“Paris!” Misha said.
The Frenchman didn’t flinch as he continued, “But noon is six hours away, and I need a fucking nap. Tomorrow, Misha will join us to see what he can sense of the witch’s power.”
Safira made a mock pout. “What about me?”
“You’re going back to the compound to keep an eye on the kids,” Paris said. “And you can get your beauty sleep, then worry about how we kill Armina Voss now that we know where she lives.”
Julian shook his head. “She doesn’t want us to kill her before she has a chance to talk to her.”
“Ah, yes. Let’s spare the woman who has seen to it that our entire family suffered for centuries,” Paris said. “The same one who intends to kill your soulmate for…is this the sixth or the seventh time?”
Misha squeezed his arm and said, “Enough. Don’t be a dick.”
“I agree with Paris, but I’m willing to negotiate,” Safira said. She pasted on a smile. “She no longer poses a grave threat to the rest of you, and if we can get Kova from her grasp, then letting her live long enough for Scarlett to make her peace would be fine.”
Misha cleared his throat. “I hate to be the one to say it, but is there a possibility that she’s playing you? I know you want this to be real, but we have to be realistic.”
Cold dread oozed in his belly. “You’re right to consider it. There’s certainly a possibility, and I don’t know how we prove it,” Julian said. “I want to trust her.”
“I know what you’re going to say, but I’m going to say it anyway,” Paris said.
“Shocking,” Julian muttered.
“We should drug her to the gills and lock her up somewhere until we’ve dealt with the witch. That’s how we’re certain,” Paris said.
“Is that your solution for dealing with people who won’t fall in line?” Misha said wryly.
Without missing a beat, Paris replied, “It works, doesn’t it? You’re here.”
“And if the day comes and she has a massive heart attack or a brain aneurysm while chained in a basement?” Julian said.
Misha’s brow furrowed. “How does it happen? The…how she dies, I mean.”
Paris shook his head. “It’s different every time. We don’t need to talk about it.”
“It’s unpredictable,” Julian said. “And if you predicted that I would say absolutely fucking not, then yes, you knew what I would say.”
Paris shrugged. “Then let’s storm a witch’s castle.”
Chapter 14
She had no intention of sleeping in a house full of vampires, but apparently even sitting on the edge of the bed wrapped in a towel was enough to tell her body it was safe. She woke to a dark room, curled up in the fluffy towel with an embroidered Home Is Where the Heart Is pillow under her cheek. Her muscles were stiff, her mouth sticky as she sat bolt upright to take in her surroundings.
Instinctively, she reached for the gun on the nightstand, felt the assurance of that hard outline beneath her palm, then looked for her phone. Turning it over, she found it was nine-thirty. The room was nearly pitch-black, making her feel disoriented and disconnected from the outside world. She switched on the lamp, casting the strangers’ bedroom in low, warm light.
The whole house smelled of vampires, but this room…it smelled of Julian. How in the hell had she gone from envisioning his face with every practice blow to envisioning his lips on hers? Last night she’d nearly kissed him, so entranced was she with the shape of his lips as he talked. Surely this was just her brain’s way of trying to grasp a chaotic, incomprehensible situation.
Deep down, she was beginning to believe him. There were so many little things that didn’t make sense, so many little compromises and lapses of integrity that Tante Mina justified. And didn’t something in her already know that there was nothing waiting for her once she’d taken down Julian Alcott? That was why Mina couldn’t tell her what they’d do, why she couldn’t see herself living past that moment. Something in her knew this would be the end.
A shiver gripped her, and she picked up her clothes. They weren’t too dirty to wear, but she hated the thought of putting on underwear she’d already worn. She checked the closet in the bedroom, but there were no clothes, just a few small stacks of sheets and towels.
Still wrapped in the fluffy towel, she crept out of the master bedroom and down the hall. Following her nose, she found a laundry room downstairs. A single bottle held the dregs of bright blue detergent, so she tossed her clothes in and started the cycle.
His scent hit her right as she heard his foot across the tile. Gasping, she turned around to see Julian standing in the doorway. He’d shed his leather jacket and sweater. The black t-shirt clung to a broad chest and massive biceps.
Just like my dreams, she thought as her cheeks went hot.
His eyes drifted down, then snapped back up to her face. She curled her hand tighter around the folded towel at her chest. “What are you doing up?” she asked in a pinched voice.
