Craved: A Vampire Syndicate Paranormal Romance (The Vampire Syndicate Book 2)

by Rebecca Rivard

  A chill crawled up my spine. Had Victorine already traced us to Paris?

  “Talk.” I squeezed the woman’s throat. “And it had better be good. Because there’s no way this is a coincidence.”

  “But—” Lainey Q gasped for breath and tried to pry my fingers loose. She was turning blue at the lips.

  I eased up the pressure. “Go ahead.”

  Her chest heaved. She inhaled noisily.

  “It is a coincidence,” she said in a scratchy voice. “I swear it.” She looked at Zoe. “I’m not spying on you. I didn’t even know you were in Paris.”

  “Let me.” Zoe angled forward, staring into the woman’s frightened eyes.

  I nodded and shifted sideways without releasing my grip.

  “You’re going to tell me exactly what I want.” Zoe’s voice took on a seductive cadence. “Aren’t you, Lainey Q?”

  The young woman’s throat worked. “Stop it,” she rasped.

  Zoe repeated the same words, weaving a compulsion.

  Lainey resisted. She had a stronger will than you’d expect, looking at her.

  Zoe kept up the pressure. “Look at me, Lainey.”

  Lainey’s gaze darted from side to side, then back to Zoe. Her face slackened. This time, she didn’t look away.

  “That’s good,” said Zoe. “Now, talk. Why are you in Paris? I thought you were going home to L.A.”

  “I changed my mind,” she said in an expressionless voice. “The prima gave me a bonus and I decided to come to Paris.”

  “Why?”

  “To shop.”

  I opened my mouth to ask what else, but Zoe beat me to it. The easiest way to fight compulsion is to give truthful answers, just not the whole truth. Most humans didn’t have the strength to fight us even that much, but slayers are trained to resist compulsion.

  “Lainey?” Zoe prodded. “Why else did you come to Paris? Did Victorine send you?”

  Her gaze swung to me. “Can’t…breathe,” she said.

  I released my grip on her. She sucked in oxygen and tried to sidle away. I blocked her, but it was clear the compulsion Zoe had set on her had been broken.

  I waited until she was breathing normally, then fingered her throat.

  “We’re hungry.” I let my vampire into my eyes. “I wouldn’t fuck with us. It makes us edgy.”

  “Fine.” She expelled a breath. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Olivier invited me to Paris. We left before the ball was over—I swear, I didn’t even know you were missing.” Lainey looked at Zoe. “But by the time we got here, everyone was looking for you. He patted me on the ass and told me to go home.” She pouted. “We didn’t even have a night out together. And he promised he’d take me to the Talon Haut Rouge.”

  The Talon Haut Rouge was an exclusive speakeasy for vampires and their thralls, and those they were grooming to be thralls. I mentally shook my head. Olivier had been trying to entice Lainey into becoming his thrall, and she didn’t even seem to realize it.

  “So why are you here?” Zoe asked. “On this street?”

  “I heard Pigalle is cool, that’s all. The hot new Paris neighborhood. Then I saw you. That’s the truth, I swear it.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “How did you know it’s the princess? She’s using a glamour. You shouldn’t have recognized her.”

  Lainey moved a shoulder. “I just did, is all. There’s something about how she moves—like a cat. You know what I mean?”

  Actually, I did.

  Zoe studied her, then gave a short nod. “I believe you.”

  She blinked. “You do? I mean, good, because it’s the truth.”

  “But I can’t let you tell anyone you saw me,” Zoe added.

  “I won’t. I promise. I—”

  “You didn’t see me.” Zoe’s voice was calm, controlled and so compelling she almost had me nodding my head. “Say it.”

  Lainey’s lids lowered to half-mast. “I didn’t see you,” she murmured.

  “You’ll return to your hotel and stay in the rest of the night. In the morning, you’ll remember none of this.”

  “I’ll return to my hotel and stay in the rest of the night. In the morning, I’ll remember none of this.”

  Zoe stepped back. “Go, Lainey. Go back to your hotel.”

  She obediently turned and headed back to the main street.

