16

I needed the strength. I couldn’t guarantee anyone else would rescue me from this. For years, Harry and Pierre had been the silent threat at my back, their mere presence intimidating anyone who got out of hand in my bar.

But maybe vampire politics were different, because Nicolas lurking in my metaphorical shadows hadn’t prevented Francois from bringing me here. It hadn’t scared him.

And what if Nicolas wouldn’t come for me?

My throat dried.

I couldn’t even really say why I wanted my savior to be Nicolas Dupont. My thoughts should have been of the police. Of the law.

But no. I yearned to see the man whose liquid diet came in baggies organized by alphabetical type rather than vintage. I wanted to see that same look of conquest on his face that he’d had when he took me from Sebastian.

I wanted to be his.

I wanted to feel his touch on me again.

And I wanted to call him Nic.

A tear slipped from the corner of my eye and slid toward my ear as I turned my attention to the ridiculous ceiling light that cast almost no glow inside the room at all.

And I was so fucking hot in this fucking bride of Dracula dress. I reached around me then stumbled to stand as I wrestled with ties that didn’t want to undo.

I needed air. I needed A/C. I’d settle for a fucking ceiling fan.

Wait.

I glanced up. Did I have one of those shrouded in all the gloom of the ceiling?

I squinted as I looked closer then stood on the bed, the mattress dipping precariously as I moved. Yes, there were wooden blades up there, and one was already missing. Could I grab another one? Did stakes actually work against vampires, or was that just more myth?

Snapping the blade off seemed the most difficult part, but I hurried to the large dresser and dragged a drawer out before emptying the contents and balancing it upside down on the bed to create a platform.

I hung off one of the blades, banking on the fact people don’t generally look up so no one would notice the damage, then landed on my back, cradling the length of broken wood to my chest.

With a glance at the door, I slipped the blade under the comforter then put the clothes and drawer away.

Really hot now, I lay on the bed and waited for my breathing to slow and my heart to stop thundering. I had a plan, though. I could maybe work on sharpening the blade, but if I didn’t have the time to do that, I’d just take my chances with it as it was.

I was fast reaching the point of nothing to lose.

No one even knew I was here, and I was kidding myself if I thought they did. I drifted to sleep with thoughts of Nicolas playing through my mind and my hand over the top of the broken fan blade.

 

   

I jerked awake at the bang of the door against the wall, the gasp leaving my lips the first sound I truly heard. My heart sped and Francois loomed over me in the constant half-light of the bedroom.

I started to scramble away but his hand over my thigh stopped me. “What time is it?” My eyelids were heavy. It didn’t feel like morning, but I’d lost track.

“Réveille-toi, ma petite,” he said. “Wake up, my little love.”

His voice was gentle but urgent, his eyes were wild, and he was rumpled. His hair stuck out in all directions, and his shirt was unbuttoned, revealing flashes of skin every time he moved.

“What time is it?” I repeated.

Sweet Jesus, Francois looked like he’d started partying the moment we finished our meal and not finished until he entered my room just now. He lurched to the left a little before regaining his balance, but did vampires even get drunk?

“Not yet light,” he ground out.

“Is everything okay?” I pushed myself to sitting. Clearly, everything was not okay. “Are we going for more tests?”

I needed to bring us back to normal, quickly. Francois was unpredictable at the best of times, but this was whole other level.

“Are you all right, Francois?” My damn voice shook. I forced myself to meet his eyes but my fear must have revealed itself anyway.

Francois inhaled like he could smell it, and his eyes drifted closed for a moment. “Touche-moi,” he whispered.

Touch me. I swallowed against his request before I rested my hand over his on my thigh. It wasn’t what he’d meant. Hell, I knew that, but I had to do something to try to calm him, to try to seem compliant while I finished formulating my plan to get away.

“Francois?”

At the sound of his name, he focused on me. “Are you willing yet?”

“What?” I shook my head, the movement instinctive and vehement. “What, Francois? No. You can’t make a woman willing by wishing it.”

His gaze darkened then bled to a deep red, and his hands became fists. I tried to relax the one under my hand by smoothing my fingertips over his skin.

“Calm down, Francois. Calm down. It’s okay. You’re fine. Everything’s fine.” I babbled a string of platitudes as my head grew light.

If a normal man lost control, I’d probably survive. I couldn’t guarantee the same would be true if Francois lost himself that way.

Slowly, he seemed to relax again, his fingers uncurling, his breathing evening out. Then he drew his fingers back and forth over my thigh, the movement a caress.

“Are you willing?” he asked again.

Tears filled my eyes, but I shook my head and blinked, trying to clear my vision so I could see more than a blur. “No, I’m not willing. You can’t do this, Francois.”