Page 53 of Thirst
“Because I exist.”
“He raised you?”
“Yeah.” A beat passed, his profile carved in stone, giving nothing away. Then he muttered, “My mom died when I was a baby—I never knew her. And my dad… a car crash when I was three. I barely remember him.”
My heart clenched. I ignored it. I was not going to feel compassion for the man who’d abducted me.
But I found myself sharing something about myself. “My mother left me with Nazaire when I was four. She couldn’t handle a dhampir kid. Said I was too needy—always wanting blood.” Mama had called me a “needy little bitch,” with a smile, of course. To her, everything is a joke. “But I think she just wanted to party without tripping over a kid.”
“I know.”
Of course, he did. His syndicate probably had a book-length file on me.
Maybe he’d even targeted me from the beginning.
Although it had felt mutual to me. Two strangers stunned, even a little afraid, at how much they wanted each other.
“Do you ever see her?”
“Not really. She’d rather pretend I don’t exist.” Head pounding, I closed my eyes. “The dhampir thing, you know.”
“So she wasn’t at the show.”
I gave a tiny shake of my head. “She doesn’t even know I paint.”
“So it really is a big secret. Not even Nazaire knows.”
“He knows I paint.”
“But he hasn’t figured out you’re The Haunt? Wait, does he even know how good you are?”
“I don’t show him my work. Not that he ever asks to see it.”
“That’s fucked up. You know that, don’t you?”
His voice came from a long way away. I had the odd feeling he wasn’t even there—just a figment of my imagination.
“As fucked up,” I replied, the words slurred again, “as your uncle trying to sssell you to usss.”
This time, when my eyes closed, I couldn’t force them to open. The next thing I knew, the truck had stopped. Cain scooped me up and carried me to a waiting helicopter.
Keeping me on his lap, he slipped headphones over his ears, then mine. The pilot lifted us into the sky. The chopper lurched, the wind off the ocean tearing at the frame, then steadied. We swung out over the black water.
I was too hot. Skin too tight, head too late, my whole body aching. My eyes shut again.
Lips brushed my forehead. I thought I was dreaming until Cain grumbled, “You’re burning up.”
“Silver,” I rasped. “I’m…allergic.”
His curse vibrated against my temple. Then I felt him removing the cuffs. “I’ve never seen it wipe someone out like this.”
“Lucky me.” Keeping my wrists out so they didn’t touch anything, I curled into myself, refusing to read anything into how he held me—like that he might actually like care.
“Nyx.”
“Lemme sleep… Tired.”
“No. Here.” He pressed his wrist to my mouth, the skin smooth and cool against my dry lips. “Drink.”