  “We’d better follow her,” Zoe muttered. “She’s a sitting duck in this state.”

  I nodded, and we trailed the human at a distance until she got into a taxi.

  Back at the Le Sang Bleu, Zoe rapped on the red door. There was a pause, and then a pasty-faced vampire in a fifty-year-old suit poked his head out.

  He squinted at us, so old even the streetlights bothered his eyes. “Vampire?” He pronounced it the French way, vom-peer.

  “Oui,” said Zoe.

  The doorman waved a pale, long-fingered hand at the stairs. “Entrez, s'il vous plaît.”

  I waited until Zoe was inside before following and pulling the door shut behind me. I no longer had that itchy feeling of being watched, but I wasn’t taking any chances that someone besides Lainey Q had seen us.

  The doorman shrank into a shadowy corner until all we could see were the tip of his nose and the shining blue rim of his irises. “We don’t want any trouble.”

  “That’s what I’m making sure of.” I stationed myself in front of the door, switchblade ready.

  Zoe positioned herself sideways so she could see me, the doorman and the stairs. The princess had good instincts; it was what I’d have done if the situation was reversed. She was right, I had to stop treating her like she was helpless. She’d hadn’t had the extensive training in fighting I’d had, but she’d clearly been taught the basics.

  Two minutes ticked by without anyone else entering.

  I rubbed my nape. “Guess I’m a little edgy.”

  “Maybe.” Zoe sheathed her knife in her boot. “Shall we go into the club?”

  I nodded and handed the old vampire a hundred-euro bill. “Don’t let anyone else in for the next ten minutes.”

  He drew himself up. “The boss won’t like me turning away paying customers.”

  “Then stall them.” I handed him another hundred euros. “We only need enough time to choose two thralls and take them into a private room.”

  “Very good, m’sieur.” The money disappeared into his jacket.

  Zoe led the way downstairs to the club. The walls were cracked, and the concrete stairs stained and crumbling.

  I kept my switchblade open, but out of sight between my hand and my thigh. “They don’t waste any cash on upkeep, do they?”

  She sent me an amused look over her shoulder. “Not what you’re used to, Prince?”

  “Like you are, Princess. I’m surprised you even know about this place.”

  “First time I’ve been here.”

  “Figures. Tell me we’re not about to get staked.”

  She turned and continued walking down the stairs backward. “Can I say I’m almost sure we won’t be?”

  “Now she tells me.” I reached around her to open the door with my free hand.

  An unshaven human in a gray T-shirt sat on a high leather stool. “Soixante euros,” he said around a hand-rolled cigarette.

  I passed over sixty euros and he looked us over, bored. “You know the rules? Cash money to the servers, no rough stuff.”

  Zoe nodded. “Oui.”

  He waved us in. “Entrez, donc.”

  The club had been chiseled out of the Paris bedrock. The walls were a dirty limestone, the only lighting from squat black candles. Humans in short dresses with deep Vs to show off their throats sat at the small tables or lounged at the curved red plastic bar. A few of them swayed to the slow, sexy music emanating from a pair of speakers behind the bar.

  The vampires in the club eyed us expressionlessly. Probably calculating how easy we’d be to take.

  I bared my fangs and made sure they saw the switchblade, and those cold,
calculating gazes turned elsewhere.

  Zoe selected a male “server” in a businesslike way. I chose a female, and we took them into a private room. The sturdy wood door was reinforced by bands of silver, but I tipped another server—a burly Tunisian—to keep watch in the hall.

  “Knock—three short raps—if anyone seems too interested in us.”

  “Yes, m’sieur.”

  Zoe dropped the baseball cap on a coffee table, and the four of us shared the only couch, her on one end, me on the other.

  There was something so intimate in drinking together like this. Zoe’s lids lowered partway, her expression absorbed—like earlier, just before she came.

  The slow, sexy beat of the music playing in the main room filtered through the walls. Her eyes opened, met mine.

  A jolt went through me. My body hardened. The blood craving is just another kind of lust, and now it homed in on my dick like a heat-seeking missile.

