“You felt sick afterward?”
More tingling. So annoying.
“Yeah,” she admitted. “I felt pretty nauseated when I got home, but I think it was the stress of it all.” Her stomach twisted with the lie, the wrongness of omitting the truth physically paining her. She really needed to change the subject, or maybe just alter it slightly. “So, uh, you think she followed the wrong protocol on purpose?” Does that mean Doctor Patel knows I’m a fledgling?
Ice drizzled down her spine at the thought.
What if Issac hadn’t been the only one who saw her compel that reporter after Owen’s memorial? He’d told her to be careful, that there might be others watching. What if he’d issued the warning too late?
“I’m not sure, but I promise to personally look into it,” Doctor Fitzgerald said.
“Thank you.”
“No need to thank me, Stas. I’m truly sorry this happened.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Well, not directly, anyway, but I still take ownership for it.” He studied her closely, his brown eyes edged in concern. “I really hope we won’t lose you over this. You’re going to be very successful at the CRF.”
“No. No, of course not.” She shook her head as if to dispel the foolish notion. Although, a part of her thought perhaps she should walk away and never look back. But she’d never been one to run away, even when she should. “I’m very thankful for the opportunity,” she added, forcing a smile.
At least she knew the CRF hadn’t tried to kill her.
Just, maybe, Doctor Patel.
Which meant someone suspected Stas of being a fledgling.
“You earned it,” Doctor Fitzgerald said, his smile crinkling his warm eyes. He gestured toward the ballroom. “I’ll let you get back to your date, even if I think you can do better.” What a dad-like thing to say.
“Thanks, and congratulations on your award. It’s well deserved.”
His cheeks flushed. “Thank you, Stas.”
He went off in the direction of his son, while she ventured into the ballroom.
Their table was empty.
Where did you go, demon man?
She searched the room, spotting him near the dance floor in the company of three supermodels.
The tightness in her stomach grew, knotting uncomfortably as she started toward them.
This was the man she’d read about—the perpetual playboy, already picking out his next date despite still being on this one with her. Of course, this wasn’t real, just a business arrangement.
One where he fondled and kissed her a lot.
Maybe he did that with all his business partners.
“Ah, darling, there you are,” he said, holding his hand out for her as she approached. “Ladies, if you’ll excuse me, I promised to give Astasiya a tour of the hotel.”
Stas fought the urge to roll her eyes as all three women pouted. What did they think he was going to do, invite them along?
He linked his fingers through Stas’s and led her away from the trio of simpering debutantes.
“Are you sure you don’t want to finish your interview?” Stas asked, batting her eyelashes. “I don’t mind waiting.” She could peruse some art. Not that she would understand any of it or could afford it, but it would serve as a distraction while he flirted.
“My interview?”
“You know, for your next conquest, or date, or whatever you call them.”
He paused to study her, his luscious mouth curling upward. “Hmm, yes, green is not your color, though it does match your beautiful eyes.”
“What?” That line didn’t even make sense.
“Jealousy, darling. It’s not very becoming.”
Her eyebrows shot upward. “Did you just accuse me of being jealous?”
He pulled her along beside him, his amusement evident. “No accusation necessary.”
“I’m not jealous.”
“Whatever you say.”
“I’m not.” What was there to be jealous of? This was his life. She knew that.
“Don’t fret, darling. I’m here with you, not them.”
“Right, as part of a business arrangement,” she reminded him, ignoring the fretting part. “And where are we going?” They were heading toward the lobby exit.
“To complete our business arrangement in the limo.”
“We’re leaving? I thought we were going on a tour.” Not that she particularly cared, but the hotel was gorgeous and a historical site.
He stopped again, this time raising a perfectly sculpted brow. “I only said that to maintain my image, but if you want to grab a hotel room, I would be happy to oblige.”
She gaped at him. “Are you propositioning me?”
“You were the one expressing regrets over our missed tour. Who propositioned whom in that scenario?”
“You’re impossible. You know that, right?”
His grin was too damn alluring. “We can conclude our agreement in bed or in the limo. Which do you prefer, Astasiya?”
With a growl and a muttered curse, she pulled him toward the doors. Tempting demon. Her common sense wouldn’t stand a chance in bed with him, and she needed to focus. There were too many unanswered questions between them.
