I shake my head.
“Who’s the most powerful vampire on the High Council?”
I turn toward Prey in the little space and though I can’t see him, I know his mouth is so close to mine. My suddenly stuttering heart is all too aware of him since he fed on me.
I hate that.
“Zavia for sure. She has unimaginable abilities. Vanishing is a true benefit for her. Rival only grew into that power within the last few years.” Vanishing? “Most vampires grow stronger with age, or through the bond of a mate. Some seek out many mates, but Zavia’s powers are her own. She has never taken a mate, and she won’t in the future. She wouldn’t share her strength with another.”
“Did… did Kyra have a mate?”
This question draws another seething breath out of Prey.
“What the fuck is your problem? I need information. I need more than just an uncomfortable pair of heels and nice hairdo to deceive these bloodthirsty mosquitoes for you!”
His hand jerks away from me and light floods over us as he shoves the lid away and storms out of the deathbed I had gotten far too comfortable in.
My jaw clenches hard, but I manage to rise from my sarcophagus. And when I say rise, I don’t mean that I’m drawn up like an eerie creature of the night. I have to throw my leg over the edge and literally hurt my coochie trying to crawl out of this fucking stone box.
My heels stumble and threaten to break my neck on the way out.
“Fucking, vampiric bullshit!” I hiss.
But when I stand, Prey is looking at me with wide eyes and an open mouth with no cruel words falling from his lips.
And that’s how I know something bad has happened.
“Your neck,” he whispers.
“Shit, did it leave a mark? I told you it would. Dammit!”
In a flash, he’s so close that I can feel his energy prickling over my skin. And then he’s caressing my jaw. Right before he flips my chin harshly to the side and really inspects my throat.
“Fuck!” he hisses.
“What? Just get some concealer. You’re my assistant, fuckboy. Run on out to Walgreens and get me a pale shade of concealer. We’ll be fine.”
“No. You,” he shoves his fingers through his inky hair and pulls hard. My hands lift to instinctively make him lower his fists down from his pretty locks.
“Stop,” I whisper. “It’s just a hickey. It’s not a big deal.”
Why? Why do I care if he hurts himself?
“No! It’s not just a fucking hickey, Kira! Jesus Christ, why are you humans so incredibly dense!?”
My heart dips at the sound of my real name on his lips.
Especially spoken in such a thick layer of anger.
“It’s a mark!” He looks up at me with wild blue eyes, like a storm crashing through the calm night sky. “It’s a mating mark, Kira,” he whispers like he’s been slain and he’s taking his last breath to give to me.
And it’s then that I see the problem.
I haven’t just been marked. I’ve been claimed.
By Prey.
Fuck me.
Fourteen
Kira
I want to kill him and hold him all at the same time for doing it. My rational mind argues that he has no control over these things, but my irrational mind is already digging a grave to bury him alive.
“I’m so sorry,” Prey says lamely.
He’s sorry?
He’s fucking sorry!?
He hates me! And fate foolishly made us mates? Partners for all eternity!?
My mouth opens but nothing comes out, and I don’t even know what I could say to this asshole who is supposed to be out looking for my sister’s murderer. Not claiming mates and building white picket fences to grow old with.
“I have to go,” I turn away from him on the heels of my shoes and I hear him slowly follow behind me. “Don’t.” That one word stops him oddly in his tracks, and I don’t know why he listens, but I’m thankful that he does for once.
I just… everything is just too much right now. Why? Why would the universe make me his mate? I don’t want to be in the same room with him, much less love his arrogant, petty heart.
Fuck!
I storm up a set of stairs on the opposite side from where we entered the croft.
I haven’t studied the church much, aside from peering through some stained glass windows, and I need to clear my head. Everyone will be resting soon. And while they rest, I’ll be doing what I came here for.
Finding my sister’s killer.
The staircase here is more ornate than the other cripplingly thin set of stairs. They must be a newer renovation. They twist upward while a pretty metal rail with grooves etched into it guides me toward the upper levels. It’s lit by glowing red lights that shine across the tips of my pointed shoes with every step I take.
A large hall opens up at the top. To the right is a small sort of library that spans across an upper level. Books line the walls on all sides. It’s a room decorated with rows and stacks of literature. It’s painted in shades of biography and fiction, with accents of collected poems. My heart dips and leaps and dips again, all at the same time. I know Kyra would have loved it as much as I do.
The enormous room is quiet and empty, save for a forgotten glass that rests on the mantel above a large burning fire. The embers crackle and I’m tempted to step into the room and stay a while,but my feet keep moving.
Unsure of what I’m supposed to be looking for, I simply map the building out and take mental notes of the layout as I go.
The following room is a large bathroom, and I would pass it by as well, but a glowing display of red lipsticks catches my eye. Various shades and luxury brands of all kinds line each side of the large mirror. The lights above the sink flash on the moment I step in front of it. And then