  I shifted the woman on my lap to the couch so she wouldn’t feel my erection. In the past—hell, even two weeks ago—I’d have been happy to fuck the thrall while I drank, but not tonight with Zoe so close, teasing my senses.

  From the opposite side of the couch, my sexy princess lowered a lid in a wink. We held each other’s gazes as we continued to feed.

  When we’d both drunk our fill, I paid the thralls and added a generous tip.

  “Lock the door after you,” I told them.

  The man slanted Zoe a hungry-male look.

  Her fangs were still extended, her cheeks a soft rose. Her skin glowed with the impossible allure of a pureblood vampire.

  She was mesmerizing, seductive. A beautiful, dangerous predator.

  My beautiful, dangerous predator.

  “I can give you my number,” he told her.

  “Allez,” I growled. “Go. Now.”

  He went.

  I reached for Zoe and sank back onto the couch, pulling her astride me.

  She toyed with my hair. “Maybe I wanted his number.”

  I traced a finger along her collarbone. “I’d slit his throat first,” I said pleasantly.

  Her eyes glittered. “No one but you, n’est-ce pas?” She scraped her fangs down my throat.

  Pleasure shivered through me. “That’s right.” I pulled the elastic band from her hair and brushed the shiny black strands back from her face. “D’you have a problem with that?”

  A tiny hesitation. “No.”

  “Good.” I sank my fingers into her hair, dragged her head back. Punishing her a little for that hesitation.

  This one night, I wanted to pretend that she was mine completely. No conditions or limits.

  Her mouth softened, opened. Inviting my kiss, but I didn’t give it to her. Not yet.

  “We have time before you have to be at Philippe’s.”

  Her breath hitched. “Here?”

  “Here,” I said against her lips. “Now.”

  I kissed her long and slow. Her body melted against mine. Her sex pressed against my erection, a wet heat I felt even through our jeans.

  Gods, I loved how she reacted to me. So willing, so ready.

  When I lifted my head, her eyes were closed. I pressed my lips to each soft lid and released her hair to push up her T-shirt. She rose up on her knees to drag it off, then sank back onto my thighs.

  Her bra was a sugary confection of white satin and lace that dipped low over her cleavage. I filled my hands with her breasts, rubbing my thumbs over the hard points of her nipples.

  The woman was a feast, one I was torn between devouring—or savoring.

  Glossy midnight hair. Warm satin skin. Plush red mouth. Brilliant gold-and-green-touched eyes.

  Her mouth made an Oh of pleasure. “That feels so good.” She set her hands on my thighs and arched her body to me.

  I wrapped an arm around her waist and brought her closer, sucking each nipple in turn through the silky bra. Her needy moan vibrated straight to my balls.

  With my free hand, I unfastened the clasp and tossed the bra on the couch. Now I could see her. Nibble her. Feast on her.

  And I did, until she was moaning and begging me to stop teasing her.

  I lifted her off my lap. “Take off your jeans.”

  She obeyed, removing her panties as well. I shoved off my jeans and boxer briefs, then sat back, caressing my dick. Zoe knelt on the couch, gaze locked on my lap like she was memorizing my movements, reminding me how new this was for her.

  She leaned forward, long and golden-skinned, and took me into her mouth. My muscles clamped.

  She lifted her head. “No?”

  “Yes.” I cupped her face, guided her back down. “Holy Dark Lady, yes.”

  She wrapped her hand around the base and gave me a few tentative licks. Was this another new experience for her?

  Whatever. I couldn’t think, not with her tongue exploring my most sensitive skin. She probed the crown with the tip, swiped it over the slit. Then, thanks be to the sex gods, she sucked the whole thing into her mouth.

  I groaned.

  She gave a hum of pleasure and sucked harder. I stood her uncertain exploration as long as I could, then speared my fingers into her silky hair.

  “Deeper,” I said in a harsh voice.

  Her eyes met mine. Even with her mouth full with me, I sensed her enjoyment. In all our previous sexual encounters, I’d been the one in control, but now, she was the one with the power.

  And she liked it.

  I’d created a monster. But who cared when the monster had such a hot, wet, talented mouth?

  She set a hand on my leg and took me so deep I touched the back of her throat.

