I am going to die.

  Lucas tried not to let the despair show on his face. “Well, that’s too bad. Because they’re not going to give you the city, and they shouldn’t.”

  It wasn’t logical, and Agnes was logical. Rose was more vicious and emotional, but Agnes would know that sacrificing the safety of an entire city to a crazy vampire like Zasha in exchange for one human life wasn’t logical. It would put so many people at risk. It would put his sister at risk.

  Despair grabbed him by the throat; then he took a deep breath, the fear released, and Lucas felt oddly calm. He remembered the car and the blackness and the spinning sensation before the crash.

  “Mommy!”

  “It’s okay, baby!”

  She’d said Jason before she died. She’d said it again after the car crashed into the overpass. Then his mother was silent because she died.

  Lucas knew heaven existed because on the worst day of his life, in the last moments before his mother died, she was talking with his dad.

  He looked at Zasha with pity. “They’re not going to give you the city. And I don’t think you’re strong enough to take it on your own, otherwise you would have done that instead of taking me.”

  Zasha stared at him intently.

  “Checkmate.” The corner of Lucas’s mouth turned up. “I mean, the game is still going, but you’ve already lost.”

  Fifteen

  It was near dawn when they finally wrapped up at Gary Preston’s house. Agnes had arrived with a team of secretaries and clerks, packing up every scrap of paper from Preston’s office they could find in hopes of discovering some tie or clue that would lead back to Zasha or the Ankers.

  Brigid didn’t have much faith. She suspected that Gary Preston’s house had been chosen for a few reasons: easy access to vampire-friendly cars, isolation, and a large and comfortable basement. It was also likely that the man had a large stash of cash since they’d found an open, empty safe in a second-floor bedroom.

  She sat on the edge of their borrowed bed and tried to imagine where Lucas was sleeping that night. Could he sleep? Was he too afraid? Brigid could imagine how the young man was feeling. He had to be terrified.

  Putting herself in Lucas’s shoes was easy enough. She might be a powerful vampire now, but the first years of her life had been spent sleeping fitfully, listening for a quiet footstep and watching for a narrow beam of light at her bedroom door. Even years later, she remembered that sliver of light, the pad of feet on plush carpet, and the near-imperceptible whine of door hinges that her stepfather was so careful to oil so her mother wouldn’t know.

  Can’t have these old doors creaking all times of the day, Mammy.

  Her mother knew; her mother had always known.

  If Brigid closed her eyes, she could still see the unnatural angle of Richard’s neck, hear the quiet pop of his spine snapping, his death coming at the hands of the very vampire she fell in love with decades later.

  I’m not angry he died. I only wish he hadn’t killed him because I wanted to do it.

  Sometimes when she missed the rush of heroin in her veins, she thought about what Richard’s blood would have tasted like—hot, sour, and dripping down her chin. She wouldn’t have swallowed any part of that monster, not even to kill him. She would have spat his blood in his own face as he lay dying.

  She sat on the edge of the bed, her elbows resting on her knees, and imagined his face. Imagined the terror and the delicious spite. Her skin heated as she ruminated on the idea of killing him over and over again. Maybe she should dig him up just to see if he was still dead. Hopefully he was rotting.

  Her stepfather was laid to rest in a very respectable cemetery in the Southside of Dublin, his headstone reading Beloved Son; Loving Husband.

  Not father. Never father. Aunt Sinéad had put her foot down.

  “Darlin’ girl.” Carwyn’s hand fell on her shoulder, and she heard the sizzle as his skin touched her flesh.

  “Carwyn!” She sat up and reached for his hand, pulling back when she realized what had happened. “I’m sorry.” She stood and rushed to the bathroom. “Tá brón orm.”

  “Brigid, it’s fine.”

  “No, it’s not.” She flipped on the tap and stuck her hands under the water. “I’ve scarred you for a year, dammit.” She could feel the tears well up in her eyes, spill over, and sizzle as they reached her cheeks.

  She took a deep breath, grabbed a washcloth, and brought it to Carwyn, pressing the cold cloth to his hand. “Should ya put it underwater? Maybe a bath. There’s a shower—”

  “What are you thinking?”

