Page 24 of What Happened on Roslyn Street? (Strode University #1)

Chapter Sixteen

W e’re back in the vampire den two days later.

Margaux finally makes time for us in her busy schedule, and having her by our side builds confidence in me. Between her and Caldwell, I’m protected on both sides—but Margaux is especially useful as she leads us through the club.

“Have you been here before?” I ask lowly, knowing she can hear.

“Don’t ask silly questions,” she says. “My coven owns the place, darling. I was here when we were still using fake IDs.”

My confidence wavers. “You didn’t think to tell us that little detail?”

It’s more of Margaux keeping her family secrets. I shouldn’t be surprised.

“Does it matter? It’s not as if I own it,” she says.

To my surprise, she looks to Caldwell for support.

“We’re here. That’s what matters.” He shrugs. “What’s the plan?”

We stop at the bar, and Margaux hums, quietly scanning the room. She does it so subtly that no one could be the wiser.

In a smooth motion, she turns to the bartender. “My usual blend.” She flashes a polite smile.

Margaux does come here often. The bartender has a glass of red wine in her hand in no time.

Caldwell and I aren’t as lucky. The employee looks at us expectantly. To no one’s surprise, Caldwell orders an old fashioned.

Instead of ordering for myself, I lean closer to Margaux—an old habit from our childhood. It isn’t the first time she’s taken me out of my comfort zone, though last time, it was more along the lines of me being incapable of pronouncing a French menu.

“Can they make a French 75?” I whisper.

If it were anyone else, Margaux’s smile would seem condescending.

She pats my arm. “Of course they can.” Margaux orders my drink.

When I turn to Caldwell, he’s watching me with a lifted brow. “No old fashioned this time?”

“No,” I say smoothly. “Never again.”

“You’re missing out.”

We shouldn’t be drinking at all. We’re here for business, not pleasure—but no one here is supposed to know that.

The question about the plan goes unanswered, and it’s too late when I realize why. Half the people in this room can hear us whispering, and Margaux knows better than to say anything out loud.

It’s unsurprising when she picks up her phone. She dims the screen, and her nails click against it as she types out a message.

My phone buzzes a moment later.

MARGAUX

I see a few familiar faces. Big names in the community. I’m going to ask around.

You and Caldwell have my permission to snoop.

“How good is your permission here?” I look up from my phone.

That feels safe to say out loud.

“Not very,” she says. “Good luck.”

With that, Margaux is gone, leaving Caldwell and me with our drinks.

I turn to find him watching me, completely out of the loop, and flash my phone in his direction.

“Ah,” he says. “I see.”

“Let’s go.”

With our drinks in hand and my phone away, we navigate through the club. Like last time, Caldwell uses his body as a shield, keeping me safely pressed to his chest. He’s closer than before. His free hand is on my waist as we ascend the staircase.

The second floor is in the same state I remember. Couples embrace—and more. Blood drips down necks. Nails scratch at bare backs, and despite being in a somewhat public area, they’re in various stages of undress.

I’m flushed with warmth as Caldwell leads me down the hall.

I twist to look at him. My chest presses against his.

“How comfortable do you feel here?” I ask, peering up at him.

“Did you forget what I said I would do to you in front of all these people?” His voice is low and even. “I meant it.”

I’m warmer. It probably won’t help, but I lift the drink in my hand, a feeble attempt at cooling down. “Then, you really do frequent places like this…?”

“No. Never.” He mirrors me with a sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving mine. “But ever since our dance, I haven’t been able to get the thought out of my mind. You’re changing me.” There’s a teasing twinkle in his eye.

“I wouldn’t want to do that.” I press myself against the crimson wall, smoothly draining my glass. “I like you the way you are.”

In an instant, he’s near me again, quick to close the space I created.

“Promise?” His chest presses to mine, and his head bows low enough that I can taste the whiskey on his breath.

“I promise.” My fingers curl into his shirt, dragging him closer in a smooth motion.

There are eyes on us—likely several pairs—and I’ve never been one for the spotlight. That’s Margaux with her acting or Poppy with her art.

I’ve always been off to the side, behind the scenes, and I preferred it that way. I’m still there now, with Caldwell’s form protecting me from the onlookers.

I find I like the attention—and it may only be due to the safety he presents.

He doesn’t seem to mind, either. I don’t need to prompt or beg for his lips to find mine—clashing, our mouths meeting with need.

“This is the danger of wanting you,” I whisper breathlessly between kisses. “You’re so distracting. I already forgot why we’re here.”

