Page 75 of Wedlock (Vampire Bachelor Games #3)

I answer the phone mechanically, as always. No one I know in my past life, not family, not friends, knows my number. The calls are always staff, the carefully vetted staff Yin had brought with us from the island, and they’re usually just asking questions about rosters or some such minutiae.

“Hello.”

“Angelina?”

I almost drop the phone.

“Falcon?” I squeak.

“Yes.”

“How did you get my number?”

“ESP.”

“What?”

He sighs, and I can almost imagine his lip quirking.

“I’ve had your number for some time, Angie.”

I flop down onto the nearby couch, my knees suddenly weak.

“You know where I am, don’t you?” I whisper.

“Yes. I’ve known that for some time, too.”

I say nothing, trying to figure out what this means.

Did he really know? Or was this some kind of mindfuck game?

And if he did know, why hadn’t he tried to contact me?

Why had he sent Jag to ask me to come and see Tiger?

Why hadn’t he just called himself? But chief among my questions is, why is he calling today?

Is it his son? Has he taken a turn for the worse?

Surely that must be it, he wanted to tell me himself that the boy had passed away.

“It’s Tiger, isn’t it?” I ask quietly. “Something’s happened.”

“No. No, not at all,” he says quickly. “He’s recovering well, although my enquiries have all come up blank as to who planned his poisoning. No trace seems to lead me to either of the royal families I suspect. Still, it’s early days.”

“Oh.”

I place one hand on my heart. It’s not that I really know the boy, but I’d felt maternal towards him when I’d seen how ill he was, and guilty as fuck that I’d left him at the castle so that I could run with my baby.

I also know that if he dies Falcon will be forced, Eleanor had made that clear, to reach out for his only other heir.

So it’s a double relief to know the boy is fine.

Falcon clears his throat.

“I’m calling to see if you’ll do me the honour of dating me, Angelina.”

My eyes widen.

“What?”

“It’s become patently clear that you and I don’t know one another. You said it yourself during your visit. I’d like to get to know you.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to know more about you.”

“Why?”

“So that I can confidently answer our son’s questions about his mother as he grows.”

I bite my lip and consider his request. It sounds weird. It sounds like bullshit.”

“Falcon, we’ve been on dates all over the world. Morocco, Thailand...”

“I mean a date where there are no other women involved,” he sighs.

“Aren’t there?” I whisper.

“No.”

I narrow my eyes. Just the mention of other women still makes my blood boil. It’s true I can’t be with him, but that doesn’t mean I want to imagine anyone else with him.

“Lord Dragonspur,” I snort. “Your mistresses do count as women, you know that, right?”

“I believe you met the last woman who bore that title, albeit briefly,” he murmurs.

I frown and sift through who he could mean.

“You mean the girl whose head you pushed back behind the door with your foot?”

“I do.”

“Can’t you see how even me saying something like that is so fucking terrible that any normal woman would run to the hills?”

“You’ve always known I’m a vampire, Angelina. You’ve seen me do worse. And unless I’m mistaken, the woman I’m speaking to right now did run to the hills.”

I look at the ceiling and try to order my thoughts.

Eventually, he sighs heavily.

“No one is sharing my bed, or my life, Angie. Both are reserved, and have been for some time, for my wife.”

I frown and shake my head in disbelief.

“How am I supposed to feel about that? What kind of response are you looking for by saying something like that?”

“I just wanted you to know,” he says quietly.

‘My God. What’s he trying to say? That he wants me back? That he still loves me?’

“It’s too late,” I sigh. “It’s too late, Falcon.”

“It’s never too late. I want to see you, Angie. All I’m asking for is a date. No strings. I’d like to spend time with you as an equal rather than as someone who questions my feelings and has to fear I might kill her at the end of each evening.”

I snort.

“Like that’s going to change.”

He chuckles.

“Angie, please. I’m trying here. Come on a date with me.”

“What part of me running to another country to get away from you don’t you understand?”

“I’m not the man you ran from,” he sighs, “I’ve changed. I know I wronged you, and I want to make it right, starting with getting to know you.”

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

“I want to,” he says gently, “but I can’t.” His tone changes and sends a deliciously familiar shiver through my body as he adds, “I want you, Angie. Only you.”

I gasp and shake my head, trying to ignore the images that flash up of us, limbs entwined in rich fabrics on the floor of his ballroom, his eyes staring into mine with intensity as we came together.

The many nights when he’d thrown me over his shoulder and stalked from the dining room to his bed to have his way with me, yet touched me with such tenderness and gave me such pleasure.

How I looked forward to those nights, despite it all.

But then I remember the mistresses, the threats, the violence, the fact that he impregnated me around the same time as he did Sophie.

“I don’t want you,” I snap.

“I think you do.”

I hang up and hurl the phone at the wall, wincing as it hits the rockwork and smashes.

“I don’t,” I snarl as I stalk from the room.

But a tiny part, a very, very tiny part of me, knows I’m lying.