Page 17 of The Serpent’s Bride (Bloodlines #1)

NINE

Nadi was a light sleeper.

It was part of the job.

Nobody had ever come after her—she was careful at covering her tracks and generally stayed away from any targets that would warrant a revenge-kill of a hired gun. But it was always a real, and serious, possibility.

So, when someone crawled into bed on top of her, their hands on either side of her body…she reacted very poorly.

Before she could even process what she was doing, she’d grabbed the hairpin she’d stuffed underneath her pillow, rammed her elbow into the attacker’s jawline, and used their recoil of pain and shock to roll them both over.

It wasn’t until she was straddling the man beneath her, hairpin digging into his skin hard enough to make him bleed, that she realized who he was.

Raziel.

Oh.

Shit.

She blinked down at him, at a total loss for words. He had his head tilted back, baring his throat, his red eyes burning like coals.

Lips curling into a slow, lazy smile, he let his hands rest on her bare thighs. It wasn’t until he touched her, his hot skin on hers, that she remembered that she slept naked. “I was right—that was why you were keeping your hair up. You wanted a weapon close by.”

Her heart was pounding in her ears. Swallowing the rock in her throat, she debated what to do. She could kill him here, now—just put the pin through his eye and into his brain and be done with him. She’d lose on any chance to witness his suffering, but he’d be gone.

Vampires were hard to kill, but they weren’t truly immortal.

She’d just tried to attack him. If she let him live, how would he respond? And if he was suspicious that her hairpins were her weapons…did he just figure her out? Had she just given herself away?

His hands trailed up her thighs to her waist, slowly caressing her. She shivered, her skin breaking out in goosebumps. “You like to be touched…”

She did. It wasn’t something she experienced often. But now wasn’t the time.

“Usually, I’m the one wielding the weapon but…

I have to say this is…strangely enjoyable.

” He shifted, and that was when she felt his desire pressing into her core where she was straddling him.

With a grunt, his eyes slid half-shut. “I was so very much trying to be a good boy until after the wedding. Stay just like that a moment, will you?”

It was their closeness—the presence of him grinding against her—that finally drove her to climb off of him and the bed in one swift movement. She grabbed a silk dressing gown from the chair by the dresser and threw it on, tying the belt around her waist. “I’m—I’m sorry. You startled me.”

Letting out a disappointed sigh, he stood from the bed like nothing had happened, smoothing out his clothes and straightening his tie. “I wasn’t expecting my cowgirl to have such a violent streak. Nor for her to be hiding weapons beneath her pillow.”

His knuckles were bloodied.

Her stomach sank. “Whatever Lana told you?—”

“That is why I’m here. Come. Since you’re up , let’s do this properly.” He opened the door to the room and left her standing there, confused and shaking, hairpin still in her hand.

She didn’t like being on the back foot. Glancing at the clock, it was three in the morning. What the fuck was Raziel doing in her room at three in the morning? Why had he been in her bed?

Putting the hairpin down on her dresser, she debated her next actions. She could disappear. Get dressed, jump the fence, and be gone. But she’d given Monica all the money she’d had in the bank. All her things were gone. She’d destroyed her life to come here to ruin him. There was no going back.

And, even worse than that?

Curiosity burned in her.

She needed to know what was going on here.

The feeling of him against her, of his body so close—his touch. She shut her eyes, let out a wavering breath, and combed her hands through her hair.

Fine. Fine! This was a one-way trip for her, she’d known that going in. Whether she succeeded or failed, this was how she died. Quickly pulling on her clothes, she squared her shoulders, and followed after Raziel.

He hadn’t waited for her, but she found him on the balcony that overlooked his pool. It seemed to be one of his favorite places to be. He was already sipping a glass of ice and amber alcohol, and a second one was resting on the railing next to him.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “Aw. You got dressed.”

That actually made her laugh. Not a lot, and not loudly, but it was a genuine laugh. “I’m sorry about the hairpin.”

“No, you’re not. Don’t lie to me.” He placed his drink down on the railing.

Something struck her—an urge. She didn’t know what it meant, but she followed it. “You’re right. I’m not.” Walking to the bar, she picked up a container of vodka and a cloth. Pouring some of the alcohol onto the fabric, she headed back to him.