“I didn’t,” he says, with his forehead pressed to mine. “Show me the room with the bird mask painting. I want to see it.”

“Let’s hope it’s unoccupied.” I take his hand to lead him away .

Like last time, the door is unlocked. I still wince, slowly opening the door rather than pushing it in as I had before.

“There’s no one.” Caldwell steps inside.

“Thank god…” I step behind him, resting my glass on the nearest piece of furniture—a nightstand.

I’m able to notice more about the room this time. The walls are either a deep gray or black and the bedspread is crimson—well-made but likely filthy.

The furniture is eerily like that at Strode. Then, there’s the painting. It’s the only one in the room, and as I look at it again, my eyes sting.

“It’s certainly charmed,” Caldwell says, moving closer to the portrait. “I wonder what for…”

“And the door doesn’t lock,” I say. “It’s the only one that doesn’t. That’s probably why the others aren’t… using this room.”

“I don’t think the lack of a lock has to do with the charm.”

“No?” I look away from the painting, unable to meet the dead eyes behind the mask for another moment.

“No,” he says. “It’s just an old house with owners who aren’t taking care of it. The charm is…” He hums, his fingers outstretched for the painting.

“Wait!” I jump, grabbing the back of his shirt and dragging him toward me. “Don’t touch it. What if it’s dangerous?”

“Are you worried about me? That’s sweet.”

I roll my eyes and let go of him. “Fine. Do whatever you want if it means you’ll stop taunting me.”

“I’m not taunting.”

“You are?—”

I don’t get to finish before his hands are on my waist, pulling me closer. Anything I want to say is lost. I stand on my tiptoes to meet him halfway.

No one is watching now, but anyone could enter—and rather than being disturbed by the thought, I feel a thrill.

Caldwell is changing me, too, and I think it’s for the better. At the very least, I’m having more fun.

My fingers weave into the hair at the nape of his neck, and he pushes me against the wall hard enough to rattle the painting.

“It’s a protective charm,” he pants, nipping at my lower lip.

I press against his chest, pushing him away long enough to get a word in. “How do you know?”

“I’m a witch,” he says. “I can feel the magic, even though you didn’t let me touch the painting. It protects this place—probably from unaccompanied humans.”

“Fascinating.” I lean in closer, my lips brushing against his. “It’s like the charm at your shop, then?”

“Mhm.”

“I forget why I’m supposed to care.”

He devours me, and I let him, clinging on for dear life as he drinks me up. It’s too easy to forget Margaux sent us here with a task. The only thing I want to do is touch him, be with him. My fingers slide under his shirt.

His abdomen clenches under my touch, and beneath my lips, he emits the softest sound—a groan that makes me squeeze my thighs together.

He finally pulls away, giving me space to breathe.

“Are you sure it isn’t another kind of charm?” I ask, laughing through swollen lips. “It could be one like… like the book on the shelf. Charming the husband, or whatever.”

Dark, hungry eyes meet mine. His hands slide under my skirt, using both to squeeze my ass.

“I’m sure,” he says. “You’ve had me under your spell for weeks now, but that’s another story entirely. ”

“Have I? I thought you only wanted me because”—I gasp as his hands squeeze me tighter, daring me to finish the sentence—“of the vision.”

“No. His eyes narrow. “Do I need to show you how I long for you? It seems I gave you the wrong impression.”

“It seems you did.” My voice is weak.

He roams, fingers moving to my heat, letting out a low hiss. “You’re not wearing…”

“No,” I say, growing warmer.

“Fuck.”

I’ve never heard Caldwell curse before. The sound leaves me blinking in surprise, but there’s no time to focus on that—not when his fingers slide over my heat.

I reach for his shoulders, hitching a leg around his thigh to give him better access. He presses me hard against the wall.

Harsh breaths leave his nose as he feels me. His fingers circle over my clit firmly—with none of the teasing from last time. We don’t have time for that, and we’re all too aware, leaving me bucking desperately into his hand. Whimpers fall from my lips.

“Shh. Be good,” he whispers, plunging two fingers into my core. “Everyone in the building will hear how needy you are.”

My mouth pops open in surprise, and the sound I make is louder, his words pushing me in ways I’d never imagined.

“You like when I talk to you like that?” he croons, his thumb brushing over my clit.

I nod wordlessly, losing my mind as he curls his fingers into me.

“Oh, God…”

“There are no gods here,” he says, whispering against my ear, his breath giving me goosebumps. “ There are only demons, love. You can scream as loud as you want. You can be anything you want. No one will judge you if you like being talked to like this.”

“I do,” I whine.