3

But why had I thought Nicolas might rescue me?

Not thought, my brain whispered. Truly hoped. I wanted to mean enough to him that he’d rip apart the entire state of Louisiana to find me.

“Why are we leaving?” Perhaps I simply needed to delay Francois and give Nicolas more time.

“This is not my home.” He looked at me like the answer was simple. Obvious, even. “This is not the home for you.” His eyes glinted but not with anger—with the hint of madness I’d quickly come to expect from him. “Now come here and turn around for me.”

He motioned with his finger that I should spin, and I didn’t have anywhere to go.

Nowhere to run. Victor still blocked the door, and I didn’t even know where the fuck I was. I’d have to bide my time and plan.

I stood in front of Francois, my back to him, and he moved closer until his chest brushed against me.

He leaned forward, nuzzling my hair. “Parfait! You smell divine, ma chèrie.” He dropped his head and his breath skimmed my neck as his lips touched against me. “You tempt me.”

His tone grew darker, and I withheld a shudder. We played this game often. He smelled my hair then focused too intently on my neck and I held still, wary of his fangs. They were far too close to me right now. But I just needed to give him a moment to collect himself.

Or a distraction.

“The blindfold.” I almost whispered the words, but he straightened immediately.

“Oui, bien sûr. Of course, the blindfold.” He fastened it over my face with too much efficiency to leave me anything but nervous.

This wasn’t Francois’s first rodeo.

“Should I bind your wrists?”

The question was about me, but I didn’t know if he was asking me, looking to Victor for a reply, or talking to himself. I shook my head, the movement quick and emphatic. “No. I’ll behave.”

Fabric rustled as Francois moved, and I pictured his velvet coat and his too-big, fluted sleeves as he moved in front of me. Despite his fashion being something out of a regency novel, with his dark eyes and dark hair, I might have considered him handsome if he hadn’t abducted me.

A touch grazed my cheek. Soft and careful. Something reverent. “Of course you’ll behave, ma petite.” Then he laughed loudly, the sound incongruent with the gentle tone he’d used to speak to me. “You’re going to make Father so proud of me.”

I relaxed a little, letting go of the tension in my muscles. The small things he said when he checked on me always suggested I was more than a snack, that he had an end game. That much was a relief because it suggested that I had time. Time that I sorely needed.

He wrapped an arm around me, and I gasped as he yanked me against him, his breath on my neck again. The merest hint of fang grazed me as the hard length of his cock pressed between us.

“Of course,” he mumbled, his voice thick, “I could just take you now and kill Father before he even wakes up.”

I pressed my lips together, ignoring the fear that threatened to weaken my legs. I really needed Nicolas to come and get me. I’d agree to anything he wanted, sign a thousand more contracts, if he just ensured my safety.

But Francois led me from the room, and I stumbled along a narrow corridor with rough walls on either side of me any time I reached out to find my balance. He drew me carefully down a flight of steps, coaching me like I was a child, and then he sat me in a car that smelled of leather and old money.

Wherever he escorted me into after a short car ride had strong notes of mildew and damp, and the unexpected decay tickled my nose. In the absence of anything to orient me, I clung to Francois’s arm, and his hand patted mine then lingered as he threaded our fingers together.

“Home,” he announced, and I imagined him making a big sweeping gesture as I turned to where I thought his face would be, as if I could watch him. “You’re finally home. I’m going to take you straight to your room so you can rest and change, and then I have something planned.”

Excitement was clear in his voice, and it charged the air between us. He still hadn’t taken the blindfold off, and he led me forward.

“I should carry you.” As with a lot of the things he said, he sounded thoughtful, and I opened my mouth to tell him I could walk, but a surprised shriek emerged instead when he swung me into his arms and cradled me against his chest. “It’s tradition,” he murmured, his words hot against my ear.

He was stronger than I expected, his body leaner under the flamboyance of his clothes, and the hard muscles pressed against me acted as a warning. Francois was a man I shouldn’t cross.

He strode up the stairs with ease, his hold on me firm but gentle, and he held me easily, shifting my position as he opened a door then walked through. The same, strange smell of decay lingered in here, but also something zesty like the room had been recently cleaned.

I jumped as Francois’s hands grasped my shoulders, and he tugged me closer before his touch lifted. Then the blindfold loosened, and I squinted against sudden light.

“You’re home,” he said then pressed the back of my hand to his lips.He looked almost shy as he watched me gaze around my new prison, because I had no doubt that was what it was. Just another fucking new prison, only this one had a dark wood four-poster bed with graying sheer drapes and too much discolored lace.