Page 42 of The Serpent’s Bride (Bloodlines #1)

TWENTY-TWO

Dinner had been spent mostly in silence after Nadi’s conversation-ending comment about murdering Luciento.

Which was one she was exceedingly proud of.

She wished she kept a journal, if only because she really rather wanted to write that one down to keep for later. But a chronicle of her life seemed like an exceedingly piss-poor idea, as it’d wind up being just a collection of confessions. And it would definitely wind up getting her killed.

After being excused from dinner early, which she was more than fine with, she headed back to the bedroom. His bedroom. She would never think of it as “theirs” or “hers.” Either she wouldn’t live that long, or he wouldn’t. One of the two.

Her nerves were on edge, and she didn’t understand why. She felt like she was going to scream. Or shatter something. Or both.

Normally, what she’d do to calm down would be to draw a hot bath, turn off all the lights, and sit in the hot water in as close to total darkness as she could and down a bottle of wine.

But she was currently Monica. Not Nadi.

And while Nadi could see in almost total darkness—Monica couldn’t.

Pressing her hands over her eyes, she let out a long, ragged sigh.

Maybe that was what was driving her up the wall.

She was a good liar. She’d had to learn to be over the years.

But she only had to be an actress in short bursts—a day or two at most, never weeks at a time.

She never had to keep it up incessantly like this.

Even now, she couldn’t just be. She couldn’t just relax. She had to literally keep up appearances. Flipping on the light on the bedside table, she also lit a candle in the bathroom, so Raziel wouldn’t be suspicious if he came in and found her sitting in total darkness.

Consoling herself with a bottle of wine that she set down on the edge of the tub along with a glass, she climbed into the hot water and tried her best to enjoy it for what it was.

Stretching out, she sighed as she leaned her head back against the edge of the porcelain.

It was nice to live in an expensive home, she had to give Raziel that much credit.

The tub was big enough that she didn’t have to bend her knees to sink into the water and it had lovely little shelves on both sides to store things like her wine.

And soap. But most importantly, the wine.

This would be perfect to almost anyone else.

And in normal circumstances, it’d be perfect to her.

Then why was she suddenly crying?

She hated crying.

“Fuck.” Wiping angrily at her face, she stared up at the ceiling above the tub. They weren’t tears of grief or sadness. She didn’t think they were, anyway. They were tears of frustration. Or maybe stress.

Her emotions were one big angry tangled mess, however. All swarming around each other like bees in a hive that someone had kicked. So honestly, she had no idea what she was feeling or why.

But it didn’t matter. The emotions were real, and there was no stopping them now. At least she wasn’t weeping. She couldn’t stand weeping. Crying was obnoxious enough—getting congested and snotty because of it was just adding insult to injury.

Shutting her eyes, she let out a long breath and tried to let it simply run its course.

But matters went from bad to worse when the door to the bedroom opened.

Glancing over, she swore silently to herself.

Raziel. His crimson eyes glinted faintly in the dim light of the room.

Looking away quickly, she wiped her eyes again. But it was too late. He’d seen her.

“Ah.” Shrugging out of his coat, he tossed it over the back of a chair and walked into the bathroom, his expensive shoes clicking on the hardwood floor. “My mother tends to have that effect on people.”

That got him a single, tired, half-laugh. “It’s not your mother.”

“I suppose that makes it more troublesome, then.” Reaching down, he picked up the glass of wine and took a sip from it before placing it back on the edge of the tub with a quiet tick. “Would you like me to leave you alone?”

He was such a different man to the one she’d met when she first walked in the door as Monica. It was like a curtain had been pulled away. No, something far more solid than that. Whatever it was, she didn’t like it , and wished he’d put it back.

She shook her head.

“I honestly don’t know. So I’ll say…no. If you want to stay, you can stay.” Wiping at her cheeks, she took a deep breath, held it for a long moment, and let it out in a rush. “But you’d better not be planning on hogging the wine.”

Chuckling, he sat down on the floor next to the tub, his back against the wall closest to the foot of it, sitting opposite her. “And risk your wrath? I’ll fetch another bottle if I do.”

“Oh yes, terrifying me. When you can order people to hang themselves with their own intestines .” She made a face. She was glad she was spared having to see that. “You could have just told them to shoot themselves. Why get so…”

“Creative?”

“I was going to say disgusting.”

