Page 38 of Thirst
I am not your damn ‘rabbit.’
As a child, I’d have done anything to win Nazaire’s approval. I’d begged to learn martial arts and knifework like the other syndicate spawn. I wasn’t as fast as a vampire, but I’d trained hard, putting in extra hours, determined to prove I was as good as any spawn in Quebec.
My father might not love me, but at least he’d respect me.
But I was done trying. I no longer wanted his respect. I just wanted out.
I still trained a few hours a day, but not to make my father proud. Now it was about survival. He kept me around for one reason—I was useful. The moment that changed, I’d be handed off like a party favor to one of his men or traded to an ally in another syndicate. Already, at least two men had expressed interest. Being the daughter of a high-ranking enforcer came with its own twisted currency.
Releasing the poor, blameless flower, I turned back to Nazaire. “Of course. Whatever you need.”
He acknowledged that with a dip of his chin. My consent had never been in question; we both knew that.
“You know that asshole princeling.”
“You mean the Maritime primus?” I asked warily.
“Who else? Anyway, I’m in contact with a human who lives on that accursed island.”
“Lilith Island.” Goosebumps popped up on my arms.
Impatience flickered across his face. “Yes. You’ll meet this man and assess his offer, then report back to me. Yvette.” He snapped his fingers, and the PA hurried back to his side.
“I’m texting her the name and address right now, Enforcer.”
My phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen. I didn’t recognize the name, but the meeting was in Nova Scotia. Maritime Syndicate territory.
“Are you certain about—?” I caught myself. Nazaire hated having his decisions questioned.
But he hadn’t been on that nameless island when Brien, Cain and the other Maritime Syndicate members had arrived. They’d been out for blood. I’d only survived by concealing myself in the shadows, my energy draining away the longer I spent there until by the time they left, I was weak and shivering.
And then they’d come back—a half-dozen of them. To hunt me.
I had no juice left to return the shadows. So I’d dragged myself into an abandoned fox den, clawing at the earth with bloodied fingers as I sealed the entrance behind me with dirt and raw panic. I’d nearly suffocated before they gave up and left.
At first light, I fought my way out of the burrow, stripped to my underwear and started swimming. An hours-long journey through the icy North Atlantic, to an uninhabited island nearby where I’d stashed a few supplies—a handful of freeze-dried pouch meals, a change of clothes, a sleeping bag, a radio. I’d hunkered down in a cave, on edge and listening for footsteps, the whisper of a blade in the dark. Only after two nights had passed did I dare risk radioing for a boat to take me back to the mainland.
My father’s expression shifted—not much, just a slight tightening at the corners of his eyes—but it was enough to make my skin ice. “You have something to say?”
I swallowed and returned my phone to my pocket. “No, sir.”
“That’s what I thought,” was the silky response.
I ground my back teeth together. He was so sure I wouldn’t dare question him. That, paired with the queasy feeling in my gut over what had happened the last time I was in the Maritimes, made me lurch into speech.
“Actually, I do. Lilith Island is their territory.”
His face darkened. “And?”
My throat cinched, my instinct to back down, soothe, apologize.
But I was done being a rabbit in a predator’s world. I wanted to be something with fangs and claws and a killer instinct.
“You weren’t there that night. They played with Pascal like he was a—a—toy. I didn’t see what happened to Lemaire, but I know he didn’t last long.”
“And where were you, mon lapin?”
Heat crawled up my cheeks. There it was—the insinuation that I’d cowered in some hidey-hole rather than help Pascal and Lemaire.
