Page 121 of Red Masquerade

“Veronica,” Vince commanded.

Her eyes flashed as she joined Brancato, walking behind him. “I’ll escort you out,” she said, dripping with venom.

He only laughed, and when they made it to the end of the hall, he turned, giving us one last farewell. He looked directly at me once more, smirking, but when he spoke, it wasn’t to me.

“He’ll be glad to hear you’re doing so well—Vince Thornton.”

Forty-One

“Who was he?”

I decided not to let the bath go to waste. Every nerve in my body was alight, buzzing with the same energy a deer must feel in the face of its killer. Marcel had shaken me, even if he had not touched me, and my body responded by readying to run—however futile it would really be.

Sinking into the water, murky with lavender and citrus oils, steam rising and swirling, I inhaled deeply, relaxing every muscle, letting the heat seep into my skin.

Vince sat upon a stool, elbows propped on his thighs, hands falling between his knees. At my question, he breathed in deeply, straightening in the chair. His gaze turned to my body, obscured in the milky water.

My racing heart had yet to calm. And he knew it.

Running out of time.

“An old acquaintance,” he said begrudgingly.

“That much was obvious,” I muttered, propping myself on my elbows. My knees rose like mountains in the water.

But how? It could not entirely be a coincidence that I’d had drinks with him, and here he was again, now a vampire. Had he been a vampire this whole time? And—how had Dixon not picked up on it? Knowing what I knew about Dixon now, I couldn’t believe he’d just sit by while I dined with a predator.

And there was no doubt that Marcel Brancato was a predator.

He told me his name. “He should not have seen you,” Vince said, his jaw clenched tightly.

“And yet he did.” I leant my head back against the rim of the tub. “What did he want?”

I knew one part of the answer—me. He had looked at me with a hunger that not even Vince had displayed. His irises had been rimmed with red, pupils so large they took up nearly his whole eye. And he kept smelling the air, as though my blood perfumed the room. He had joked that it was a shame I wasn’t served to him. But I knew the truth underneath. If he had gotten to me, and the others had been preoccupied, I’d be dead.

He wanted to drain me dry.

What if he had found me in the garden? What if it had beenhisstrong grip pulling me away, not Séra’s?

I shivered, despite the burn of the water.

I didn’t tell Vince I knew him, that Brancato knewme. Something told me to keep my lips sealed. That if Vince knew, I’d never leave this suite again.

His hands came to rest on the edge of the tub. He still wore his shirt, sleeves rolled up, tie gone. He had run his hands through hishair so many times in the last hour it fell in his eyes, his pomade ruined.

“He wasn’t meant to see you. I will kill him.”

Vince had been called away to the city. They were all gone. What if Brancato came while I was alone—was Brancato the reason they’d gone at all?

The air of the bathroom was thick like fog, settling heavily onto me, onto Vince’s form. His back bowed in his chair. “He… was Made by my Sire. Not long after I was.” His gaze dropped to the water, studying the swirls of the oils.

He’ll be glad to hear you’re doing so well.

The Sire. Marcel had brought a message from the Sire.

You’re running out of time.For what? What was Vince running out of time for? What was he runningfrom? He hadn’t left because the war was over, hadn’t returned to New Yorkjustto find me.

But was I enough to stay for?