Like he smacked me across the face, I stagger back just a step. I look up at him with surprised eyes.
“You might as well,” he says. He’s enjoying knocking me on my ass. I can see it in his eyes. “The second we release Rath, he’ll go running back to Alivia and tell her everything that’s happened. If you don’t go to her, she’ll come looking for you.”
My throat is tight. My brows furrow. But I can’t find an answer to his question.
“It’s something you should know about the House of Conrath,” Edmond says. “We’re a family here in the House of Valdez. But not like they are.”
“Cyrus said she manipulated them all into being a part of her House,” I say through a tight throat.
Edmond shakes his head. “It might have started out that way. But not anymore. I meant that they’re family. The loyalty in that House.” He shakes his head again. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it. They’ve died for each other. They’d do it again. All of them.”
His statements take me aback.
Maybe…maybe there are two sides to the story. Cyrus is so bitter, so cold when he talks about my birth mother. But if someone like Edmond can say these things… Maybe she isn’t everything I feared.
“Life is hard for any vampire living on their own,” Edmond says as the music begins to wind down. “As a Royal, you’re entitled to privilege. You’re a rightful heir of that House. To more than one, possibly, if we can figure out who your father is. Or perhaps even Court.”
My brows furrow. There’s another one of those words everyone keeps saying, but I don’t know the meaning of.
Edmond sighs and shakes his head. “You really don’t know anything, do you?”
My eyes turn cold and I glare at him.
He smiles. “King Cyrus lives in his castle in Austria. Roter Himmel, it’s called. But he’s not alone. There are hundreds of Royal Born who live there, at Court. His favorites, or those who were born there. As my father said, my brother Horatio, has lived there for some time. He actually spent some time with your mother there. If your father is a member of the Court, you rightfully would have a place there.”
I consider it, but an ache pulls in my chest.
If I’m not what Cyrus is searching for, I don’t think I want to have to go there, seeing him, but knowing he wasn’t interested in ever talking to me again.
“Consider your mother,” Edmond says again, raising his eyebrows just slightly. The music ends, and with a knowing smile, he walks away.
I hear footsteps coming up from behind, and turn to see Cyrus approaching.
“It is time,” he says. “I must return you to your home so that you may continue with our bargain.”
I give a little nod, at a loss for any words.
“I thank you, House of Valdez,” Cyrus says. He does not speak overly loud, but every head turns at his commanding voice. “Thank you for your impressive accommodations. Thank you for your hospitality. And thank you for providing such quality entertainment.”
He holds out his hand, I take it, and without another word from the crowd, or from their King, he leads me back to the elevator.
He’s tight. That’s the best way I can describe it as we silently ride the elevator down. He’s wrapped up in his own thoughts, lost in possibly thousands of years of memories.
So, I let him be.
We exit onto our floor and silently we both part ways into our rooms to change. I pull on another pair of shorts and a shirt. As soon as I’m done, Mina packs up my dress, and places it with my other bags, which have already been packed.
When we walk into the common room, I find Cyrus and Fredrick, waiting. He still does not say anything as we take the elevator back to the ground floor and then climb into a limo, which drives us to the airport.
It’s dark by the time we climb aboard Cyrus’ jet. Ten o’clock. The lights are dim as I sit in my same seat as before, and Cyrus takes his place, as well. Fredrick and Mina sit toward the back, but this time they just relax into their seats in silence. No more frantic planning.
We take off into the night sky.
Just twenty minutes before we land in Denver, Cyrus says, “Was Las Vegas what you expected?”
I look up at him. He’s looking back at me. But his expression is different. It’s distant. He’s still lost in his own head.
“No,” I say, looking out the window. “It was so much…more. It was everything you wanted it to be for me, though. It had the desired effect. But…”
“What?” he encourages when I hesitate.
I take a breath. “I think I enjoyed it.” I blush at the confession. “Not every second of it. But…there were parts that I think I enjoyed.”
He blinks. Three times.
He reaches forward, taking my hand.
And we both look back out at the night sky as we land in Colorado.
Chapter 15
Just a friendly little reminder, the text reads, $1,000, 3 more days.
I swear under my breath as I pack up at work. With shaking fingers, I text back, I know. I step out into the blinding sun after work on Monday. Mentally, I think through all of my things again, considering what I could sell to come up with the extra five hundred.
Nothing. Nothing I own is worth that much money.
Short of selling my body for services, I can’t think of anything I can do to come up with the money before Thursday.
“You seem tense,” Mina says as we both slide into my car.
“Not all of us can afford to buy mansions at the drop of a hat,” I say, annoyed. I pull out of the parking lot and head onto the road.
“If money is what has you so stressed out, perhaps you should talk to Cyrus,” she says. “You are a Royal, after all. That entitles you to certain benefits.”
My brows furrow and I look over at her in surprise.
Money.
Cyrus obviously has plenty of it. He’s had thousands of years to earn it.
And the Houses. There has to be a source that supports them in some way.
Of course it’s Cyrus.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I can take care of myself.”
It’s obviously not true. But I can’t stomach the idea of crawling to Cyrus and begging for his financial help.
