Waiting in the Wings

that night.”

“No, that’s not what I mean.” Catching his hand in hers, she lifted his fingers to her lips and kissed them with affection, the gesture both familiar and new. “Maybe I don’t remember being her, your Kristina, but I know me. I know what I would have done if I thought someone was ignoring me. Hell, I know what I do now. I make a huge scene. I dress up, I sneak out and I do everything I’m not supposed to do because I want someone to notice. So, if I was really trying to prove a point to you, I would have made a hell of a scene—one you couldn’t ignore.”

So the question was why hadn’t she done that?

Richard stilled, his expression turning pensive. “Yes. You had done something similar before—in London. I still blame you for that Bram Stoker nonsense.”

Her mouth twitched. “Really?”

“Absolutely. You went out drinking with every would-be writer and playwright in the countryside. You were determined to make headlines everywhere you could until I dragged you back in and took you to the States. London bored you—you wanted an adventure.”

Kiki laughed. “Okay, I want to remember that for sure.”

“You would.” He teased, but a somber note arrested his smile. “Still, you didn’t even arrive at the party you wanted me to go to.”

“Okay, so I was mad. I got dressed up. I wanted to teach you a lesson and make a scene. But I didn’t go to that party. Did I have guards?” It made sense, Richard traveled with them. Wouldn’t she have had her own?

“Yes. But you escaped them, trading vehicles and visiting about two-dozen different dance clubs. They spent the better part of two days trying to hunt you before they told me they didn’t know where you went.” Violence surfaced in his voice, a dark threat, and Kiki winced. She didn’t envy those guards that explanation.

Chewing her lower lip, she tried to put the pieces together. Maybe she didn’t remember, but what would she do? Right now, if she wanted his attention and he wasn’t giving it—she lifted her drink and stared at the faint bruises on her wrist. They faded, almost gone, but still…

“Richard?”

“Yes, my love?”

“Have you and Andrew always not gotten along?” She knew the vampire prince of Las Vegas, they all did. He was a regular visitor at the casino, but she’d never really cared for him, and after the events earlier this evening, she could safely say she despised him.

“We knew him in the Wolcotts, darling, and no, we have never gotten along. The sycophants around him too easily sway his choices. It’s why Las Vegas is so perfect for—” He stopped and she could almost see the leap his mind made. The leap hers already assumed.

After all, how better to irritate the hell out of her lover than to…

“You didn’t?” He didn’t quite glare at her, but disbelief and disgust twisted in his expression.

“I don’t know that I did and I’m rather hoping not, because he’s a lot skeevy, but I wanted to teach you a lesson and get your attention—why not seek out someone who would thoroughly piss you off?”

Pain flashed through Richard’s eyes, a dark and seemingly bottomless well of it that vanished behind a shuttering in his expression. He pulled away from her and rose. Kiki sighed. She didn’t want to be that woman— not anymore. Even if it meant never remembering, she didn’t want to hurt him that way.

Ever again.

“Richard, I’m—”

He held up a hand, silencing her. He walked over to the dresser and set his glass down. Hands braced on the wood, he seemed to study the counter top. Every muscle in his body rigidly flexed.

“I’m sorry,” she began again. But he didn’t seem to hear her words. He stood so very still.

The sound of the wood snapping cut through the silence as he ripped the dresser sideways. Glass crashed to the floor, and the wood slammed into the wall and shattered.

Richard exhaled a long breath. “You have nothing to be sorry about, my love.” The control in his voice didn’t match his actions at all. Nor did it reflect the fists of fury clenched in his gut. Kristina may have toyed with the Prince of Las Vegas, but he knew his bride…she would never have taken it beyond the teasing stage.

The shattered wood and glass piled against the wall, and he turned to look at her wide-eyed worry and fought to find a smile. “You didn’t do anything wrong—impulsive, I’ll grant you. But I trust you, Kristina.”

“That’s great,” her voice trembled. “But how can you when I don’t know for sure? I must have done something that landed me here. Heidi said she didn’t own my contract, which means someone else does. I have no memory of a life before being in the Midnight Mystery Lounge, but obviously I had one. And…” She rose and walked toward him, unabashed and beautiful in her nudity. “…and I don’t know. I don’t know how to find the answers and I don’t know if I want them.”

He frowned. “You don’t want to remember?” Did he hear that correctly?

She picked her way past the glass and debris until she stood in front of him. Cupping his cheeks in her palms, she stared at him with such honest devotion it took his breath away. She still loves me. He believed it, tasted it in her kisses and her caresses—but the surge of emotion he felt from her now made those other experiences pale. His blood flowed through her, the fractured, latent connection sizzled to real life.

She loved him.

“I don’t want to be the woman who hurt you.”

He looped his arms around her and tugged her close. “I hurt me too, darling. I do not blame you for our fights and I would never blame you for what has befallen you. I blame myself. I blame my stubbornness and pride. I put my city before you and I shouldn’t have done that—”

“But being Prince must mean a lot of work and a lot of responsibility—I could have been more understanding.”

“You understood for several centuries, Kristina.” He leaned back and mirrored her pose, holding her face in his hands. “Centuries. You supported every effort I made, you didn’t complain…”

She snorted. “Seriously? Ever?”

“Okay, you complained.” A reluctant grin tugged at his lips. “But you never stopped supporting me. I should have been more sensitive to your needs.” But it was easier to say later. I would do it later, and then later disappeared, and you weren’t there. He swallowed the grief of her absence, burying it deep. He’d sustained himself with irritation and anger for decades. He could hold on longer—hold on until she was his again.

Frustration rent through him, but he kissed her as gently as he could before letting her go so he could begin cleaning up the destruction. He would have to replace Malcolm’s furniture.

“I could talk to Andrew. He’s often in the Arcana Royale…”

“No.” He glared at her over his shoulder. “You will stay away from him.”

“But we still don’t know why I’m here or how to get me free. Malcolm had to play a game for Pandora. And Roseatre… Roseatre was only trapped because she willed it…” Kristina jerked and glanced at her wrists, examining them carefully.

Sweeping the glass onto a discarded sheet, he frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Roseatre had on slave bands, but you couldn’t see them. I just wanted to see if I did.”

“You can’t use slave bands on a vampire, love.” He gave her an indulgent smile when she grumbled. “You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because vampires answer to their makers, the slave band can’t force them to do anything because—” He considered the reasons behind the sire-child bond. A maker had to be able to control their child, but the natural born—their makers were their parents. Those bonds stayed in effect until the parent died. Yet, slave bands didn’t affect the natural born. The act of making a human into a vampire was difficult enough, and the unpredictable results on the turned negated any potential gain.

“No. Not slave bands and even if they did, that wouldn’t take away your memory.” He carried the debris into the other room and set it in a corner. Kristina still stood in the middle of the bedroom, looking a little lost and forlorn when he returned. “We will figure this out, I swear that to you. I will not leave you here.”