Page 28 of The Vampire Kingpin (The Vampire Syndicate #7)

Spider

“ T his is so Goth.” Beneath her lacy, wine-colored mask, Lark’s heavily mascaraed eyes roved approvingly around the cavernous chamber. “I like.”

My own mask dangled from my hand. I followed her gaze to the iron chandelier studded with blood-red candles, and then to the deep purple roses twined with ivy creeping up the marble columns and over the bannisters.

“And this is just the entrance,” I murmured.

The Kral primus and his mate went all out for the Midnight Masquerade, throwing it in a massive subterranean hall. Music drifted up the stairs to where we waited to show our invitation—hand-crafted paper with a wax seal bearing the Kral wolf—to the pair of guards flanking the colossal iron doors.

Behind us, a crew of vampires and thralls got into line. The vampires, all top-tier syndicate players, oozed dominance. My own dominance flared in response. I grabbed Lark’s gloved hand and looped it through my arm, making it clear she was off limits.

Lark cast me a questioning glance but closed her fingers around the sleeve of my tux.

I’d gone with a monochrome look tonight—black tux, matching shirt, a skinny black tie tucked into my satin vest. My lucky dagger was in a special pocket of the vest. If all went well, it would end the night in Jared Darkman’s heart.

“Mom would’ve killed for an invitation to this,” said Lark. “If only…” She bit her lower lip. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. You miss them. I get it.”

In the two weeks since Lark had officially joined the lair, we’d spent nearly every spare minute together.

I’d even started including her in my briefings with Velma and the rest of my top people.

Her parents might’ve been selfish dicks, but they’d done a good job educating her.

She was creative and quick-thinking, with this innate ability to adapt and innovate on the spot, and a knack for seeing things from angles most people missed.

Her presence brought a new energy to our group, challenging us to think differently and push the boundaries of our strategies.

It was more than just her intelligence, though.

Lark had a natural magnetism that drew people in.

Her confidence and determination were infectious, inspiring those around her to rise to the occasion.

She was fast becoming an indispensable part of my inner crew.

“I do.” She rested her head against my shoulder. “But I’m also angry at them. I know I should let it go, but….” She expelled a breath.

“I know.” I brushed my lips over her temple. That story she’d told about being “sold” to Jared Darkman still gave me chills. In my opinion, her folks had got what was coming to them. “But this is where you get your revenge, right?”

I hated even putting Lark in the same ballroom as Darkman, but we hadn’t been able to determine who in the lair was betraying us.

(If, that is, Troll had told Lark the truth about someone feeding Darkman intel.) And her plan was solid—better than anything I’d come up with.

If I wanted Darkman permanently out of the picture, this was our best option.

“True.” She brightened and lifted her head, the ruby-and-diamond encrusted gold hoops I’d given her earlier catching the candlelight. “And if Mom and Dad were here, they probably would’ve had me lifting that big-ass emerald on your finger.”

We both looked at my index finger. I snorted.

Lark chuckled…and something in me preened at knowing I’d cheered her up.

We reached the front of the line. One of the guards took our invitation, checking our names against a list. Lark got a second glance, his eyes lingering on the smooth skin exposed by the cutout over her breasts.

I growled lowly, and he swallowed and waved us through the doors. “Enjoy your evening, Sir. Madam.”

“Thank you,” Lark said with a regal nod.

With her hair up in a sleek black twist and a bored smile on her lips, she fit in with the other guests in a way I never would. Not that I gave a rat’s ass about fitting in. As far as I was concerned, the syndicates could shove their rules and hierarchies where the sun don’t shine.

But Lark was different. She was in her element, moving to the top of the wide marble staircase with a grace and ease that drew admiring glances. Commanding attention even among the vampire elite.

When this was over, a good man would pull some strings, help her escape my world. Someone with Lark’s looks, self-possession and chameleon-like ability to blend in anywhere from the Underworld to a posh ball could rake in serious cash selling her skills to the highest bidder.

Too bad I wasn’t a good man.

Because I’d made up my mind to keep Lark. In a few short weeks, she’d become necessary to me. She was Amina and then some—sharp, fearless, adaptable.

Velma was right. I’d spent too long stuck in a limbo, punishing myself for Amina’s death. Afraid to let another woman break the chains around my heart in case I lost her, too.

But Lark had changed everything, and the thought of going back to the way things were made my chest compress like a giant vise had me in its grip.

For the first time in years, I felt something real—happiness, hope.

