Page 88 of Thirst
I hung up the towel and straightened—not much, just enough to feel my spine. I was done accepting second best. I deserved better.
If Cain couldn’t give me everything, then I was better off walking away.
The Maritime Syndicate couldn’t keep me on Lilith Island forever. Either they’d finally get to my father, or they’d get tired of keeping me prisoner. Either way, they’d release me.
And then I could finally enact my plan—take my cash and vanish into the anonymity of a big city, one without a powerful syndicate. Stay in at night, fly under the radar.
I twisted my damp hair into a messy bun and drifted through the suite, examining the art without really seeing it, picking up books and putting them down again. My fingertips skimmed over the couch, the chairs, the cool granite counter—touching everything because I couldn’t touch the one thing I wanted.
In the kitchenette, I poured myself a glass of blood-wine and carried it to the bedroom doorway. The gauze-draped bed blurred at the edges as I stared at it. A trace of Cain’s spicy midnight scent still clung to the suite, faint but unmistakable. I pressed my knuckles to my mouth, throat clogging as the memories rose.
How that night in London, his frost-blue eyes had locked on me like I was the only thing that mattered.
How, when he touched me, all that restless, kinetic energy in him went still. He’d gone quiet, intent, like wanting me cost him something he didn’t know how to give.
I dragged in a breath.
This is what you wanted. Freedom—from Nazaire, the syndicates, the games...
I padded back into the living room, sipping wine and gazing out at the moon-drenched garden, picturing how I’d paint it. Because that’s what I did when my heart hurt.
The garden must be gorgeous in the summer; even now it had a haunting, stripped-down beauty. Fairy lights followed a path through skeletal trees and ornamental grasses, tiny stars in the darkness. Grape vines clung like dark veins to the weathered stone walls, and fruit trees raised their branches among pots of dried-up herbs.
A white cat with a single black ear appeared out of the shrubbery and picked her way through the snow-covered path to butt her head against the glass. I tried the door, but it was locked, as Cain had said.
The cat sat on its haunches, regarding me through citrine eyes.
“Sorry,” I told her. Somehow, I knew the cat was a her.
Annoyed, she flicked the black ear at me and vanished back into the bushes. A few seconds later I saw her sleek body trotting along the top of the wall, and then she was gone.
A reel flickered to life behind my eyes, vivid as a movie. The moon casting silver shadows over a forgotten garden; vines creeping like fingers; and the snow-pale cat—no longer just a cat, but a shapeshifter, a guardian, a queen cloaked in fur and mystery.
Then one day, a vampire comes searching for the queen…
My fingers twitched, hungry to capture the scenes on canvas. To escape into a world where I controlled the ending.
I curled up on the couch, pad in hand, and began to sketch.
23
Cain
I took my time on the drive back, keeping the Ferrari to a smooth, steady glide. Talon sat beside me, the two of us talking about nothing much, just like old times. For a few miles I let myself pretend things were simple again. We rounded a curve, and the castle came into view, rising out of the cliffs, its four black towers stark against the moonlit sky.
I glanced at Talon. “Remember that night we came back with Prima Lenore?”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “I was scared shitless.”
“You, too? My pulse was banging in my ears so loud I couldn’t think.”
“I almost threw up all over the shark mosaic. And then she marched us down to that cave beneath the lair. Tide was high enough that it was half underwater. I figured if we didn’t make the cut, she’d toss us in and let the great whites clean up the mess.”
My lips twitched. “She would’ve, too. She was efficient like that.”
A short laugh. “Yeah.”
We fell silent, and somehow I knew he was back in that cavern with me, our throats bared for the prima’s bite. I’d been shaking in my cheap boots, but I’d held my ground, feet planted, refusing even to blink.
