“But every inch of you is broadcasting danger, and it’s not just the fact that you’re a vampire,” I say. Every muscle in my body is tensed. My brain is going through every maneuver I might have to take him out, or at least keep his fangs off of me if he turns out to be a liar.
“I am dangerous,” he says darkly. “But not to you. Not right now.”
The doors slide open, and he steps out. When I hesitate inside the elevator for a moment, he turns. “You’re never going to find your friend without my help. And I’m never going to be able to get to her without you.”
My heart is racing. But as I once again imagine all the horrible things that could have happened to Ophelia, I step out of the elevator.
Only then do I realize that it’s opened up to a penthouse suite.
Everything matches the lobby. All the décor is natural tones, dark wood, gray stones. I couldn’t afford even the knickknacks that sit on the side tables. Everything about this place screams wealth. And it’s massive.
The space opens up into a huge living area with couches that look like I’d get the best sleep of my life on them. There’s a gigantic dining table in the area off to the side, and beyond that is one of the most beautiful kitchens I’ve ever seen. Toward theback, I see a set of double doors that open to a massive bed with fluffy white blankets and pillows.
And there are massive floor-to-ceiling windows everywhere, granting us glittering views of the city and a little peekaboo view of Central Park.
“Are you in the mafia?” I didn’t mean for the words to slip out past my lips, but they’re there before I can stop them.
The man hesitates two seconds too long. “Not exactly. My family has a certain… influence in the city, though.”
Shit. I really am the world’s biggest idiot. Not only is this guy a vampire, he’s from a powerful, dangerous family, too.
“You said your friend has been missing for three weeks,” the man says. He walks into the living room and sinks down into a tufted, black leather chair. Even the way he sits screams dangerous and powerful. I have to look away for a moment when I find my eyes studying the tattoos rising up his neck. “You weren’t with her when she went missing?”
I shake my head. Cautiously, I walk into the living room. Still holding onto my bag for dear life, I sink into the couch across from him. “She mentioned something about a Red party. She wanted to go real bad, and she begged me to go with her, but I had a class to teach.”
“You’re a teacher?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow in surprise.
“Mixed martial arts,” I quip, enjoying when his expression changes from doubtful to impressed. “I teach women’s self-defense classes.”
“No wonder you’re crazy enough to walk into a party like that by yourself,” he responds, and the way he’s looking at me changes. There’s a little more respect in his eyes. A little more curiosity. He’s looking at me less like I’m something fragile and stupid.
“She decided to go to the party by herself,” I move on. “I thought she’d call me after and tell me how it was. But she didn’t. I didn’t think too much of it. She could have just been tired after. But she didn’t call me the next day either. She didn’t answer my texts. Her phone rang once when I called her, and then went to voicemail.”
I pull my phone out and open my texts to her. They still only read as delivered, not read. “I started getting worried. So, I went by her apartment. It was locked, which I think is a good thing. She didn’t answer. But her neighbor said she hadn’t seen Ophelia come in or out in two days.”
I look back up at the man. “It took me a while. Whoever is throwing these parties doesn’t make it easy to find any information on them. But I finally found the date and time for the one tonight. As you saw, my search wasn’t proving too fruitful.”
“I believe it’s my father’s company that’s throwing the parties,” the man says. He crosses one ankle over the opposite knee. “I parted ways with him three years ago. But I was looking into the company a few weeks ago, and there are charges that don’t line up. My father is a real estate mogul. I wanted to find out why the hell he wasrentingspaces. Why he was hiring caterers. Bouncers. Bar tenders. He’s throwing parties, but not attending them, and not hosting them in his own spaces. It doesn’t add up. Your friend going missing at one of his parties…”
He shakes his head, his eyes losing focus as he trails off.
“You think they’re connected?” I ask. I can’t connect the dots yet, but something like nervous fear drips into my stomach.
“She have any connection to vampires that you know of?” he asks as his eyes meet mine once more.
“Hell no,” I answer, confident.
“Feels like a lure then, maybe.”
His words make me sick. “You think he’s luring unsuspecting people in? To be snacks?”
The man shakes his head. “I don’t know. I was watching everyone at that party for an hour when you came in. It’s obvious a lot of the humans there are regulars. They knew what was going on. But others definitely didn’t.”
“Ophelia didn’t know,” I say, shaking my head confidently. Then my eyes narrow at him. “If you’re a vampire, why would you need my help getting to her?”
He lets out a hard breath, and his eyes slide away from mine to look out the window at the night that is never fully dark in this city. “I get the feeling you don’t know much about my world yet. You’re not going to like what I’m about to explain.”
“Trust me, I haven’t liked a single bit of this night yet,” I counter. “Why slow down now?”
