by Selena Blake
Rooms at Mystic Isle weren’t cheap.
Slouching against the table, she placed another bet and waited for the dealer to deal the cards. Her eyelids drooped. The nap at Shade’s house had worn off long ago.
Luckily, Mystic Isle catered to her kind and she could keep right on playing as long as she liked. Which she was going to have to do, considering that she’d just lost a thousand-dollar bet.
But she could feel the sun nearing the horizon.
“You entered in the tournament?” the fae at the other end of the table asked.
“What’s the point? Sotenburg is playing,” the man to her right said.
Izzy frowned. “Who is this Sotenburg?” she asked, looking at no one in particular.
She felt the gaze of every man at the table turn her way. Even the dealer. After glancing at each of them, just a peek really, she looked at her cards again, just confirming her hand. A thrill of excitement washed through her. Twenty-one.
“Only the best poker player in the world, sweetheart,” the wolf two seats down said. “You been playin’ long?”
“Long enough to know a good hand when I’ve got one.”
She gathered her winnings, made another wager and dropped her chin onto her palm. A bench would make a nice bed right now. A nap. That’s all she needed. Forget the hot bath. A nap and fifty thousand dollars.
She lost the chip, overdrawing when she should have held. Shite. Another thousand lost. Not good.
Through sleepy eyes, she counted her chips. She did not have time to play it safe; she was so close. And if she was going to be on form when the tournament started, she needed sleep and sustenance. Sleep would be hard to come by.
If only she was good at saving money… like Avery. Izzy would bet another thousand that Avery had well over two million in her bank account. Coco too. Ceara and Valencia both came from old money…money they’d been able to keep and invest. Izzy wondered what her parents would do with her inheritance.
“Miss?”
Izzy’s eyelids snapped open.
“Yes?” She glanced down. “Sorry.”
She slid another chip into the circle in front of her. When Lady Luck decided to leave, she sure did leave in a hurry. Izzy chewed on her bottom lip as she stared down at the hand she’d been dealt.
Thirteen. Not ideal. She requested another card.
He flipped one over. She did the math.
“Damn it,” she muttered.
Twenty-two. Miserable, freaking twenty-two. That was the third hand in a row she’d lost. Three thousand dollars. This was no way to win enough money to enter the tournament.
“Tough luck, vamp,” the werewolf said.
Izzy had been doing her best to ignore him. For the third time in what could have only been half an hour, she contemplated switching tables. But she’d been doing so well. Had been so in the zone… until these last three hands.
“Final hand,” the dealer said.
They were closing the table?
She started to object but everyone placed their bets.
Izzy glanced down at her chips and licked her upper lip. She needed to win back the three grand otherwise her calculations indicated — no. She wouldn’t go there. Not yet. She was going to win. She had to win. The winning was almost as important as getting the money to fix Valencia’s beloved car. If only she knew how much that would take.
Feeling a little sick to her stomach, she slid three chips across the table.
The dealer nodded and started flipping cards.
He had a sixteen. So did she.
She chewed her bottom lip. What the hell was she supposed to do? She stared down at the eight of spades and the eight of hearts. The red and black numerals mocked her. It was as if she’d completely forgotten how to play blackjack. She shook her head but the fog didn’t go away.
Sixteen. Sixteen.
Should she risk it? She had to.
“Miss?”
She heard the dealer’s annoyance. She was holding up the game.
“Split,” she said. Was that her voice? It sounded so… dry. She slid three more thousand-dollar chips to the left of her circle. Her heart beat so hard, she worried it would shatter her ribs. Was that possible? Vampire physiology was so different from human. Everything had changed since that night Valencia had turned her. She was so much stronger now. Her eyesight incredible. Her hearing, scary good.
The dealer split the cards and flipped over two new cards and arranged them on top of the eights.
An ace and a ten. Nineteen and eighteen.
She waved her hand to stay. The dealer went around the table before drawing another card for himself. A nine.
Relief made her go limp like a cooked noodle. He slid her chips toward her. She reached up and massaged her neck.
A walk and a drink would do her good. Then she would find another table and get back to it. Her dealer passed her an acrylic tray to store her chips in. After organizing them, she pushed her chair back and headed for the bar.
Shade watched Izzy collect her chips. She looked ready to drop. Young vamps needed a steady diet of two things: blood and sleep. His beautiful Izzy was lacking both. And yet she’d managed to rack up a very healthy collection of chips.
She settled onto a bar stool and kept a hand on the rack of chips. The blond bartender stopped in front of her and smiled. If Shade didn’t know for a fact that the bartender was gay, he would have been jealous when Izzy gave him a smile in return. A weak smile, it didn’t reach her eyes, but a smile nonetheless. As soon as the other man strode off to fetch her drink, she put her head down against her forearms and sagged forward.
Shade rose from his chair and told himself not to rush, not to hurry over there and startle her. The way she’d flinched yesterday, along with the way she’d bolted from his arms and defended herself, told him to tread carefully. Every hunter knew not to spook the prey. But everything in him demanded that he scoop her up and carry her off. Keep her to himself.