  “That’s it.” I waited, stomach muscles tensed, to see if she’d do it again.

  She tightened her grip on my thigh and bobbed her head again. Taking even more of me, slow and deep, her gaze locked on mine.

  I kept my hands in her hair, guiding her head but letting her set the pace. “That feels so fucking amazing. I’m this close to losing control.”

  She lifted her head, but didn’t stop stroking me. “Maybe I want you to lose control.” She squeezed harder.

  Yeah, I’d definitely created a monster.

  “Not without you.” With a truly heroic effort, I lifted her up and set her on my thighs. I hated to put on protection, but I did, grabbing a condom from my wallet and rolling it on.

  Zoe raised up enough to allow me room, then settled back onto me, her nipples tight and wet from my kisses, her thighs open and on either side of mine. Her pussy was slick, swollen.

  She rubbed herself against me in time to the music, a slow, erotic-as-hell dance.

  I groaned deep in my throat, and she slanted me a look from beneath her bangs. The look of a woman coming into her power, thrilled and knowing.

  My heart punched in my chest.

  Mine.

  I gripped her hips. “Ride me.”

  She lifted up, took me in her hand. Our gazes met, clung. She lowered herself in an agonizing slide that seemed to last forever.

  Then I was seated deep inside her.

  Blood roared in my ears.

  I rocked my hips, needing to go deeper still. We started to move together in a perfect rhythm. I brought my hands to her breasts, pinching and teasing.

  She made a sexy little sound of pleasure and let her head drop back, her dark hair spilling around her shoulders.

  Time slowed. I stared up at her, drinking in her absorbed expression. She’d given herself up to passion—to me—and I couldn’t look away.

  She was fucking gorgeous, my Zoe, and she didn’t even seem know it.

  She sensed my intensity. She lowered her head to stare into my eyes. Sensation crackled through me. All over my body, tiny hairs lifted like lightning was about to strike.

  I pumped harder into her. Caught by whatever was brewing between us.

  She caught her lower lip between her teeth and circled on me. Her pupils were enlarged. A faint flush touched her high cheekbones. She was clos
e, I could tell.

  I slowed my strokes and slid my hand between us, circling the pad of my thumb around her clit. Trying to hold out, to ride the sensations, the sense of oneness for as long as I could.

  Then her orgasm hit her. She tightened around me and said my name. Just once, the sound so raw and needy, it pulled me over with her.

  I thrust into her, hard and fast, and followed her helplessly into oblivion.

  17

  ZOE

  Philippe’s lair was beneath a mansion on a quiet, very exclusive street off the Boulevard Saint-Germain. Like him, the mansion was constructed on lean, classic lines. The formal garden had precisely clipped bushes and symmetrical flower beds. Old-fashioned streetlights gilded the mansion’s limestone blocks a muted gold; and a pair of bronze griffins, the Paris Syndicate’s emblem, flanked the tall blue door.

  My steps slowed as I approached the wrought iron gate. Doubts crowded in.

  Leaving Montreal had been for me.

  Coming to Paris with Rafe had been for us both.

  But this was the point of no return, the point where I committed myself to helping Rafe and the Krals. The point where my loyalty to the Tremblay Syndicate was at war with my desire to uncover the truth.

  My stomach balled up tight. I came to a halt.

  What if Rafe was right? What if my mother had broken the truce and was working with Slayers, Inc. to bring down Karoly Kral?

  Behind me, Rafe had stopped, too. Energy emanated from him. He was pumped up, ready to rescue his brother.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” I said without looking at him.

  “I’ll be right there with you. Any problems, and Philippe is going down.”

  That made me turn my head.

  “No. You promised. We’re going in there to search for Zaquiel—that’s it. If we don’t find him, we leave. If we do find him, you help him escape. Nobody gets hurt. Nobody even knows it’s you with me.”

  Rafe looked back at me with Jean-Michel’s face, right down to the old vampire’s world-weary expression. It was the perfect disguise—no one would question my longtime bodyguard’s silent presence. He’d even made himself appear shorter, a slim sword of a man in the Tremblay uniform.