“I didn’t mean?—”
“I know.”Nix’s smile faded.Why did the cute ones always have to come with so much baggage?“Thanks for not killing me on sight.It’s been a nice to meet you.”He gave Orlan a little wave, trying to shoo him off.
Orlan grabbed Nix’s wrist.The lilac tattoo felt more like a bruise than a family marking.“I cannot leave here without you.”
“Look, honey, it isn’t going to happen.”Nix twisted free, knocking over a bottle.Red wine splashed everywhere.Heads turned.Nix glanced at the patrons then Orlan.He had to get Orlan out of there.
Nix walked around the bar and grabbed Orlan's arm, his fingers dug in hard to the muscle as he escorted him toward the door.“Sir, you’ve had far too much to drink, and I cannot serve you anymore.Please step outside.”
“You…” But the words died on Orlan’s lips.
Nix squinted in the brightness.Only dead vampires turned to ash, but he still burned fast and bad.He gave Orlan a little shove.“There.I have technically left with you.Enjoy the rest of your day.”
Orlan was the same height as him but broader.Nix had been blooded on his eighteenth birthday, so he was still lanky and always would be.He’d never minded until he’d been on the run and some unscrupulous and now dead people had thought him youthful and easy pickings.
Orlan stood there and stared at him.
“What?”Nix demanded.
“You aren’t going to kill me?”
That was low on the list of things he’d like to do with him, but that was before he’d seen the marking.“Not today.”
ChapterFour
That hadn’t gone as planned.Notthat Lance had really made a plan.He’d just wanted to see the Hadley heir.That man…that was him right down to the tattoo…but that couldn’t be the man he’d been hunting.Where was the ruthless killer?The cold-blooded hitman for the Hadleys?
Lance had a list of Nixon Hadley’s known kills—human and vampire and shifter.It was impressive, and the hipster twink serving up wine didn’t match the impression Lance had built up in his mind.Nor did the man who’d just escorted him outside match the photos of Nixon in a suit, hair short and fangs sharp.
His arm throbbed where Nixon’s fingers had pressed into his flesh.There’d be a bruise before dusk, but he was still alive.He turned to watch Nixon retreat inside to do his job.He had an actual job and not a well-paid one.What was Hadley playing at?
Lance stalked back to the door but didn’t enter.
Nixon looked up, the light catching on the black flames of his glasses.No vampire needed glasses.No self-respecting vampire man would put their hair up in a bun, either.But Nixon had left his sister undefended; perhaps he had no self-respect.Lance gave him a wave and turned away.
He’d survived meeting the infamous Hadley heir.Now all he had to do was bring him home to Melbourne.He walked toward the rental car, knowing he should call his aunt and give her the good news.Success was almost theirs.
But he didn’t.
He sat in the car and stared at the winery entrance, knowing Nixon was just inside.But not knowing why Nixon hadn't killed him?Nixon could’ve rewritten people’s memories and fled the scene.Nixon could’ve bitten him when they’d stepped outside and left him to bleed out on the gravel.Or used his strength to break his arm.Nixon could’ve done any number of things to him, but he’d let Lance walk unharmed.Everything he’d thought he knew no longer lined up.
Lance closed his eyes, and all he saw was the way Nixon had smiled at him before his alliance had been revealed.He rubbed his hand on his jeans, then he opened his eyes and stared at his palm.Oh, to be able to scrub it off and go back to the moment when a smile was worth so much more than their blood.
He lingered in the moment for another futile breath.He had a job.He’d found Hadley.Now he had to make the shot and call in reinforcements.He should put them on standby in case he needed some memories cleaned.
He picked up his phone, stared at the screen, and put it down again, unable to even send a text.He started the car and promised himself he’d call when he got back to the hotel.
But he didn’t go to the hotel.
He drove back to town, to the place Nixon rented—a tiny cottage at the back of another property and parked on the street.There were no cars in the driveway.When he got out and knocked on the front door, there was no answer, so he slipped around the back to Nixon’s place.He picked the pathetic lock and was inside in under thirty seconds.
The room was bright and airy, all blue and yellows—not at all what he’d been expecting.There was absolutely nothing that indicated Nixon had millions in the bank.A few clothes were thrown over an armchair.A bowl and cup were drying by the sink.
It was all extremely ordinary.
Where were the weapons?
He opened drawers and looked in cupboards, under the bed, and in the wardrobe.There was nothing there, and beneath the floorboards, there was only air.There was nowhere to store anything.