Mine. My vampire—the primal part of me—had seen the truth before I had, and I was damned if I’d let Lark go now. She was my mate, and as soon as we were free of the Darkman asshole, I was going to tell her that. Hell, if she’d just agree to the fucking bond, I’d promise her the moon and stars.

“Ready?” I asked her, adjusting the mesh mask on my face. Damn thing was too tight—a new design of DeeDee’s—but for now I was stuck with it.

Lark lifted her chin, determination etched in every line of her beautiful body. “Let’s do this.”

We started down wide marble stairs flanked by ebony rails carved with wolves on the prowl, their teeth bared, tails supporting the railing.

The ballroom below was filled with masked, shadowy figures; men in dark tuxedos and topcoats, women draped in sultry fall colors—reds, oranges, golds.

A fog machine spewed mist that hugged the floor and slithered beneath the towering Gothic arches.

At the bottom of the stairs, Lark sent a sweeping glance around. “I don’t see him.”

“He’s here,” I said. “Or he will be. Remember, whatever happens, I’ve got your back. Velma and Monster, too.” Velma was against the wall, standing at attention in a black Kral uniform, and Monster was stationed near the restrooms.

Lark kissed my cheek. “Thank you.”

After this night, I’d owe Zaq Kral, big time. He’d not only talked his primus father into letting us trap Jared Darkman at the Midnight Masquerade, he’d allowed me to insert two of my top people into tonight’s security detail.

A server in a black corset and red skirt approached, a tray of blood-champagne balanced on her palm.

“Want a drink?” I asked Lark, but she shook her head.

“Let’s dance, okay? Maybe we’ll be able to see him.”

The band was playing a slow, ponderous waltz, and the floor was packed. I’d never met a supernatural who was a bad dancer—we love music and moving to a beat. But dancing with Lark was like dancing with a fairy. Light and airy, she easily matched my every move.

“Of course, you’re an expert at ballroom dancing,” I said wryly.

She tipped her head. “That a problem?”

“No. We’re just different, you and me.”

But I’m still keeping you.

I spun us around, navigating through the swirl of masked men and women. Lark flung back her head, the skirt’s red-and-purple pleats flaring out around her toned thighs.

“You’re a good dancer, too. And I like how we’re different.” Her lips curved in a slow, sexy smile.

I moved my hand lower on her back, slipping it through the diamond cutout. Her muscles flexed beneath my touch. I spread my fingers, caressing her at that sensitive spot just above her ass, and sure enough, she gave that small shiver I loved.

The band switched to a salsa. I gathered Lark closer until her lower body was basically glued to mine.

We stepped forward and backward, hips swinging with the beat.

I glanced down, eating up her cleavage with my eyes.

Promising myself that at the end of the night, I would lick a trail from the bottom of that peek-a-boo diamond to the top.

And then I would slice through that collar of material around her pretty throat and sink my fangs into her…

She slanted me a mock-glare from beneath her long lashes. “Focus, Spider-Dude.”

“Then stop flashing your tits at me.”

She arched her back, giving me a better view. “But it’s so fun.”

I slapped her ass. “You are so bad.”

Her grin was an arrow to my heart. Pain and pleasure all wrapped up in a complicated ball.

There was a stir at entrance. Zaq Kral had arrived, along with his mate and Jared Darkman. Darkman studied the crowd with cold blue eyes, looking as spoiled and arrogant in person as he had in his social media feeds (yeah, the dude posted about himself, usually shirtless).

A dark smile tipped up my lips. He’d taken the bait.

The Krals had extended Darkman an invite—they’d known he was in New York, because he’d had to ask permission to enter their territory. And we’d spread a rumor that I was bringing Lark to the Midnight Masquerade, assuming it would reach his ears.

“He’s here,” Lark said in an undertone. Beneath my hands, she vibrated like a plucked string but kept dancing.

“Breathe, baby,” I said, and her lungs emptied.

The Vegas vampire tossed his shoulder-length brown curls in a practiced move and held out his hand to Zaq’s long-legged blond mate, inviting her to dance. She exchanged a look with Zaq, then gave curt nod, and the two moved onto the dance floor.

“He’s dancing with Zaq Kral’s mate,” I said. “Princess Renata.”

Lark wrapped her hands around my neck. Right before my eyes, she straightened her spine and morphed into a bored party girl again.

“He’s looking for me,” she whispered.

My grip on her tightened. “He’s not going to touch you. That’s a fucking promise.”

I’d lost Amina. I’d stab a stake into my own heart before I’d lose Lark.