He pulled on the knot of his tie, loosening it, tugging it at an angle. “It inspires fear. The more the story about the way I made those men kill themselves spreads? The fewer idiots who will step out of line in the future.”

Picking up the glass of wine, she sipped it. “I hate it when you make sense.”

“Most people do.” He leaned his head back against the wall, shutting his eyes. For a moment, he looked exhausted. “May I ask why you were crying?”

Pondering his question for a long moment, she shrugged again. “I’d tell you if I knew. I honestly don’t. I don’t know if it’s any one thing. Likely just…a little bit of everything, finally snowballing into too much.”

“I wouldn’t blame you. This…” He gestured aimlessly at the room around him, but she knew he meant his home—his family—his world. “It breaks people.”

“Does it ever get to you?”

“Which part?”

“All of it. Any of it.”

He smirked. “Of course it does. But do you think I’m about to show any of that to anyone? Please. I’d rather be dismembered like dear old Father.”

That could be arranged.

“Lana is throwing a garden party tomorrow.” Raziel couldn’t help but grimace as he said the words.

She stared at him blankly for a moment. “ Garden party?”

“Lana feels that since your wedding was interrupted, you should be given another party instead.” Raziel rolled his eyes. “I would rather die by teaspoon.”

“No, I meant—it seems like a bad idea to have a party for vampires outdoors .”

“Ah.” He huffed a half-laugh. “You’ll see.” His expression fell. “And Mael seems glad for another opportunity to speak to our mother about sparing your life.”

“ Is there any chance of talking your mother into letting me join the family as a vampire?”

“Is that your goal?” He watched her keenly then, those red eyes still glinting in the dim candlelight.

“I don’t want to die.” No, she wanted enough time to kill all of them.

Picking up her glass of wine, she sipped it and placed it back down between them.

“Whether that means I convince you and your family to permanently postpone the ‘honeymoon’…or convince your mother to let you turn me…I don’t know if I have a preference. ”

“Hm.” He studied her for a long moment. “I had hoped so, but…no. I fear that once my mother has made up her mind, there is little we can do. Mael’s words will be in vain.

Even your murder of Luciento hasn’t swayed her.

She says the message we must send to your father is still far more important than whatever ‘perceived value’ I feel you might add to the family.

I believe she simply thinks I’m smitten. ”

“I’m sure she thinks some part of you is,” Nadi muttered into the wine. It was a good cover for all the screaming and swearing she was doing in her head. She had been clinging to the hope—even some tiny little shred of it—that Raziel would convince his mother to let her stay.

But it was gone now.

And she had to figure out her options. But she’d need time to think, for that. She focused on the conversation instead. “Wait. Why does your brother care what happens to me?”

“That’s what I want to know.” His fangs were slightly extended, which seemed to happen when he got angry. “He’s never given a damn what happens to any of my lovers before.”

“Is it because I have your last name now?”

“I doubt it. Lana has had three husbands. All three are dead and dust.” Raziel snorted. He went straight for the bottle this time, taking a swig from it. “No. Something else is going on.”

“Maybe he’s jealous.” She smirked, turning in the tub to fold her arms on the side and prop her chin up on them. “Maybe he’s trying to save me from his wicked, evil little brother and plans to steal me away before I die on our honeymoon.”

The look that Raziel gave her sent her blood running cold. The joke she had just made had not landed well. He wasn’t angry. No, it was worse than that. There was a frigid and terrifying hatred in his ruby eyes.

She shrank back, just a little. She knew that kind of hate. She’d seen it in the mirror a thousand times.

“Tomorrow, we will attend this garden party at Lana’s.

In three days, we board a yacht and leave for my ancestral home.

There, you die.” His words were flat. Empty and as dead as a tomb.

Standing, he took one more swig of wine from the bottle before placing it back where he found it and heading toward the door to the bedroom.

He was gone a second later. And Nadi knew he wouldn’t return that night.

Sinking into the water, her mind was reeling. What had just happened? Why was he upset with her? She’d just been joking around. It doesn’t matter. Focus. Focus!

The fact of the matter was that her hope of convincing Volencia to spare her life was toast. She needed a new plan. Refreshing her glass of wine, she shut her eyes and leaned her head back against the lip of the tub.

Killing the whole family was no longer possible. She couldn’t get it done in three days, with human and vampire guards all around.