Raziel was watching her now, curious and dubious in equal measure. Picking up his hand, she studied the blood on his knuckles. “How much of this is yours?”

The dark chuckle that left him sent another shiver down her spine. “None.”

Chewing on her lower lip, she started to clean the blood off his skin. When she reached one part, he hissed and jolted, but didn’t recoil. She shot him a raised eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe some.” Shrugging dismissively, he looked off into the city, his expression unreadable.

Finishing his first hand, she went to the second, cleaning him up as best as possible before folding the cloth and putting it on the railing.

It was an action she’d done to her own hands many times—cleaning someone else’s blood from her skin.

She picked up her drink and faced the city, finding that she really needed the benefit of alcohol at the moment.

“I heard rumors. Rumors that I think are confirmed now.”

A hum left him, but nothing more.

“I didn’t fuck anybody. And they didn’t fuck me. No matter what Lana?—”

“She told me you and Azazel just chatted. That you were both more than happy to pretend he ran you ragged and went to bed ridden hard. I heard the same from him.” He sneered. “Though he thinks Lana is none the wiser.”

“I…”

“She’s my sister, Monica.” He reached into his coat pocket and fished out a silver cigarette holder that had a decorative “R” etched into the surface. Picking one out, he tucked the cigarette between his lips, clicked the case shut, and slid it into his pocket.

Click-click. That was why he sometimes smelled of smoke.

But it wasn’t tobacco that she smelled in the air, it was more like…

woodsmoke or incense. Vampires were strange.

His face was illuminated by the glow of his lighter as he lit the cigarette.

He took a heavy drag before exhaling a cloud of smoke into the air above them.

She’d seen a million people light cigarettes in her life.

But something about the way he moved was distracting.

“Then why did you sneak into my room if you believed me?”

“It’s my room, Monica. You’re merely using it. This is my house.” He gestured aimlessly at the building around them.

Rolling her eyes, she sighed. “Why’d you sneak into the room, then?”

“Tell me about these rumors that you’ve heard.” Another slow drag from his cigarette.

By the great deep lords of the deepest caverns, she wanted to throw him over the balcony. Not like she could budge him, she was a third his size—but the mental image made her happy all the same. She ran a hand over her face. “I’m sure you’ve heard them.”

“I want to know what you think I am.”

“Your sister deals in flesh, not cars. It’s painfully obvious, even if I hadn’t heard the stories. Your brother deals in drugs and uses the fact that he’s the senior advisor to the mayor to move things in and out.”

“And me?”

“You…kill people.” She gestured to his hand, still a little stained with red, which was resting on the railing.

“I do.”

Sipping her drink, she pondered the metropolis at night, just as he was doing. There were always lights, blinking in the distance, even though nobody in their right mind was awake or working. Cities were always awake.

Whatever inspired her to ask her next question, she didn’t know. But it left her lips before she could stop it. “You’re going to kill me on the night of the wedding, aren’t you? I was given to you as a sacrifice.”

The next few seconds were a blur of motion. He was just too fast . He grabbed her by her hair, fisting it in his hand, yanking her away from the railing so quickly that her drink clattered to the floor, the thick glass somehow surviving the fall.

Before she could do anything more than squeak, he threw her forward. Up became down then up again as she landed on something surprisingly soft. One of the pieces of furniture on the balcony.

He was on top of her again, straddling her thighs, pinning her down. She took a wild swing at him, but he caught her wrists easily and pinned them over her head with one of his hands. He was a silhouette against the starry night above him.

Raziel was smiling, watching her struggling to kick him off with all the amusement of a tiger that had just pinned its prey.

Letting out a ragged, frustrated sigh, she glowered up at him. “What the fuck was that for?”

“See…this is the thing. This is what I don’t understand about you.” He slipped his other hand around her throat and squeezed. “This. Right here.”

Gagging, she kicked uselessly, trying to wriggle away. But there was no use. He was going to choke the life out of her. She was going to die. This was it.

Helpless, she watched as he lowered himself closer to her, resting his weight on his elbow, even as his grasp around her throat never wavered. He wanted to watch her die. Wanted to watch the spark of life leave her eyes. There was a keen fascination in those red orbs.

My glamor will fall the moment I die. He’ll see me for what I really am. What a wonderful little mystery he’ll have to deal with, then.