Page 16 of Depths of Desire (The Emerald Dagger Mafia #3)

I sit there for another minute, staring once more at the grain of the wood on my desk, letting my thoughts spiral.

Whoever orchestrated this attack is playing with fire. I have my own empire—one my family knows nothing about. Could that be the cause?

I doubt it.

The wine business is clean. At least, as clean as anything in this world gets.

My vineyards are global, tucked into hillsides and valleys that I’ve walked for centuries.

Wine making is my escape. My art. The only thing left in this world that being a vampire hasn’t ruined to some degree.

If I had to give that up…No. I won’t even consider it.

I rise, the floor creaking slightly beneath my boots. The last twenty-four hours have shaken the foundations of my world—and I’ve been alive almost four hundred years. If I feel unmoored, what must Luna be feeling?

I find her on the balcony, silhouetted by the waning light. She’s seated in one of the wrought-iron chairs, knees tucked up, hair spilling over her shoulders.

“How are you holding up?” I ask, stepping into the soft evening air. Unable to stop myself, I touch her shoulder as I take the seat beside her. Her skin, bared save for the thin straps of the top, is satiny soft.

“Fine,” she says, her voice a whisper wrapped in calm. She turns to me and offers a tiny smile, one so faint it could disappear if I blink.

But I smell it—beneath the perfume of night jasmine and sea salt. Anxiety. Fear. Adrenaline.

She’s masking it well, but it’s there. Tightening her chest. Spiking her blood. Her serenity is a lie, and I hate that she feels she has to fake it.

What is it about her that wrecks my control? I would have killed men for less than looking at her the wrong way. My need to protect her isn’t rational. It’s feral. Unforgiving. And completely consuming.

“Supper is ready,” Carson announces from the doorway.

I rise and extend a hand toward her. She hesitates—just a fraction of a second—then slips her small hand into mine. The moment our skin touches, I feel her heartbeat kick up a notch. She feels it too. This tether between us. Electric. Ancient.

She snatches her hand back too quickly, shoving both into the pockets of her pants.

“After you,” she says, chin lifting in defiance. A smokescreen.

I smile, because I’ve already won. I lead the way.

The dining room glows with warm amber light. Carson has outdone himself again—linen napkins, silver polished to a mirror shine, a perfectly plated meal waiting at each end of the long table. But I don’t want any distance between us.

“Bring her plate here,” I tell Carson, gesturing to the seat beside mine.

Luna lifts an eyebrow but says nothing. When she sits next to me, I watch her from the corner of my eye. She’s not fidgeting, but there’s tension in her shoulders. She’s tightly coiled beneath that calm exterior.

We eat in silence for a few minutes. I pour her a glass of red—deep, rich, laced with notes of plum. She takes a sip, and her lips leave a faint imprint on the rim.

“This is good,” she says finally.

“Did you think I would serve you something less than exceptional?” I reply, smirking.

“No—I didn’t mean that at all. I just usually don’t like red wine,” she says with a small shrug.

“That’s because you’re just not drinking the right wine. I will introduce you to some excellent wines, and I promise you will like them.”

She looks up at that, meeting my eyes fully. There’s something defiant there, but there’s a curious spark I can’t ignore.

“I accept the challenge,” she murmurs, and for once, her voice isn’t hiding.

I lean in, close enough to catch her sharp intake breath, to see the gold flecks swirling in her eyes like secrets she doesn’t want me to know.

“You don’t have to pretend you’re okay with me, Luna.”

She smirks, but it’s all bravado. “Who says I’m pretending?”

Her breath betrays her—quick, shallow, and hitched just enough to confirm what I already know.

“You’re terrified,” I murmur.

She lifts her chin. “Of you? Please. I’ve dated worse.”

I grin, slow and wicked. “That so? Were any of them half as dangerous?”

Her lips twitch. “Dangerous is just another word for overcompensating.”

I chuckle, the sound low in my throat. “Keep poking the bear, princess. See how that works out for you.”

She stiffens slightly, and that’s when I go in for the kill. “I wasn’t talking about me, however. I meant your father. The freighter. All the shit piling up around you.”

Her smile falters, just a hair. I see it in the tightening of her jaw, the quick flicker of emotion behind her eyes. She tries to hide it, but she’s unraveling—and she knows it.

I reach out and brush a strand of hair behind her ear, letting my fingers trail down the curve of her jaw. She doesn’t pull away. She leans in, barely, but it’s enough.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” she whispers, her voice raw. “And I hate not knowing.”

“Then stop pretending you’re not scared,” I say, softer now. “Own it. Use it. And let me handle the rest.”

She laughs, sharp and bitter. “Oh, so now you’re offering full-service protection? Does that come with a tracking collar or just the illusion of free will?”

I lean closer, my mouth near her ear. “You’re free to walk away anytime, Luna. But you won’t survive.”

Her breath hitches again. Her pulse flutters at the base of her throat, and I want to taste it. She looks at me like she’s torn between slapping me and climbing into my lap—and fuck if that doesn’t make me harder than it should.

“God, you’re arrogant,” she says.

“Confident,” I correct. “And let’s not pretend you don’t like it.”

She stares at me, eyes burning. “I hate it.”

“Lie better.”

Her eyes drop to my mouth, and that’s all I need. I move in—slow, deliberate, giving her time to bolt. But she doesn’t. Her lips part like a dare. And I take it.

The kiss isn’t soft. It’s not careful. It’s fire and fury, teeth and tongue, a clash of control neither of us wants to give up. She tastes like red wine and pure defiance. Like the kind of mistake I’d make over and over again.

She kisses me back like she’s angry about wanting it. Like hating me makes her want me more. And I let her. When we finally break apart, she’s breathless, her pupils blown wide.

“I should slap you,” she mutters.

I raise a brow. “But you won’t.”

She glares. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet…” I let the words hang in the air, just to watch the color rise in her cheeks.

She shoves out of her chair and turns to walk away—but not before I see it. She’s smiling.