Then, as if her bones had melted, she started to collapse. He caught her before she hit the floor. Cradling her tiny frame in his arms, he ducked his head and listened for her heartbeat. Strong and true.
“This is becoming a habit,” he muttered as Latham skirted the end of the bar.
“What can I do?”
Shade pushed to his feet. “Put her chips in the vault for me,” he murmured, shifting the beauty in his arms.
“Izzy, sweetheart?” he said softly, prepared for a scene.
A shimmer of awareness washed over him. He was being watched. If you partied hard enough, long enough, you could sense when you’d caught someone’s eye. A vampiress falling asleep in a casino was bound to attract attention. But this was something more. Something darker.
He scanned the room as he exited, holding Izzy close. Anyone would be a fool to start something on Mystic Isle. Not only was fighting against the rules, Latham could vaporize their ass with a single look. Hell, probably with a single thought.
At the end of a poker table sat Blithe Jordan. Figured that the bastard would show up here. Shade nodded at the raven-haired demon and kept on walking.
“Friend of yours?” Latham asked.
“Hardly. Blithe Jordan. He’s convinced I cheat.”
“Ahh. He doesn’t believe you’re the luckiest devil alive, huh?”
“Nope. Sat buck-assed naked with the asshole and played seventy-two hours of poker. Still kicked his ass. And he still believes I cheat.”
“I’ll keep an eye on him.”
“Thanks, Latham.”
With the god by his side, Shade strode around the corner to the private elevator. As if by magic, the polished doors opened as he approached, erasing their reflection. He had to admit, the pixie with the long blonde hair looked good in his arms with her cheek pressed against his chest. Like she’d been made for him.
How odd… Thrice he’d held her like this, and every time it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Like she was meant to be right wher
e she was. A piece of the puzzle of his life.
“She’s not eating enough,” he murmured to Latham and stepped onto the elevator. “Would you send up one of those cocktails you’re so famous for?”
The god nodded. “Of course.”
Latham turned away as the doors closed. Then they started the climb into the sky.
What was it about her that made every protective instinct inside him fire on all cylinders? Before Anya, he’d never felt the urge to protect anyone. And since, he’d never let himself get that close.
But today he’d sat at the bar, watching her play cards and shy away from the advances of a werewolf. Those hours had been the longest of his life. Wanting to go to her, pull her into his arms, and steal a kiss.
The elevator doors opened and he stepped out, making a left. Across the living room, floor to ceiling windows let in the pale blue light of dusk. He toed open the second bedroom door. Once he’d deposited her in the center of the massive bed, he hit the switch on a nearby lamp, casting the room in a honey glow.
Unable to resist, he sat on the edge of the bed and studied her profile. Such a cute nose. And her lashes… long and golden. Crossing his arms, he tried to figure out just what it was about her, about this particular woman that had him out of sorts.
He cocked his head and replayed every word she’d said to him. Every glance they’d shared. Every touch. It was everything. A gut instinct. Charm. Desire. An unusually intense lust. The urge to wake her, just so he could hear her voice. But right now, he actually needed to wake her. Not for his own pleasure, but so she’d drink. According to his watch, her last drink had been three hours ago.
Where was that cocktail Latham had promised?
He didn’t have time to wait. She needed to eat, and fast. He leaned over her and the scent of strawberries filled his nose.
“Izzy.” He shook her shoulder. She didn’t rouse. He called her name again.
His blood should have made her stronger. Not that he was arrogant or anything.
He held two fingers against her neck. Her pulse was still fine, though she was cold. But then, vamps usually were. Something about not being able to make their own blood.
He’d never paid much attention. Right now, he was regretting that lack of foresight. The woman in his guestroom was very much a vampiress.
Beautiful. Delicate. Cool. Just like those ice-blue eyes of hers. So unusual. He’d give just about anything to have her looking up at him right now.
“Izzy.”
He had the overwhelming urge to kiss those pink lips. Bracing a hand above her left shoulder, he leaned over, breathing her in. Transfixed and unable to stop himself, he stared at her lips. Lulled by her beauty, he ducked his head.
His blood heated before they even touched. Without the dark eyeliner and blood-red lipstick, she was all the more angelic. And youthful. She, with her pert little nose, blue eyes that went from cold to hot in an instant, white-blonde hair, and more integrity in her little finger than most people had in their whole body, was the ultimate aphrodisiac.
Shade watched her as he brushed his lips across hers. Cool. Soft. There was no movement from her. No change. The golden crescents of her lashes remained locked. Her breathing shallow.
He stole another kiss. Just a brush really. Then he licked his lips to see what she tasted like. Strawberries and Jack Daniels. A fitting description if ever there was one. Sweet and kick-ass, all at the same time.
“Izzy, sweetheart. Wake up.” Look at me.
Chapter Seven
Izzy loved the feel of a man against her. On top of her. Solid. Real. She loved it even more when he whispered her name, unable to help himself.
But most of all, she loved the look in Shade’s eyes as he kissed her. As if he could not bear to close them for fear he would miss something important.
