Page 46 of Thirst
“But why your mother? Did these guys give a reason?”
“No. But Donald said they’re convinced it was all Nazaire—Dussault’s name never even came up.”
A dark excitement slithered through my blood. Finally, a legitimate excuse to bury the sonuvabitch. “You think that’s true?”
“Donald seemed convinced. I told him to keep digging, but if he keeps asking questions, it will get back to Nazaire. What about you? Did Nazaire’s rep show up?”
“He did, and we were just about to discuss terms. You want me to abort?”
“No, that’s why I called. Bring the guy back to Lilith Island. Let Nazaire wonder what the hell happened. I’m tired of dancing with the motherfucker. I want him rattled. Even if he didn’t stake my mother, he’s out there arranging to have you kidnapped—or thinks he is, anyway. Not to mention that whole shitshow with Eden.”
“Will do.”
“And Cain? We’ll get what we can out of this dude—and then we’re going hunting.”
A smile curled my mouth. “About damn time.”
It wasn’t until my phone was back in my pocket that I realized what this meant to Nyx. If we went after her father, she could get caught in the crossfire. And I couldn’t let that happen.
So I’d get her out first. Even if I had to fucking drag her out of there. I’d act first, explain later.
Because protecting her wasn’t optional. It was instinct, something I’d have to think long and hard about when I got back tonight.
Outside, fat white flakes had started to fall, turning the parking lot into a snow globe.
Booted footprints in the fresh white stuff circled around the side of the building. I removed the cuffs from their leather bag, careful to handle them by the plastic-coated outside so the silver wouldn’t sear my flesh, and returned them to my pocket. Then I followed the prints to the alley behind the bar.
The QCS man leaned against the concrete wall, the single bulb over the backdoor illuminating half his face. His skin and eyes gleamed in the dim light, confirming he was a supernatural. A dhampir, if I had to guess.
“Talk.” He straightened from the wall. “Explain how you think this would go down.”
“Show me the money first,” I returned because that’s what Baker would’ve said.
“You get nothing until I’m sure you can deliver.”
“A downpayment, then.” I moved closer. “You syndicate bastards are rich. You can afford it.”
“We’ll pay when—” He never finished the sentence because I was on him, spinning him to face the wall and snapping the cuffs on his wrists from behind before he could react. The tiny spikes on the cuffs slid out, digging into his skin. An invention of mine to increase the pain and deliver the poisonous silver directly into the bloodstream.
He hissed and arched his back—and slammed the heel of his heavy boot at my instep. I jerked my foot away just in time.
A whisper of sound made me throw myself to the side. A silver dagger grazed my shoulder and hit the wall between me and my captive.
I spun around to find Jerome coming at me with a dagger that was a twin of the first. I snatched up the first dagger as it hit the snowy asphalt and dove left, hitting the pavement in a roll and springing back to my feet.
The other vampire’s eyes widened. Clearly, he’d expected a human.
Surprise, mofo.
Dropping my glamour, I bared my fangs and lunged at him with his own dagger. He parried my thrust, and we went at it, hard and dirty. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the skinny dude edging along the wall, hunched forward, cuffed hands stuck out awkwardly behind him. He was going to escape.
I snarled. This had to end now. But Jerome was good. Every strike I threw, he met with equal force, his own blows fast, practiced, controlled. He wasn’t just fighting; he was moving with the kind of precision that came from knowing exactly how close death was and refusing to blink.
Then his boot hit ice.
He cursed, arms flailing as he fought to keep his balance.
I lunged, slamming him into the concrete wall, and drove the dagger into his chest. The silver bit into his heart. A raw groan tore out of him, but even then he wasn’t finished. His arm jerked in a last, desperate strike meant to punch through my ribs and find my own heart.