  She shook her head and took a deep breath, trying to dissipate the heat. “Nothin’.”

  “Nothing doesn’t make your skin sizzle.” He grabbed her shoulder. “You’re still burning up. Shower.”

  She shook her head. “I’ll be fine.”

  Carwyn turned her around by the shoulders and pushed her toward the luxurious marble-clad bathroom in their rental house. “Shower.”

  “Carwyn—”

  “I’m covered.” He laughed. “Brigid, I’ve got rocks in my hair. Take a cold shower with me; you know I prefer it anyway, even when you aren’t burnin’ up.”

  Brigid stepped into the bathroom and tugged off her clothes, careful to lay them neatly in a pile on the counter. She stuck her arm in the shower and turned on one knob, then the other, finally figuring out how to get both showerheads working in the walk-in enclosure.

  Carwyn walked into the bathroom behind her and flung his dirty pants and socks into a pile on the ground, gravel scattering across the floor.

  “Jesus, Mary, Joseph and the wee donkey.” She laughed as the turned to him. “You’re filthy.”

  “I am.” He stood before her stark naked, massive and grubby, his red hair sticking out in unholy directions. “Still devilishly handsome though.”

  Brigid blinked away her tears. “Do ya know how I adore you?”

  His blue eyes softened. “Do ya?” His smile was soft and uncertain. “Get in the shower, Brigid Connor. I need to wash up so I can do sinful things to you, and I don’t want to get my chest hair singed.”

  She stepped under the cold water and felt the bubbling sizzle as the water hit her skin. Within seconds, the bathroom was filled with steam.

  Carwyn stepped in the bath behind her and stuck his head under the tap. “Oh, I’m gonna take two or three rounds with all this.”

  “If you’d gone and jumped in a lake, it would have washed out faster.” As soon as she was cooled off, she grabbed a washcloth, soaped it up, and began to work on the streaks of mud across his back.

  “Oi.” He wiggled under the water. “Don’t look, but I might be shitting rocks.”

  Brigid burst out laughing, and the tension from the previous three nights finally broke loose. She laughed and laughed as she squeezed water over Carwyn’s back and arms, nearly pissing herself when he turned his back to the stream of water and attempted to rinse out the gravel from truly awkward places.

  “You were wearing pants!” Her tears had turned to ones of hilarity. “How?”

  “That ground hadn’t felt an earth vampire in decades, my love. Maybe centuries. It loved me. And when I say it loved me…” He shifted his hips, and more gravel fell to the tiles. “It really loved me.”

  “You know, I don’t mind sharing you with Mother Earth, but she’s getting a wee bit handsy if you ask me.” She held out a bottle of shampoo when the water was mostly running clear. “Bend down. Let’s get your hair.”

  Carwyn kept his eyes on her as she poured shampoo into his hair and began to knead his scalp, scratching at the grit and caressing his nape and the sensitive places behind his ears that she loved to kiss.

  “What were you thinking of to get you so heated, Brigid?”

  She rubbed his scalp, pushed his head under the water to rinse, then poured more shampoo into her palm. She nearly slipped trying to reach the top of his head, so he knelt down, his knees hitting the tile floor and his head near her belly.

  “Much better,” she whispered. She rubbed the shampoo through his hair, the wavy red locks thick and a little coarse between her fingers. She loved her mate’s hair. While she couldn’t keep hers long to save her life—seeing as she burned it anytime her fire let loose—Brigid adored Carwyn’s thick, wavy hair with its red and gold and brown streaks.

  She ran her fingers through it, then tipped his head back to rinse it clean.

  Carwyn had his hands warm and steady on her hips, but his eyes hadn’t left her face for a second. “What were you thinking of, darling girl?”

  She closed her eyes, the water around them starting to steam again. “I was remembering what it felt like to be afraid to fall asleep.”

  He wrapped his arm around her torso and pressed his cheek between her breasts, hugging her tightly as she allowed the pain of those memories to wash away with the stones.

