Page 4

Zuri hated that she couldn’t help but lock her in place. That she couldn’t stop herself from clawing at Elena’s back and pulling her closer.

“As if I could ever forget exactly who you are,” Elena whispered against her neck, the needle-sharp tip of her fang grazing Zuri’s collarbone. The slight contact was a seismic wave of desire roaring through her.

Head tossed back, Zuri wanted to succumb. To give Elena what they both wanted, but there would be no easy way to come back from that. It had been hard enough to detox the first time.

“Keep your murderous instincts in your pants.” Zuri reached into her back pocket, the gold ring cold to her touch. She’d brought it as a backup, just in case Elena had demanded a different price for her help.

Elena leaned back, eyes black with lust. “Oh, come on. You know it doesn’t feel as good?—”

“Take it or leave it.” Zuri slid the elegant gold ring with its large, blood-red garnet at the center onto Elena’s finger. Theornate filigree patterns and twisting gold vines shimmered in the dim light. With a practiced twist, Zuri activated the hidden blade, a small, sharp curve emerging from its spot around the gem stone.

“You used to be so much more fun,” Elena complained with a sigh.

Zuri slid off the desk, pretending she’d leave, but then Elena’s hands were on her hips, throwing her back and urging her to wrap her legs around her again. Zuri hated how much she loved Elena’s raw power.

“Fine. Have it your way,” Elena relented. “Do I get to pick where?” She looked down at her, eyes brimming with sin.

“I’m not taking off my clothes,” Zuri warned, pulse pounding with anticipation. Her entire body alive with the fight-or-flight thrill.

Elena pouted for half a second and then she was using the blade to make a tiny incision over Zuri’s breast. When her mouth followed, Zuri gasped despite herself.

“Do you want to stay?” Elena asked when Zuri pulled her away with a tight fist in her hair.

“No,” she lied.

Chapter Three

Zuri’s bloodon her tongue only amplified Elena’s thirst. Sitting alone in her office, it took her longer to gather herself than she liked. To shake the lingering heaviness in her chest. The memories on her lips.

There was no sense in wallowing, Elena decided. Ignoring the mess on her desk, she stood, intending to find something to chase away the useless ache crawling over her ribcage and trying to curl around her heart.

In the lounge outside her office, her inner circle chatted and laughed. Leaning against the bar, Librada kept watch over the group like she was expecting trouble. Her default setting.

Sleeping on thick cushions on either side of her door, Luna and Loba waited patiently for her. One hundred and eighty pounds each, her fawn-colored Spanish Mastiffs were imposing. Gentle and patient, they looked scarier than they were. As long as no one was stupid enough to fuck with Elena, they preferred belly rubs over maiming. Sometimes appearances did the job better than actions.

Upon noticing Elena, the dogs jumped up and eagerly accepted ear scratches before joining her and the rest of thegroup. In her territory, there were thousands of vampires, but only her progeny had permission to be here.

Her family spanned fifteen in all. The only females she’d ever turned were Librada and Sofia. On the outside, the two couldn’t appear more different, but inside, all three of them carried the same heart.

Tall and sleek and openly lethal, no one guessed Librada had been a nun in her first life. Only a few years younger than Elena, Librada had been with her since nearly the beginning. She was as ruthless as she was efficient.

But Sofia de Furia, she was so petite and unassuming that her marks didn’t see her coming until their throats were already slit. The same teenage looks that had made her a revoltingly popular courtesan in nineteenth century Rome made her an unmatched assassin in her second life. Elena’s two blood daughters were a source of pride.

“I got that drip.” Robert, built like a missing Hemsworth, stood at the center of the lounge, all eyes trained on him. Glass in hand, he made a show of pointing to his bright white sneakers. White pants and an oversized white hoodie went with his crisp white baseball cap.

“You look like an unused tampon,” Sofia joked before taking a sip from her wine glass. With her wavy blonde hair tied back, her green eyes were distractingly prominent. “Which I suppose is better than a used one.”

“I thought drip meant boring,” Elena said when she joined them, taking the turquoise armchair in front of Librada—one of the few people she’d trust with her literal back. The dogs moved through the gathering, accepting warm greetings before dropping at Elena’s feet.

“Now it means stylish,” Robert explained before spouting the wordson godandno capalong with a string of other nonsensical phrases.

“I don’t know why meanings have to change,” Felix groused.

Dressed in loose trousers and a linen shirt, he was the same mustachioedpapishe’d picked up in Havana just before the revolution scattered them to Miami seventy years ago. Felix was forever a beautiful thirty-year-old man with the sensibilities of a grandfather.

“Some of us want to look a little less like we’ve emerged from a Cold War bunker hunting for signs of life,” Robert shot back.

They descended into a conversation about the state of modern language that immediately turned tedious. Restless, Elena stood. Desperate for somewhere to put the disquiet Zuri had left behind, she approached the bar.