Page 123 of Thirst
James and Adrian rejoined our group, and the six of us formed a semicircle around Nyx, Nazaire and his two men.
A smile curled the Quebec City enforcer’s thin mouth. “Thank you, little rabbit,” he told his daughter, planting a kiss on her cheek. “You brought them straight to me.”
She heaved a breath. Then she lifted her chin. “You can still end this. Keep me, but let them go. If you swear to drop this vendetta against them, then they’ll leave. Right, Primus Leclerc?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Brien’s jaw work. “If you swear a blood oath,” he told Nazaire. “Then yes.”
A sharp rush of gratitude hit me. Brien hated Nazaire as much as I did—wanted him gone. But he was willing to let the SOB walk for me. To save my mate.
I didn’t know what I’d done to deserve friends like this.
The lean, dark-haired enforcer wasn’t as savvy as I figured because he shook his head, sneering, “So magnanimous, but I believe I’ll decline. I’d rather see you on your knees. Begging.”
Brien simply looked at him.
The hair on my nape stirred. The air stilled, thickened, like a storm about to break, and not just because Brien was about to blow.
I glanced around, hand on my hilt.
Shadows moved—left, right, behind—then a half-dozen men appeared all around the great room. Like us, they’d come dressed for a fight, in combat-ready clothing, blades gleaming in their hands.
“Surprise,” Twilight said under her breath.
The six of us moved toward each other, forming a facing-out hexagon so we covered each other’s backs.
The newcomers prowled toward us. Silent, well-trained predators. But then, so were we.
I still faced Nyx, a man closing in on me from either side. I calculated the odds of reaching Nazaire before they stopped me and judged it wasn’t good. I braced myself to try anyway.
Nyx’s mouth moved in a soundless apology. I’m sorry.
My brows drew together. I gave a tiny shake of my head because she had nothing to be sorry about.
Nyx stared back, body stiff with tension. Then she flinched, and I realized her bastard of a sire had moved the dagger down, the silver point biting into her thin nylon shirt.
“Drop your weapons,” he said, teeth bared, “or I’ll bury this in my bitch of a daughter. And not in her heart—in her liver. That would be a shame, no? Such une jolie fille.”
My blood iced. The liver was the body’s filter, the organ that removed toxins like silver. Best case? Nyx would be screaming in agony for weeks. Worst case—her allergy would finish what the silver started and she’d never crawl back.
She pulled in a shallow breath, face expressionless.
“Now,” Nazaire rapped out. “Weapons on the floor.”
She mouthed no at me, eyes pleading.
I snarled lowly. Did she really think I’d stand by and let that motherfucker drive a blade into her?
“He means it,” I told my friends and crouched to obey.
34
Nyx
Cain placed his dagger on the black marble floor. A soft, almost polite click that struck me like a gong.
He’d disarmed himself.
To protect me.