  She fell asleep wrapped around her mate, not caring that he’d have to unwind her dead weight in the early evening to free himself. He didn’t need as much sleep as she did, which meant that he usually woke at least an hour before her.

  Usually he rose and started with his evening, but that night he was still with her when she woke, stroking her hair and running his hand up and down her back.

  They hadn’t done any “sinful things” at dawn. She’d been too emotionally wrought and he knew it. Part of the reason Brigid was good at what she did was because she could empathize with victims.

  She worried that sometimes that empathy blinded her.

  Blinking her eyes awake, she looked up and saw Carwyn watching her.

  “Evenin’, wife.”

  “Good evening.” It was only within the safety of a fortified room or with Carwyn next to her that Brigid slept without fear. “What are you thinking of?”

  “Honestly?”

  “Always.”

  “I was contemplating your arse.”

  She pressed her lips together to keep herself from smiling. “What about my arse?”

  “Well.” He rolled to his back, his giant frame taking the crisp cotton sheet with it, and plucked her from her position beside him, turning her and placing her on his lap with an enthusiastic erection right between her spread legs.

  “Is this what they call the reverse cowgirl?” Brigid asked.

  “We’re talking about your arse, so I need a clear view.” He patted her hips. “Now listen.”

  “All ears.” She reached down and wrapped both her hands around his cock. “And hands.”

  “Oh, ya wicked…” He grunted. “So about your arse.”

  “Yes?” She idly began stroking him up and down.

  He grabbed her bottom with both hands in retaliation. “It’s no secret that you’re a wee tiny bit of a woman, Brigid darlin’.”

  “Admittedly, I did not inherit any blood of the Northmen.”

  “You’re a tiny, delightful Hibernian to the core.”

  She shifted over him. “Did you say core?”

  He muttered something that would have made her blush if she could.

  “You’re a delicate bit of a minx, but then you have this…” He squeezed both her cheeks. “…this absolutely abundant arse.”

  “It’s God makin’ amends as he forgot to give me tits, Carwyn.”

  “I appreciate your tits too. Don’t insult them. But my God, this arse is… Well, it’s a work of art.” He gripped her bottom with both hands. “A man might be starving, but if it came to eating a steak or taking a bite of this arse, he’d happily die with this arse between his teeth.”

  “Is that so?” She started rocking over him, her hands rubbing up and down his cock.

  “You’re goin’ to kill me.”

  “That’s not at all the idea.” She knelt up and slowly guided him into her body, sliding down until he was seated inside, filling her up with delicious, decadent fullness. She leaned forward and braced herself on his thighs, starting to rock, playing her fingers along her sex to find her own pleasure as she drove her husband mad.

  “That’s right, ride me.” He gripped her hips with both hands. “Ride me all you want.” He guided her up and down his erection. “I’m yours. I’ve always been yours. Did you know that, Brigid? A thousand years, I was waiting for you.”

  “Carwyn?” She was nearly about to come.

  “Yes, love?”

  “Do you…?”

  “What, my love?” He let out a low groan.

  “Do you want to bite my arse?”

  He cursed again, but the cursing was mixed with laughter. “Fuck yes, I want to bite your arse. I want to sink my fangs into it. I want to drink your blood; then I want to bite it again.”

  She was nearly over the edge. “And you’re only telling me this now after a decade of being wed?”

  “Well…” He groaned when she twisted her hips and bounced faster. “I like to keep things fresh.” His voice was slightly higher pitched.

  Brigid came in a bright burst of a climax, her head felt like the top had flown off, and she felt Carwyn shudder beneath her moments later.

  No sooner had he come than he plucked her off his cock, tossed her to the end of the bed, and sank his fangs into the round curve of her bottom.

  She gasped as another shivering orgasm fluttered through her and he drank her blood; she felt his pleasure twine with hers.

  Brigid let out a gasp as Carwyn pulled at her flesh, sliding his hands under her and up her body until they gripped both her breasts, tweaking the nipples as she twisted underneath him.

  “Oh God!” The third orgasm was a shock. It jolted through her, and her fangs swelled in her mouth. She bit down and sank her teeth into the down mattress pad, the fabric ripping as heat bloomed over her body.