Mina shrugs and doesn’t say anything more.
I pull into the parking lot of my apartment. “I’ll be right back, you can just wait here,” I tell Mina.
With heavy feet, I trudge up the stairs.
Harvey, my slimy landlord waits for me at my old door, standing in it, an obvious sign of not a chance you’re getting back inside, written all over his body language, his burly chest blocking my way.
Good thing Cyrus and I got everything last week.
He only scowls at me as I hand over the key.
I hand over my freedom. My thread of adulthood. My backup option.
I can’t even look up at him as I turn to go.
My stomach sinks.
It’s so final. I may not have had another choice in giving up my apartment. But this feels like the first item crossed off the list in saying goodbye to my human life.
Silently, I climb in the car, and we drive back to Cyrus’ house. Back home.
We walk through the grand doors. And I’m just too heavy. Too tired. Too everything.
I barely even glance up at Cyrus as I walk in. His head perks up, but maybe he knows how to read me, now. He doesn’t say anything.
I head up to my room. I curl up in the bed. And I just try not to think.
Two more days, Shylock texts me on Tuesday.
One more day, he sends on Wednesday.
I’m sweating bullets. I don’t sleep. Anxiety crawls its way up my chest all day at work.
I consider asking Emmanuel if I can borrow it. But then I’m just in debt to one more source, and then I’d be dragging him into my mess.
When I get home, I find myself scanning the house.
Anything. I could take anything from here, sell i
t, and have enough money.
But that only makes me a thief.
All I can do is show up at the meeting place tomorrow and beg for more time. And mercy.
“I have a thing I have to take care of tonight,” I say on Thursday morning. “I’ll only be gone for about thirty minutes. I haven’t tried to run yet, and I don’t plan on doing it now. So Mina can take the evening off.”
I say it all in a rush while staring into the fridge. I’m not hungry. My stomach is full of knots. There’s not a chance I can eat. But it’s habit, and there’s something human and comforting about habit.
“From your tone I assume you’re not going to say what this ‘thing’ is,” Cyrus states.
He’s just walked down the stairs and stands in the doorway to the living area. His hair is wet, slicked back. He slowly buttons up his shirt. He leaves the top three open.
“It’s all part of our deal,” I say emptily. “Closing up my human life.”
Cyrus looks up at Mina, who gives him a doubtful look.
“You can take the night off, Mina,” Cyrus says as he begins rolling up his cuffs, exposing his lean forearms. “I trust Logan when she says she won’t run.”
I nod my head in thanks as I close the fridge. I grab my purse off the counter and head for the door.
I feel Cyrus’ eyes on me as I walk past him, but I don’t have the mental energy to put on a show of strength and bravado for him.
It’s the longest and fastest day of work, ever.
I keep looking at the clock every five minutes. Every time I look, it’s half an hour later.
Time speeds along, and all too soon, it’s five and I’m clocking out. Mina and I drive back to the house.
Fredrick is serving dinner, and no one says a word as we eat.
At twenty to seven, I head to my bedroom. I pull open my bottom drawer and pull the folded up hundred dollar bills from a sock. Only five of them. Not enough. But it’s everything I have.
I suppose it’s a good thing vampires still have to eat. I wouldn’t be able to afford to feed myself if I wasn’t living here in this house.
I may not have had a choice, but there have been several unexpected benefits to being a prisoner.
“I’ll be back soon,” I say when I reach the bottom of the stairs. I don’t even look around to see if anyone is around to hear me.
I imagine all the bones Shylock could break as I drive to our meeting place. Fingers. Toes. Legs, if he’s feeling particularly angry over five hundred dollars. Maybe my nose. A black eye might satisfy him over a few weeks’ delay.
By the time I pull into the parking lot of the gas station, I’m about ready to puke. Every one of my nerves is on high alert. Fight or flight is raging through my system at supersonic speed.
I’d run.
Without a doubt.
But he knows where to find the people I care about.
My knees quake as I climb out of my car. Half of me feels numb as I walk around to the back of the building, to the narrow alley between the shops behind it.
He’s already waiting.
The moment I step into the alley, he pushes off the wall and walks toward me.
Shylock. The money shark. The man I turned to when everything in my life fell apart.
The shark that’s been breathing down my neck for the past two years.
“Let’s make this quick,” he says, looking around to be sure no one is watching. “I have another appointment after this.”
Appointment—as in someone else to scare half to death.
Shylock is tall. Probably weighs two hundred fifty pounds. His too-thin hair hangs long and dirty down his back. He wears a long black jacket, even though it’s summer. Black boots are strapped around his ankles.
Picture a money-loaning lowlife, and you can imagine Shylock.
“I…” I stutter, and I hate it. I need to sell this. “I need another week. I have half now, but you moving up the date like this-”
“Excuse me?” he says, leaning in, his face too close. “I said today. You agreed to my terms, however flexible they may need to be, back when you came to me. Twice.” He growls, his breath fowl. I barely hold back a gag. “I said today. Payment will be made today.”
I swallow once. I reach into my pocket with trembling hands. “I have five hundred now,” I say, forcing my voice not to quiver. “I’ll have the rest a week from today.”
