Page 39 of Thirst
“Following orders,” I told him evenly. “I stayed hidden so I could rig their boat to explode.”
He crossed the Turkish carpet to me, slow and deliberate. “But those Maritime bastards all survived, didn’t they? And meanwhile, Pascal and Lemaire are in their final graves, while you—a dhampir—lived. Interesting, no?”
The unfairness of his accusation stole my breath, especially after I’d turned down Cain’s offer of sanctuary—because I wasn’t a blood-rat. Because loyalty still meant something to me and I refused to sell him out to those “Maritime bastards.”
“If you’re saying I double-crossed you,” I said, chest burning, “then you’re wrong. You’re my sire. I take my orders from you and Primus Dussault. No one else.”
His hand lifted. I tensed, bracing myself for the slap. It never came. Instead, his eyelids dipped—slow, savoring—before his fingertips traced down my cheek with a softness that felt more insulting than a strike.
“So passionate,” he said. “And you want to please me, don’t you?”
My throat worked. There was only one right answer. “Yes, of course.”
“Then you’ll meet this man for me—assess his offer. If it goes well, perhaps I’ll reward you. A little bonus. Enough for another weekend in Paris, yes?”
“Thank you,” I said, the words tasting like ash.
“Good. The meeting is set for Thursday night. Tomorrow, there’s a party, an above-ground one, with humans. Wear one of your new dresses. Régis asked that you attend, and you’ll want to look your best. He’s looking for a new companion.”
I forced a nod. “As you wish.”
A companion?
Fear knotted in my chest. I wouldn’t even be a thrall with a contract. I’d be the primus’s property. A blood slave, in other words, dressed up in silk and jewels.
I hesitated, then risked a last question. “This man I’m meeting… May I ask what he’s offering you?”
My father’s mouth curved. “One of Brien’s lieutenants.”
11
Cain
In life, you get two choices: break—or break others.
Wayne Baker’s favorite saying played through my mind as I stood on a hill swallowed by darkness, staring down at his white clapboard farmhouse. When I was a kid, it had seemed like a mansion—four bedrooms, two full baths, a whole dining room I wasn’t allowed to set foot in. It had dwarfed Talon’s two-bedroom cottage.
Now it was just a tired old house, paint peeling off the siding, porch sagging under its own weight. Like Baker himself.
Still, I couldn’t look away.
When my father had gone over that cliff in his car, I was too young to understand we’d been on Lilith Island that night. To this day, I didn’t know if Baker had a hand in it. My dad was his wife’s brother, not his, and I remembered a huge argument right before it happened.
The Bakers had moved immediately to take custody of me, even though my mom’s sister had wanted me, too. The moment the ink dried on the legal documents, Wayne took control of my dad’s assets. That money was meant to be mine at twenty-one, but by then, he’d drained every cent to pay for my “care.”
In reality, he and Aunt June had used it to build a farmhouse and fill it with expensive antiques, then invested the remainder. All of it in their names, of course.
Some men would’ve killed Baker the moment they realized he’d stolen their inheritance. I’d even considered arranging an “accident” like my dad’s. The symmetry had its appeal.
But I didn’t want to kill Baker. I wanted to break him.
And as a syndicate vampire, I had the power to do it.
First his farm failed. I didn’t harm the small herd of Holsteins. Before Talon, those cows were my only friends. Yeah, I attended the island school—most days—but I didn’t make friends there. I was the freak, the kid with holes in his shoes and too-short pants and the thousand-yard stare.
So instead of killing the cows outright, I’d made sure Baker’s luck turned. A few missed repairs here, a couple of years of failed crops. Enough to push him into taking out a second mortgage on his house—from a bank the Maritime Syndicate effectively owned. When he fell behind on the house payments, I made sure he wasn’t offered any extensions or leniency.
One by one, he sold off the herd. Then his investments tanked, and to stay afloat, he was forced to sell all that pricy furniture.
