Page 127 of Red Masquerade

“Because,” he said, breaking his silence, “it’s a part of what happened that I do not wish to revisit.”

There was still so much I was missing, so many events in his life in those six years we were separated, that he had locked away inside him. Secrets he held close to his heart, pushed down until they were nothing more than wisps of demons that haunted him.

It sparked an anger in me—what had his Siredone? What was so terrible that Vince wouldn’t speak of it? I saw it now, how the burden of those six years sat on his shoulders, how they weighed him down. How the torment dimmed his eyes, how the memories both tortured andfueledhim.

“I left. I didn’t think it important to bring up, if I never planned to accept it.” His hand was fisted in the hair hanging over his face. He clenched his jaw, glancing away from me. “I’ve tried to forget it all. To move on, to make something of myself here. I found you, and I wanted to start anew. I didn’t think—didn’t think the Sire would send Brancato over here.”

He thought the Sire would cut his losses and move on too. Would give up on tracking Vince down.

It hit me then thatthatwas another reason Adam never returned—there was no history of Vince here. If the Sire came sniffing, there would be no trace of Vince Thornton anywhere in America. Not until he started throwing the parties, a year ago.

“I can’t let them take you,” Vince said, his arms suddenly coming around my waist. His face came to my chest, pressing against the spot where my heart beat. “They can’t have you. Can’t harm you.”

“I’ll be fine,” I said, winding my fingers through his auburn hair, though truly, I wasn’t sure.

I still felt the ghost of Brancato’s stare on my pulse.

“You can’t be there,” he repeated, his voice muffled by my slip, the warmth of his breath against my sternum. The contrast between his exhale and the cool feel of his skin was a jarring reminder of how different we were.

I was human.

He was a vampire.

His eyes flashed up to mine. He was wholly supplicant, on his knees between my legs, looking up at me like his thoughts never revolved around anyone else.

“Flora. Go to her,” he pleaded, fingers tightened on the fabric at my sides.

“She’s already going to be mad that I’m not inviting her to the biggest party you’ve ever thrown,” I said.

His fingers curled tighter. “Please.”

It broke my resolve. I could not deny him, not when he asked so sweetly. He whispered the word over and over again, pressing his face once more to the soft skin below my breasts. Our need for each other was overwhelming; not only as lovers, but assoulmates. He was mine, and I was his. We’d borne the injuries of separation already. We would not do it again.

The thought of my harm, the thought of someone taking me away from him, of us separating, drove him mad. He pressed against me as if to make our bodies merge.

“Fine,” I said, realizing my own hand had tightened in his hair.

His relief was palpable when he looked up at me once more. If I weren’t there, then Brancato—or any other vampires—couldn’t have me. He would know I was safe and sound elsewhere, and he could focus on the task at hand.

I only hoped he made it out alive. If I returned and he was not the victor—

“I’ll call her.” I smoothed down his unruly waves.

He turned his head and pressed a kiss to my wrist. “Thank you.”

Forty-Four

The city was as cacophonous as ever.

My time at the manor had made the quiet familiar, comfortable, where the noise of the city once was. Now, the honking of horns, the screech of tires, the shouts of men selling wares, was all too loud, too overwhelming. So much was happening on the city streets. I wondered at how I had never noticed before. But it was comforting, in a sort of nostalgic way, to be surrounded by the buzz of life once more.

Sinclair, Séra, and I had made a day trip into Manhattan to post the flyers. The invitations to the Masquerade. Hastily ordered from a printer with a massive sum to have it ready this morning.

It would be the party of the century. Dancing girls, costumes, imported liquor—the expensive stuff, acrobats, a wax museum of hired entertainers, the whole manor dressed up in a Garden of Eden guise. It was to last the whole weekend. Séra had quippedthat maybe we could actually enjoy the festivities after our ordeal was done and over with.

Vince had been vehemently against the trip, as though if I ever left the house, I’d never come back. There was a violence simmering in him, perhaps deadlier than the beast I’d yet seen. The glimpses of darkness that came through here and there—only, I knew, it wouldn’t take much for him to snap, to unleash whatever it was he kept at bay.

“Absolutely not,” he had said, when Séra invited me to go with them.