Page 78 of Thirst
His meaning was clear. Sure, I could pull rank on him—on Lilith Island, the syndicate was the law—but keeping the locals happy was good business. If Valente put it around that a Maritime lieutenant had pitched one of their own off the cliffs, it’d cause trouble, even if the guy was an ass like Baker.
“In that case,” I replied, “I’d be happy to take responsibility for the house.”
He gave me an easy smile like he’d never doubted I’d see it his way. “I’ll let the mayor know.”
I walked Valente out. He gave me another firm handshake and drove off in his syndicate-issued SUV. I followed him through the portcullis and stood on the edge of the cliff.
The wind tore at my shirt, cold teeth chewing at the cotton, while the sea below battered itself against the rock—relentless, beautiful. I stayed until salt coated my tongue.
Wondering why I didn’t feel more.
My aunt and uncle were gone. On their way to being erased from even the islanders’ memories.
I should’ve been satisfied. Triumphant, even.
Instead, everything felt muted. Off.
And where triumph should’ve been, there was only…emptiness.
Back in the castle, I headed for the dungeon like a damn homing pigeon, stopping only long enough to grab the bag of clothes I’d ordered for Nyx—underwear, a camisole, another sweater, designer jeans.
I found her seated yoga-style on the cot, sketchpad balanced on her knees, hand moving in quick, graceful strokes. Too absorbed in what she was creating to notice me enter.
Curious, I edged closer.
A mysterious blond man in a peacoat—like the painting in the show—stood among the trees. Me, I guess. Only this time, Leclerc Castle loomed behind me, its battlements sprouting wings, huge bats tearing their way into a dark, furious sky.
My shadow fell across the drawing.
Nyx jolted and slammed the pad shut. “Yes?” she said without looking at me.
She’d washed up—she had that clean-soap smell—but her hair hung limply around her shoulders. Maybe I should take her upstairs for a shower? But it wasn’t just her hair. She seemed smaller, her cheeks pale under her natural tan.
I raised the bag like an offering. “I brought you more clothes.”
“Thank you.” Still no eye contact. Not even a glance at the bag.
I dropped the bag on the cot and crossed my arms over my chest, fighting the twitch in my knee, the urge to pace, to shake off the feeling that she was slipping further and further out of my reach.
“Don’t—” I ground out.
“What?” She raised her eyes, but her gaze landed somewhere around my shoulder.
“Don’t thank me. You were right the other night. I don’t—just don’t do it, alright?”
She placed the pencil and a blobby gray eraser in a metal box—just so—and closed the lid. “Whatever you say, Lieutenant.”
My lungs gusted with frustration. I had the urge to smash my fist into the stone wall behind me. “Why are you so stubborn?”
Her fingers clamped around the pad, knuckles whitening. “Why are you asking me to betray my sire?”
“Weren’t you going to betray me?”
“No.” Her brows formed a dark V above her nose, but she finally lifted her gaze to my face. “I told you, I was just there to hear your uncle out. Then I would’ve gotten word to you.”
“I wish I could believe you.”
The truth pulsed beneath my ribs. I want to believe you.