She should not trust him. He was a stranger, but he did not feel like one. He did not look at her how a stranger would. His lips were somehow familiar, as was the taste of his blood. How had she thought she could not trust him? He took care of her when he did not know her. Saved her life… more than once.
How sad was it that she needed saving. Rescuing. But that need had brought her to him and for that, she could never be sad.
His features started to blur and she hugged him tighter, not wanting him to leave her just yet. He made her feel safe and grounded; two things she had not felt since she was a child. She did not want him to go. Did not want those feelings to end. Could not bear for him to stop kissing her like she was…
Darn the dream. Why did they always have to end?
“Come on, sweetheart,” he whispered.
Come where? When he talked to her like that she would follow him anywhere.
A warm hand covered hers and she realized that her fingers were balled into a fist. Her grip was so tight, everything from her wrist down felt numb.
“You need to eat.”
She wanted to eat all right. He would be the only course on her menu. Appetizer. Entree. Dessert.
He kissed her chin. “Izzy…” He was so close. So… concerned. Why did he sound concerned? Why was he fading?
No. She squeezed her eyelids tighter, not ready to let go yet. “Don’t go—”
A soft chuckle rumbled through her ears. She felt the sound as much as she heard it. The gentle vibration ran through her body, relaxing her.
“I’m not going anywhere, engel, now open your eyes.”
Izzy did as he asked and found the handsome demon staring down at her, his face only inches away. So the dream was real. His kisses? His words?
She would have panicked had he been any other man. Anyone but the man who had saved her after the car accident and given her his own blood… twice. But as he stared down at her, an almost tender look in his beautiful silver-gray eyes, she trembled. Not from fear. But from desire. She had him to thank for that. Him and that incredible voice. It soothed her like no other, not even her mother’s.
“What are you doing here?” Where was here? Her gaze flicked from the handsome demon to the ceiling overhead, then the corners of the room. She was not in the casino anymore.
“Right now, I’m trying to get you to eat. You passed out on me. Again.” He sounded mildly annoyed, but as she had come to expect from him in the short time she’d known him, he was good-natured about it. “I take it you didn’t have a nightmare this time.” He gave her a teasing smile.
He pushed himself into a sitting position, trailing his hand down her left side. How was she supposed to form a coherent thought when he looked at her like that? She was a sucker for long hair. And horns. Two years ago she would have run screaming into the night at the sight of him, so big and… not menacing exactly. But intense. Almost devious, as if he had the power to make a woman do anything he wished.
But tonight, tonight was different. She was hopelessly attracted and she feared that her interest went deeper than sex. She had never allowed herself to feel anything for any of the men she slept with. Not since her boyfriend had left her in an alley with a deranged werewolf.
A night or two in bed did not give her much time to bond with a man. Such a short courtship left little time for talking, especially when there were better things to do.
All of which made it easy to keep her heart locked away.
“Eat,” he ordered.
Ordinarily, she did not like being ordered around. She tolerated Valencia’s orders and lectures because she owed her. She would always owe her. It was a “from now until the end of time” kind of debt.
And normally she laughed when a man told her what to do. Then she did things her way. Be it in life or in the bedroom.
Shade tipped his head to the left, revealing the strong, smooth column of his throat. He had such an incredible tan. She missed the sun on her face. Valencia promised that one day, Izzy would be able to step into the light again. She couldn’t wait. Thanks to Ceara, Izzy had a bucket list six miles long and at least half of the items involved sunlight. Warm summer pic
nics, afternoons at the beach, hiking on a cool but clear autumn day.
She sat up on her elbows, admiring his strong square jaw. Never before had she thought of a neck as sexy. But his neck looked strong, corded with muscle and tendon. A steady heartbeat. And a hint of cologne that drew her like a bee to a flower. Best of all, he tasted so good.
In the back of her mind she knew there was something important that she needed to remember. But the thought was fuzzy. Elusive. Just out of her grasp. And he… he was real. And strong. And solid. That much she did remember.
“Come on, Izzy. You need to eat, honey.”
How did he know that?
“You haven’t eaten in three hours,” he supplied, reading her mind again.
She sat up, sliding her palms over his biceps, into the shelter of his arms. With the top two buttons of his shirt undone, the material gaping open, she had a clear view of the solid wall of his chest.
Sitting so close to him, she felt a little crowded by his big body, and was acutely aware of how strong he was. Power rippled off him in waves. Tightly contained. Intense to his core. If he wanted to, he could snap her in two. She was sure of it. Those shoulders, so wide, broad, and thick with muscles. And those arms. Those hands!
But he had never raised a finger in anger. Nor aggression.
“I would never hurt you, Izzy.” His words were soft, but echoed with honesty.
Whatever faults and vices the demon had, he did not strike her as a violent man. Capable of producing great physical pain, absolutely. But underneath all that muscle he seemed almost stoic.
The elevator chimed, ruining the moment.
“Be right back,” he said, striding for the door.
She sucked in a steadying breath and gazed around at the elegantly tropical decor. So they were still on Mystic Isle. That was a relief. Outside the gauze-covered windows she could see the stars.
