Lothaire

In a strangled voice, she cried, “Are you kidding?”

“Calm your goddamned heart!” he bellowed, his instinct to protect her—to comfort her—nearly overriding his need to punish her. Which infuriated him even more!

He knew he should just return her to her room, then sleep—and not only to dream memories. He was strung out, his madness creeping closer at every moment.

But his ire demanded appeasement. “You flinch like a coward. Are you one? Am I to add cowardly to all the adjectives I use to describe you?”

“Fuck you, vampire!” She knocked his arm away—he let her. “I’m no coward. I’ve got flint in my veins. Don’t mistake my reflexes for fear.” Her fists balled, her fear ebbing. “And you don’t get to play the privacy card! Not while your homeless tramp has set up her cardboard house inside me.”

He reacted better to her anger, his vision clearing. Gods, the rumors were true. He was connected to his Bride’s moods, responding to them. And Elizabeth was a fragment of Saroya, like a placeholder for his female.

Between gritted teeth, he commanded, “Calm yourself, Elizabeth.” He knew one thing that would calm them both. Release. With one bite, she’d be begging for him to ease her.

He wondered if the other rumors about Brides were true. Will she pleasure me more deeply than I’d ever imagined?

Wait for your true one! Saroya will be worth it.

Elizabeth stared at his eyes. “Look at me, Lothaire. I’m calming down, okay?”

“Then answer the question. Why are you in my room?”

“I was curious about you.”

“Curious to find a way to thwart my plans? And what did you discover about me that you didn’t know?”

“A few things.”

What? What? Anticipation teased him—because he had no clue what she’d say. He sat at his desk, impatiently waving a hand at her. “Thrall me.”

She took a deep breath, then said, “You’re an insomniac. You speak and write at least two languages, but you have difficulty centering your thoughts enough to write anything at length. You’re obsessive-compulsive with your possessions, which leads me to think that very little of your life outside of these walls is how you want it to be. You had no friends growing up and that hasn’t changed since. You’re narcissistic—but I knew that upon first looking at you.”

He tilted his head, grudgingly impressed, though his tone was anything but. “First of all, I’m not narcissistic.” When she opened her lips to argue, he said, “I know Narkissos of Thespiae—while we might share traits, I came first, so he’s Lothairistic, not the other way around. Furthermore, I speak and write eight languages. As for my obsession with order, that’s obvious from my closet. Insomniac is easy enough to guess. The sheets are twisted.”

“And the metronome. You use it to relax you.”

Observant human. “My supposed friendless state?” She had him dead to rights there, other than his young halfling admirer.

Then Lothaire frowned. No, he’d once had a boon companion. Until I was betrayed.

“I knew by the puzzles,” Elizabeth said. “They’re a solitary recreation. A couple look very old, so I’d guess you’ve been interested in them for some time, probably since you were a boy.”

Again, how unexpected. She was actually entertaining him.

“Look, Lothaire, this won’t happen again. I’ll just go back to my room—”

“Sit.” He pointed to a settee beside his desk. After a hesitation, she perched on the very edge of the cushion, with her back ramrod straight.

“Relax, mortal.”

“How can I when I have no idea what you’re going to do?” Her gaze flitted over the side of his face.

He reached up, daubing at the slashes he’d forgotten. Fucking wraith. “I’m going to attempt to wind down from this day and night.”

Still Elizabeth held herself stiffly, though she was exhausted. Smudges colored the skin under her eyes.

“How did you learn to pick locks?”

“On the weekends, my father worked as a handyman who did lock-smithing on the side.”

“Before he died in the mine? All that work and you were still mired in poverty?”

She lifted her chin, her eyes flashing.

So proud. So little reason to be. “Did you enjoy searching my home?”

“How long were you watching me?” she demanded.

“How long do you think?”

“Do you ever answer a question straightforward-like?”

He made a habit of oblique replies. His inability to lie had made him skilled at misdirection. He didn’t often get called on it, though. “And you? You’re nearly as bad as I am.”

“Fine. Yes, I enjoyed snooping around your apartment. I got to see things I never had before. I’ll probably dream of that chandelier tonight.” She bit her bottom lip. “Right after I get done dreaming of those jewels.”

He’d surprised himself by showing them to Elizabeth, by wanting to see her reaction. Or perhaps he’d merely wanted any reaction whatsoever, any response to his gift.

Saroya’s had been . . . lacking.

“You truly think that’s what you’ll dream of?” he asked. “It’s more likely that you’ll relive the events of the past twenty-four hours.” He didn’t think she’d fully comprehended all that had happened to her. Her mind had been too busy futilely planning an escape—or suicide.

But once she truly accepted that she was doomed . . . ? Everything she’d endured would catch up with her.

All miseries catch up eventually.

Would he experience Elizabeth’s near death in dreams? He’d taken enough of her blood earlier.

“I’m not allowing myself to reflect about today,” she said.

“Simple as that—your mind does as your will commands? Mind over mind?”

She shrugged. “Something like that, yes.”

He leaned forward in his seat. “So tonight, I have learned that you are unjustifiably proud. You believe yourself strong of will and keen of mind—”

“I’m not unkeen or weak-willed.”

“—and you like to analyze things. I wonder what you would make of this?” He traced to his safe, retrieving his weighty ledger book.

Never had he shown another person his accountings. But Elizabeth would soon be dead, and now he was curious to see what she’d say.

He sat at his desk once more, opening the tome. “Come. View my ledger.”

She hesitantly rose, then stood beside him. “I’ve never seen an account book like this.”

It contained only two columns: Indebted and Targeted. “And you’ve reviewed so many from your trailer in Appalachia?”

“Funny thing about Appalachia jokes—unlike all other jokes, they just never get old.”

He raised a brow. “It’s an accounting of blood debts from Loreans.”

“There are so many entries.”

He inclined his head. Everything to serve his Endgame. “This represents thousands of years of . . . accounting.” Again and again, he’d used his ability to predict others’ moves, ensuring he was always in the right place at the right time to exact blood vows.

If Nïx was the queen of foresight, then Lothaire was the king of insight.

White queen versus black king. He recalled his last encounter with the soothsayer, on that prison island. He’d told her, “Until our next match.” But she’d answered, “There won’t be a next match, vampire.”