, thorns and all.
“What would the problem be?”
The god watched her for a long moment. “By the way she’s betting, she’s hell-bent on winning her way onto the tournament.”
“Yeah.”
“She’s going to be up for a while.”
“Probably.”
/>
“And if she does make it into the tournament…”
“Yep.” Shade’s thoughts exactly. If they faced each other, she would undoubtedly lose.
“You certainly have a problem on your hands, my friend.” Latham slapped Shade on the back.
He sure did. Every moment he watched her, he wanted her more. Not just sexually, but to talk to her. To hold her. Listen to her voice and watch her adorable mannerisms. He’d never been so mesmerized by anyone.
The fact that he was transfixed by a half-pint vampire should have irked him. Normally, it would have. He would have resisted. But there was no resisting her. And the feelings she inspired couldn’t be denied.
No. He’d sit here all damn night. Watching her. Guarding her. Wishing she would look over at him.
Latham dropped his hand and settled back onto his stool.
“Anything I can do to help?” Latham asked several moments later.
“With?”
“Your problem.”
He wanted to get them together? Who would have thought that the infamous playboy Charles Latham was a closet romantic? Shade smiled. “I thought you were running a sex resort.”
Latham snorted. “You want to have sex with her, don’t you?”
Everything in Shade tightened. He wanted that more than he wanted his next breath.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” The god’s lips twitched.
Shade returned his gaze to Izzy. She’d won another hand.
He let out a sigh. This was going to take all damn night. He wasn’t a terribly patient demon. He could wait when he had to. But tonight… his palms itched to feel her skin. He needed to taste her. To feel her moan beneath his lips. Hear her cry out his name.
Hot under the collar, he tossed back the rest of his drink.
“Catch twenty-two,” Latham said.
“Yep.”
After another lengthy pause, Latham asked, “You’re not thinking of pulling out, are you?”
“No.”
“Good. Good.”
Shade had it bad for the sultry little vamp. But he’d find a way to win her and the tournament. He had to.
Chapter Six
Exhaustion made Izzy’s shoulders ache. She needed sleep. She needed blood. But most importantly, she needed a hot bath. By her estimation, she’d been at it for six hours or so, but she didn’t want to quit just yet. She was on a high note, winning the last ten times. And she wanted to make sure she had the entry fee in hand before she even thought about getting a room for the weekend.
