Page 43 of Thirst
Had Jerome or Manny seen something? Heard something?
A knock on my door brought me to my feet, heart racing.
It was only Perla, breezing in to help transform me into something glittering and presentable. The last thing I wanted was to play dress-up at a party. But if Dussault had asked for me by name, staying home wasn’t an option. So I let her choose a dress—a sparkly pewter slip—and pull my curls back with a diamond clip, leaving a few tendrils to soften my face.
“There.” She handed me a pair of diamond-and-platinum hoops. “You’ll outshine every vampire in the place. If I looked half that good in sparkles, I’d bathe in them.”
“Thanks.” I dredged up a smile.
She caught my gaze in the mirror. “Nyx?”
I reached for the second earring. “Mm?”
“If you ever leave…take me, all right? I don’t want to be left behind.”
I stilled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Hurt flashed across her face, and I cringed inwardly. But why was she asking tonight of all times? I’d been so careful.
“Of course,” she said. “Forget I asked.” Her teeth caught her lower lip. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”
We both knew who she meant.
I inserted the second earring, the platinum cool against my skin. “Tell them what?”
She gave a half-hearted smile and held up a sheer silk shrug. “How about something for those bare shoulders?”
“Perfect.” I took it from her, the fabric delicate between my fingers. A breath passed. Then I made the decision to trust her. “The next time I go to Paris, I’ll take you, oui? Or maybe Madrid—it’s been a few years since I was in Spain.”
She understood. Her smile spread to her eyes. “I’d love that,” she said.
13
Cain
I showed up to the meeting with Nazaire’s representative wearing my dead uncle’s clothes—his battered leather bomber, his best blue shirt. The fabric still stank of him, a sour bite that dragged up old memories I’d rather leave rotting. But it lent weight to my glamour, so I put up with it.
And Baker? He was feeding the sharks. Literally.
I hadn’t drained him—my stomach turned at the thought—but the great whites weren’t so picky. They showed up seconds after I dropped his unconscious body off a cliff and took over where I’d left off, nature’s perfect executioners: indifferent, efficient.
Before that, I’d taken his phone so I could set up the meet at a dive bar on the mainland, chosen at random. Anonymous and forgettable.
The flight to a helipad just outside of Halifax took less than fifteen minutes. I left the pilot with the chopper and switched to a rented truck that smelled of fish. Overhead, the sky pressed low, clouds heavy and swollen, the air thick with the hush that comes before a storm.
As the last coastal town faded from my rearview mirror, I flicked on the radio and pressed harder on the gas. A cover of “Heartbreak Hotel” came on, John Cale’s version, all grit and shadows.
Nyx flashed into my mind, gliding through the speakeasy to Elvis’s accompaniment, all long legs and attitude. And later, on her knees on the balcony, giving me the best head of my life.
My dick pressed against the front of my fly. I shifted in my seat, jaw tight, that prowling frustration riding me. If only I could rewind, say something different. The right words. The ones that would’ve made her come back to Lilith Island. Made her choose me.
But I’d disappointed her somehow. Even then I knew it. She wanted something from me—needed something—and I didn’t know how to give it. Or maybe I knew and just couldn’t.
So she went back to Quebec and her bastard of a sire.
A hum started in my chest, a restless thrum. It climbed into my throat, vibrated through my bones.
Keep driving. Cancel the meet. Go to her.
