Lothaire

Lothaire didn’t have time to do any of them ill. “I don’t. Not yet,” he added to prevent the rána.

After a hesitation, Thaddeus said, “Okay, I’ll keep it close to the vest. But I need to know how I can get in touch with you. What’s your number?”

Lothaire stared at him. “Number? Why do you want this?”

Thaddeus rolled his eyes. “One more time. Because—we’re—friends. I plan to help you with Webb, and give you some backup against Dorada. They said she’ll be coming for you.”

She is. When last Lothaire had seen her—mummified, hideous to gaze upon—she’d been shrieking, “RIIIIINNNNNGGGGG,” as she hunted him through the Order’s prison, her Wendigo lackeys prowling beside her.

He’d had quite a surprise waiting for them all. . . .

“Lothaire? Hellooo.”

“What?”

“I said, I want to meet the missus.”

Lothaire tensed, slowly craning his head around at the boy. “Missus?”

“They say you’ve got your Bride now.”

“They meaning Nïx.” Lothaire bared his fangs, felt them drip on his tongue. Yes, he’d toyed with his enemies, threatening their families, mocking their frenzied reactions while he was ever cold and calculating.

No longer.

Unaware of Lothaire’s rising impulse to do murder, Thaddeus continued, “There are a lot of folks around here talking about the bounty on your lady—”

Before Thaddeus could blink, Lothaire had his hand around the boy’s throat, squeezing. . . . “What’s the bounty? Who posted it?”

Foolish, Lothaire! Why hadn’t he acted uncaring? Why reveal his crazed possessiveness of Saroya?

How smug I was in the past, confident I’d never care about anything enough to reveal a weakness.

Thaddeus bit out, “I don’t know what it is . . . but they said it’s priceless. Don’t know who . . . posted it.”

Priceless? “Someone set hunters on our trail? Then he’s sent me meals to torment. If my deadly Bride doesn’t get to them first.” Lothaire released Thaddeus with a shove that sent him sprawling to the ground.

Between wheezes, the boy said, “I knew you had a lady, then! You made some comments. . . . That’s why you would’ve done anything to get off the island.” He was delighted by this, scrambling to his feet and dusting himself off as if nothing had happened. “That’s the reason you screwed us all over. I knew you weren’t as bad as Regin and Nïx and Cara and Emma and—”

“Enough!” The soldiers of the Vertas army—the supposed white hats in the Lore—acted holier-than-thou. Yet they would punish a female who’d never harmed any of them?

Hypocrites in league.

Have to turn her into an immortal as soon as possible. Saroya had to be able to defend herself, to trace in escape if necessary.

“Well, then, what is she?” the boy pressed. “Not a vampire, ’cause Regin told me there were no female ones left. Maybe she’s a demoness or a witch?”

Can’t think . . . can’t think. Why this interest from Thaddeus? “Did they plant you here, to get information from me?”

“No, of course not!”

Even if Lothaire kept Saroya behind a boundary, nothing in the Lore was foolproof. Panic tightened his chest.

Return. Never leave her unguarded again. To Thaddeus he grated, “You forget you ever knew me, boy.” Then he disappeared.

13

When Lothaire returned to the apartment, he found Elizabeth just setting out from her room.

Against his orders.

She’d removed all that makeup; though Lothaire was loath to admit it, he found it an improvement. She’d also changed into jeans that lovingly outlined her pert ass—a fact that offset the worst of his anger.

Going exploring, are we? When he imagined her little mortal brain struggling to process her new environment, he decided to shadow her, making himself invisible so he could study her reactions.

When she entered the first unlit bedroom and the lights came on automatically, she spun in a circle, demanding, “Who’s there?” Then she stepped out of the room. The lights clicked off. “Oh.”

In the living room, she pressed a button for the TV. When it rose from a console, she went wide-eyed.

The theater room elicited an exclamation: “Hoo!” Which he supposed was Hillbilly for “Excellent.”

In the kitchen, she peeked into the refrigerator, grimacing at his pitchers of blood. As Lothaire dimly wondered what the mortal chef had thought of his stores earlier today, she sniffed one, then quickly returned it. She investigated the cabinets, finding them all empty. After examining the appliances, she sang, “Meet George Jetson.”

Whatever that meant.

In fact, her exploration consisted mostly of button pushing and jumping back in fear.

She might as well have been in a foreign land. She seemed alternately suspicious and dazzled.

But in the main foyer, she gazed up at the crystal chandelier for long moments, tilting her head in different directions, following the complex design with her gaze.

Lothaire could see the prisms of light reflected in her wide gray eyes. She had . . . intelligent eyes. Perhaps more was there than he’d allowed himself to see.

He stared at the delicate shape of her face in profile. From this angle, he could see her lips were a touch fuller in the middle, giving them that bow shape.

She was so fragile. Touching her would be like handling gossamer. Claiming her would be impossible. She had to be stronger.

The idea of himself in a blood rage, desperate to spend deep inside her . . .

He ran his hand over his face. If he took her in that state, he could rend her in two, could pulverize her bones.

She rubbed her nape under that fall of lustrous hair, then self-consciously tucked a lock behind her ear. Did the mortal actually sense him watching her?

Some humans possessed a kind of sixth sense. Few of them ever seemed to trust it.

A vampire is eyeing you like prey. Can you feel it, Elizabeth?

She narrowed her gaze, peering around her.

Can you feel me . . . ?

After a moment, her suspicious mien turned determined. With a purposeful stride, she returned to that first bedroom. Inside, she worked the bedside table away from the wall, then dropped to her knees.

What is she doing? he wondered vaguely, his gaze locked on her rounded ass and taut thighs—until he heard the wallpaper ripping. He traced to mere inches from her to get a look at what she was up to.

She’d been digging for a phone jack. Without a phone? Why?

She would search in vain. There were none in the apartment. All had been removed and plastered over.