Page 20 of Thirst
I fingered the keycard. I should cut it into confetti and toss it out the window, then barricade myself in my suite for the night.
Anything to keep myself from doing something stupid.
I was so close to getting out—one wrong move and everything could blow apart.
But I couldn’t.
Because tonight was it—my last time with Cain. Once I left my father and the QCS, I’d have to disappear completely.
Nyx Nazaire was going to meet her end in a dark alley, leaving behind nothing but ashes and a few pieces of charred jewelry.
No forwarding address, no trail, no loose ends.
Keycard in hand, I stepped into the shadow world, then slid through the narrow gap between the window sash and the frame. I flowed down the exterior wall, weightless as the mist, until my feet touched the sidewalk below. I ducked into a recessed doorway and exited the shadows.
Safely shrouded in the fog, I pulled a glamour over myself—the face and body of another dhampir I’d seen around the hotel. Back in the foyer, I headed for the elevators, head high, steps unhurried. I waited until I was certain I was alone, then stepped into an empty car and jabbed the button for the third floor.
When the doors reopened, my previous glamour had been replaced by a forty-something maid in a black Hotel La Nuit uniform, a tiny gray gargoyle embroidered above the left breast. I walked briskly down the hallway, my low heels tap-tapping on the marble tile, the illusion settling around me like a second skin.
It was my superpower, my secret weapon—the ability to glamour my appearance as quickly and easily as the oldest, most powerful vampires.
And no one knew about it, even Nazaire.
Cain’s suite appeared empty. Without dropping the glamour, I continued through the tasteful maroon-and-cream parlor and peered into the bedroom. The massive pedestal bed hadn’t been slept in, and the washroom held only toiletries stamped with the hotel’s gargoyle logo.
He clearly wasn’t staying here at La Nuit.
Back in the parlor, I cleared my throat. “M’sieur Cain?”
I had no idea what his last name was. Maybe he didn’t have one— some vampires shed them, cutting loose anything that tied them to the past.
“Here.” He spoke from behind a pair of thick black-out curtains. “On the balcony.”
I released the glamour and pushed through the heavy curtains. They swished shut behind me.
Cain stood with his hands behind his back, staring down at the mist-shrouded people strolling along the Seine. He looked so alone, his face shadowed.
Sometimes I thought that was what had brought us together. Not the sex, as good as it was, but this need we both had for connection, for someone to ease the loneliness. For a few hours, anyway.
He turned to face me, hands on the wrought-iron railing behind him. His right leg started jiggling.
I waited for him to start on me again, but all he said was, “Come here.”
Fine by me.
I crossed the balcony, the night air cool on my skin, and unbuttoned his midnight-blue velvet jacket. No shirt. I eased the jacket open and spread my fingers over the firm planes of his chest.
He stilled, his eyes silver in the dim light. Even the jitter in his leg cut off like someone had flipped a switch.
A shark tattoo—the mark of a made man in the Maritime Syndicate—curled over the pale skin of his neck. I didn’t know what he’d done to earn it; he wasn’t the kind of vampire who bragged about the lives he’d taken.
I lifted a hand, tracing the shark tat with my fingertips. His throat tightened. It was an intimate act, and a bold one, especially with a vampire so dominant to me. I should’ve asked his permission first.
But fuck that. I stretched up and pressed a kiss to the shark’s curved body.
Beneath my lips, the blood in his carotid pulsed. Unable to resist, I flicked my tongue out, tasting salt and Cain.
His chest rumbled, the beginnings of a growl, and I stilled.