Shylock snatches the money from my hand and I flinch back half a step.
His hand lurches out, grabbing the front of my shirt. He yanks me forward into his face as he slips the money into his pocket.
“Not good enough, Lo,” he hisses, using Amelia’s nickname for me. “And now I’m going to have to charge you some kind of interest.”
He pulls me closer, crushing us chest to chest. I let out a little squeal, a mix of anger and fear. He reaches forward, sliding his hand down my backside.
I shove against him, but he yanks me close again. The fabric of my shirt rips at the collar, tearing halfway down to my stomach.
I let out an angry cry, shoving against him again, but he just gives a disgusting little laugh and pulls me forward with his hands cupped around my rear.
“She’s a feisty little fighter,” he breathes, pressing his nose into my ear, whispering against my cheek.
“Get your slimy hands off of me,” I growl, shoving against the man who outweighs me by well over a hundred pounds.
He just laughs again. With his weight, he backs me against the wall, and I smash into it, pain shooting out along the contact points. He reaches down between us, searching for the button of my pants.
A low growl whips both of our heads to the left.
Through the dim light, a pair of glowing red eyes stares us down.
“I was going to intervene,” a low, calm but dangerous voice says. And my pulse skyrockets. “I was going to offer to pay her debt off and let you go your own way.” One step, Cyrus enters the alleyway. “But then you had to go and put your hands on her. And touching my things is an unforgiveable sin.”
Shylock is stiff, wary.
Cyrus is smaller than Shylock. Shorter. Not as muscled.
But when a man with glowing red eyes is fixated on you, when he speaks with dangerous, controlled words, you’d best fear for your life.
“This here has nothing to do with you, freak,” Shylock growls. But there’s a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “Just keep walking.”
Cyrus smiles, and oh how terrifying the man’s smile is.
“Oh, but it has a great deal to do with me,” he says. “You’ve threatened this rather incredible woman. And now you’ve put her hands on her.”
Shylock spits in Cyrus’ direction, landing on his boot.
And like he can really ignore Cyrus’ presence, Shylock searches again, and this time succeeds in unbuttoning my pants.
One second he was there. The next, Shylock is gone.
A scream is strangled from my throat when I’m nearly knocked over as Cyrus pounces on Shylock. They hit the ground ten feet from me, rolling only once.
Cyrus lands on top of him. One hand wraps around Shylock’s throat. He looks up at the King with wide, terrified eyes.
Cyrus leans in close, their noses only two inches apart.
“Perhaps the world has forgotten common decency,” Cyrus says in that controlled voice of his. “This world is full of all kinds of predators. I would know since I made the most powerful ones. But you…” he trails off, his lip curling in a sneer. “You are the worst kind.”
I can’t figure out what happened at first.
There’s a little pop sound.
Shylocks eyes go wide.
They stay that way.
Even when his head relaxes back a bit.
And then there’s blood.
One short breath huffs out of my mouth. And then I press my hands over it, trapping the scream behind them.
Cyrus squeezed.
And squeezed.
And squeezed ri
ght through his neck. Snapping his head right off.
I turn, crouching down into a squat, holding my hands over my mouth so that the screams don’t spill from my lips.
Sharp breaths pull in and out of my nose and tears prick my eyes.
I’m not sure how much time passes. I hear the sound of the dumpster at the end of the alley open and close, something heavy hits the metal bottom.
But then there’s a warm hand on my back.
And the emotions rip through me at tornado speed.
I shakily rise to my feet.
And I bury my face in Cyrus’ chest, letting tears overtake me.
He wraps his arms around my back, holding me close. “It’s over,” he whispers. “He’ll never, ever bother you again. Whatever debt you owed him, you’ll never have to worry about it again.”
I sob. I tremble.
Because all I can think about is the feeling of Shylock’s hands on my rear. His fingers slipping inside my waistband to unbutton my pants. The evil look in his eyes as he decided exactly what kind of interest I would pay.
“It’s over,” Cyrus whispers again, pulling me closer.
Shylock would have raped me.
His fingers were right there.
Too strong, too possessive. The look in his eyes told me everything.
He would have taken me, right here in this alley.
“Let’s go home,” Cyrus says quietly, cradling my head against his chest.
I squeeze him tighter, clinging to him.
Safe.
Not just safe, protected.
And those two words, they make me pull back, and I look up into Cyrus’ eyes. They no longer glow red. He looks back at me, and everything in his eyes echoes those two words.
How? I think to myself. How could I possibly feel that way around this dangerous man?
“Come on,” Cyrus says. He takes a step back, but takes my hand, guiding me. To my car, he leads me. He opens the passenger door and I sink into it. As I give him the keys, I realize my shirt is torn open, exposing my chest and most of my stomach. I pull the fabric closed, attempting to cover myself.
With slightly jerky movements, Cyrus drives us back to the mansion.
I’m numb. Not in the present. I don’t even remember walking up the stairs, but suddenly I hear the sound of a door shutting and look around to realize I’m in my room. Cyrus stands at the door, looking at me with concerned eyes.