Page 129 of Thirst
A rustle swept over the cemetery, and the hairs on the back of my neck lifted. A half-dozen vampires dropped from the skeletal trees, silent as falling leaves.
QCS men. I recognized a few from Brien’s negotiations with their primus, Régis Dussault, about investing in a mammoth QCS casino. The newcomers sauntered forward, taking a place in the circle.
We all tensed. Brien’s hands settled on his dagger hilts.
“More observers,” Nazaire said with a sly glance. “Any objections?”
Brien inclined his head. “Not at all.”
Then Dussault himself strode through the graves, boots whispering over the snow-crusted grass, dark hair slicked back from his face, eyes like polished stone—black, unreadable.
Talon’s gaze cut to mine. I could practically hear him: Called it.
Nyx had warned us that the QCS primus might be using her sire as a proxy to strike at Brien. So we’d been aware this might be a trap, but had agreed it was worth the risk. Better to die in a fair fight than take a stake in the dark, the way Brien’s mother had.
Dussault stepped into the circle opposite Brien. Unlike Nazaire, he wasn’t tricked out in a designer suit. No, like us, he’d come dressed for war, twin daggers riding his hips.
“Brien.” He inclined his head in a greeting that felt more like a threat.
“Régis,” my friend returned, unsmiling.
Dussault rested his hands on his dagger handles, mirroring Brien. “I wasn’t aware you requested permission to enter my territory.”
“My apologies,” Brien murmured for form’s sake. “I was on a rescue mission. A friend of Lieutenant Cain’s mate.”
The other primus’s brow furrowed. “Mate?”
I nodded proudly. “Nyx Nazaire has done me the honor of accepting my bond.”
Dussault looked to her for confirmation.
She sat tall on the bench, shoulders back, chin lifted. “It’s true.”
His eyes cut to her sire. “You agreed to this?”
Nazaire’s nostrils flared. “No. But she is no longer my concern.”
“He disowned her,” I said. “If I win the challenge, she belongs to me.”
Dussault’s frown increased. “Explain.”
Maxime stepped forward, laying out the terms of the challenge.
It was highly irregular, and everyone there knew it. If Nazaire won, Dussault would lose an enforcer to the Maritime Syndicate. I braced for Nyx’s primus to object, but instead he traded a long look with her sire before saying, “Very well. Proceed.”
Brien’s mouth bent down, his eyes meeting mine past Maxime’s shoulder. Confirmation—Nazaire hadn’t been acting alone. He’d been operating with Dussault’s knowledge, if not his express permission.
Good. We’d forced him out into the open at least.
Maxime raised a dagger above his head, the blade glinting against the night sky. My grip tightened around my own dagger’s ebony hilt. I dropped into a fighter’s crouch, adrenaline surging. Across from me, Nazaire did the same.
Maxime’s voice rang out. “Let the challenge begin!” He slashed the dagger down between me and Nazaire, and stepped back into the circle.
Nazaire circled me, eyes locked on mine. Watching and waiting for an opening.
I gave him three beats, then lunged, gambling it would throw off his rhythm.
It did.
