6

“Fuck.” The sharp word was like a bullet slicing through my skull. “Fuck.”

But there was a desperation in the word I’d never heard. I groaned as I tried to open my eyes, but my eyelids were so heavy. It was too hard to rip them upward, like they’d been nailed down.

“Ma petite?”

Someone clasped my hand between their palms and raised it to their mouth. Then Francois—and it was Francois—nuzzled his freshly shaven cheek against my knuckles. “Oh, ma petite. I thought he’d killed you.”

I fought back a sob. No. Fuck, no. I was still here. At least while I was unconscious, I didn’t have to face any of this. Francois, his time warp house… His madness.

He traced his fingertips down my cheek as a tear slid free from under my lashes. Then he made soft shushing noises. “Don’t cry, ma petite. He won’t harm you again. I’ve made sure of it.”

My stomach lurched. His voice was soft but his words were those of a stone-cold killer, and I was trapped in his home.

“I’m tired, Francois.” I croaked the words from my dry throat. “I need to sleep.”

“I understand.” His clothes rustled as he stood, his presence suddenly looming over me. “Are you cold, ma chèrie? I could stay and…warm you?”

He sounded so hesitant and there was a vulnerability to his voice that I didn’t want to hear.

I froze, every muscle stilling. I was pretty sure my heart didn’t even dare beat.

“I’m plenty warm, thank you.” I kept my eyes closed but tried to force my lips into a smile, holding my breath when I didn’t hear him leave right away.

His lips touched my forehead as he ran his fingers through my hair, his touch tender. “Fais de beau rêves, mon ange,” he whispered. “Sweet dreams, my angel.”

As soon as the door clicked closed behind him and the lock tumbled into place, a sob broke free from my chest, harsh in the empty room. I almost expected Francois to burst back through the door, but he didn’t.

I ached for Nicolas, yearned for him in a way I’d never thought possible, because if he turned up here now, his presence would be like a reset button. I’d be safe, and I could continue my life away from all of this shit.

Vampires. I didn’t want to know they existed, and they were all obsessed with my virginity in a way that almost made me want to run and have sex with the next human guy I saw so that it would no longer be an issue for them.

Except that wouldn’t work.

Not when the guy I most wanted to be with…

I stopped, willing my thoughts to halt, but they didn’t. The guy who aroused me more than ever before in my life was a vampire casino owner from Baton Rouge—even if I didn’t want to admit it to myself.

I wanted to return to Nicolas to see what we could become… but I was also pretty sure I’d be better off not knowing. His lifestyle was dangerous. My current predicament proved that.

I pressed my hand to my mouth. I’d missed out on so much in my life, looking after Dad and trying to keep the bar afloat. I hadn’t even lived and now I feared my fucking death. Maybe even my undeath.

If I escaped Francois… when I escaped, my life would be completely different—with or without Nicolas Dupont in it.

But it was Nicolas’ face I saw and his voice I heard in my head as I drifted off to sleep, and it was Nicolas who gave me those pleasant dreams Francois had told me to have.

2

Nic

I

 paced down my entrance hall to the front door then back up again, Baldwin wringing his hands together in the corner by some random Greek statue I couldn’t recall the name of. Mrs. Ames was dusting a Ming vase she’d already dusted seven times today.

None of us knew what to do to keep ourselves busy, and my brain was working overtime to make sense of everything that had happened and formulate a plan. Several times, it pounded like it might just explode out of my skull and put everyone in my house out of their misery.

Two fucking days. Two days too long already. The intel we’d received about where Francois was holding Leia had turned out to be a bust—they’d moved on by the time we’d raided the facility.

Next time, though, I’d be there. Next time, it would be done right.

“Mrs. Ames,” I barked as she began dusting the vase again.

She gasped and whirled around, her face pale and drawn.

“Could you prepare some tea?” I softened my tone as I sent her to do something else… Anything fucking else.

We all knew I wouldn’t drink the fucking tea.

“Francois fucking Ricard. The little fucking prince.” I raked my hand through my hair and met Baldwin’s gaze. “You don’t have to say it. I fucked up.”

He remained quiet, but my butler had always been a wise man.

I’d been stupid. Too arrogant, parading Leia around like she was my prize. Like no one could touch me or her, like they’d respect my word and my claim.

My fault.

It was all my fault.

Worry was eclipsed by guilt and remorse. Leia made me feel all kind of things I wasn’t used to feeling. She always had. Right from that first moment I’d kissed her.

But I’d told myself it was the power-rush, the bloodlust.

I’d been wrong.

“I have to talk to her.” There was a hint of desperation in my voice, and I didn’t do desperate.

I did decisive and logical and successful. Fuck. I did aggressive and violent and furious, and the end always justified the means. I got what I wanted, and I never made apologies.