  He lapped at the wounds in her skin, then picked her up, threw her over his shoulder, and walked to the bathroom. “Someone’s getting steamy again. Time for another cold shower.”

  She glanced at the mirror as they passed it and saw his erection was already back at full mast. “Not that cold.”

  His wicked laughter echoed through the room, but he yelped when she reached down and pinched his own arse.

  “Remember, husband.” Brigid grinned and her fangs nicked her lip. “Turnabout is fair play.”

  Sixteen

  Carwyn held Brigid’s hand in the car on the way to the Del Marco Casino. She had withdrawn into herself again, and he could almost see her counting off in her head.

  Two nights. One day.

  Approximately thirty-six hours before Zasha’s game was up. If they couldn’t find Lucas in that time, Carwyn had a rough idea of what was going to happen.

  Rose would demand that they hand over the city to get her son back.

  Agnes would resist because she knew it wasn’t a logical move and Zasha was likely going to kill Lucas anyway.

  The Ankers—if they were behind all this—could make an active move.

  Zasha would likely kill Lucas.

  The fourth move, Lucas’s death, was nearly a certainty unless they could find the boy before the deadline. Whether Rose or Agnes got their way, the boy’s death was nearly a given.

  Brigid wasn’t brooding—she was desperate.

  Carwyn squeezed her hand. “Remember, Lee finally got into Lucas’s computer today. That’s excellent news. He’ll be able to reset the boy’s password and access his phone. He won’t stop until he’s dug all the secrets out.”

  Brigid nodded. “I’m hoping Miguel has a report on the cars today.”

  “The cars?”

  “There were cars missing from Gary Preston’s giant garage. Miguel was going to speak to a contact at Las Vegas PD this afternoon and get APBs put on all of them as they were nicked. He was also going to ask the casinos in town to check their surveillance footage for the vehicles and anyone seen driving them.”

  “He reported the Preston murders?”

  “Yes. He still hasn’t reported Lucas missing, but he reported the murders.”

  “You know why that’s not a good idea,” Carwyn said. “The moment Zasha realizes that Agnes and Rose have broken the rules—”

  “Rules they set,” Brigid snapped. “Rules they can change anytime they fuckin’ want to.”

  “Nevertheless.” He squeezed her hand. “As odd as it may be, they’re playing with you. We can use that, Brigid.”

  She dipped her chin in a tense nod. “We should contact Gary Preston’s office. His house was barely lived in. I have a feeling that he lived his life at work. He’ll have an assistant or a secretary or somethin’. That could be the closest relationship in his life. He or she would probably know his movements better than anyone.”

  “Good idea.” Carwyn watched her.

  She was sinking into herself. Hiding her feelings again. It wasn’t the first time, but it still pissed him off. He knew it was how she processed ideas, pulling threads of knowledge, tiny scraps of information, and instinctive observations to make the intuitive leaps that made her so good at finding the lost. She had the uncanny ability to put herself into the mind of both the monsters and their prey.

  It wore on her, and yet he knew she wouldn’t stop.

  Carwyn knew she felt responsible for Lucas’s kidnapping, as if her mere existence had tempted Zasha Sokholov into bringing their twisted games to America.

  They pulled into the Del Marco Casino and walked through the delivery entrance to the private elevator where they were stopped by a guard.

  “Please wait.” He touched his earpiece. “I have two guests arriving. Both night crew.”

  Carwyn frowned. “Pardon me, but Rose and Agnes—”

  “Sir.” The man held up a finger. “I’ll wait. Names?”

  “Carwyn ap Bryn and Brigid Connor,” Carwyn said.

  The guard repeated their names into the microphone. He was wearing gloves, and it was still nearly ninety degrees outside.

  Carwyn cocked his head and examined the human, who was covered from the turtleneck he was wearing under his dress shirt to the gloves to the long black slacks.

  Brigid murmured, “There’s been a breach.”

  “Yes.” The humans were taking extra precautions against vampire influence, and the private elevator had added security when before a passcode had been enough until guests reached the vampire floors.

 

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