Benjamin stood waiting by the limo outside with the door open. She murmured a hello and climbed inside. Issac sat right beside her—despite the spacious backseat—and draped his arm over her shoulders. At least he’d left her thigh alone this time. His burning touch made it difficult to think.
“So, it’s okay to leave this early?” she asked as the limo inched forward. It seemed early.
“The sizable donation I left excused us from the art auction, which means we can search for something more edible to eat. I’m craving Italian, but I’m open to other suggestions.” That explained his eagerness to leave. He was hungry. Typical male.
“Does that mean I have to wait until after dinner for answers?”
He considered while toying with one of her blonde strands. “I suppose you’ve upheld your side of our bargain for the night. What would you like to know, Miss Davenport?”
“Everything.”
“I believe our arrangement was for three questions.”
“Fine.”
Astasiya was adorable when frustrated.
That little growl she gave Issac in The Pierre lobby almost had him hoisting her over his shoulder and carrying her upstairs to a room. It wouldn’t be the first time he booked a suite after a gala, but tonight he craved something different.
He wanted her in his bed—a foreign concept, one he’d never indulged in before.
But Astasiya was special, different, a new challenge he would thoroughly enjoy conquering.
He liked her. Perhaps more than he should. However, wasn’t that half the fun?
She remained thoughtful beside him, her fight subsiding as she contemplated what questions to throw his way. He waited patiently, using the time to pull the pins from her hair. Although he enjoyed her updo, he wanted to see those natural blonde waves of hers on full display.
When he plucked the last pin free, he combed through the thick strands and luxuriated in the soft, alluring texture. All men had a trait they adored; for Issac, it was natural blondes. A night of passion would cure this intoxicating desire for her, but for now, he chose to revel in it, allowing the attraction to consume him.
He should wait, should ensure her trust first, but he wanted her. And he would have her.
Then they could return to business.
His phone vibrated, causing him to sigh. He used his free hand to remove it from his jacket and read the incoming message.
A summons. Of course. Issac nearly rolled his eyes at the timing of it all.
He could ignore Osiris, but it would be prudent to accept and play along. For now. He slipped the mobile back into his jacket pocket and pressed a button to talk to Benjamin.
“Change in plans, mate. We need to take Miss Davenport home. I believe you have the ad
dress.”
His driver confirmed and Issac closed the connection.
“Sorry, darling, where were we?” He moved his hand to her neck to massage the tense muscles there. “Right, you were about to ask me a question, yes?”
“What do you want from me, Issac?” she asked, the words spilling from her mouth. “What are you really using me for?”
Her questions struck a deep chord, tugging at his chest. That wasn’t what he expected her to ask at all, especially not while he’d been in the process of seducing her. “You think I’m using you?”
“I know you are, but I don’t know why. Is it because I’m a fledgling?”
It would be so easy to refuse her, but this she deserved an answer to. Even if it wasn’t an answer he wanted to give. He continued rubbing her neck, moving upward into her scalp, in an attempt to ease some of her tension where his words could not.
“This isn’t about you,” he started softly. “Not necessarily, anyway. I’m righting a wrong, and fate placed you in the center of my plans. You see, you’re quite literally the perfect pawn.”
The pink flush in her cheeks died as her body stiffened beside him, her muscles tense again. His words might not be what she wanted to hear, but they were at least true. He could have lied, but for what purpose?
“Are you going to elaborate on your plans?” she asked.
“I will when you’re ready.”
“Any idea when that will be?”
Considering how well the evening went… “I suspect it will be very soon.”
She studied him for a long moment, a war of emotions dancing behind her gorgeous gaze. Whatever she wanted to ask, she wasn’t sure she desired the answer. But he caught when her curiosity won in the end. “Are you going to get me killed, Issac?” Such a quiet query, spoken in a way that said she already knew his response.
This had definitely not gone according to plan.
He expected her to demand a definition for Ichorian—something he’d intended to give her. Not questions about his plans or how they may impact her life.
Are you going to get me killed?
He swallowed. “It’s a distinct possibility, yes.” Of course, she would wake up immortal. A loss for him, but a gain for her. She had the potential to become a powerful Hydraian, if Lucian allowed it.
“Then why bother saving me?”
His lips flattened. What a ridiculous waste of a question. “Because I need you alive.”
“But only until you’re finished with your plans.”
“Well, yes.” Then she would be free to accept fate whenever she liked.
Her hands balled into tiny fists, her frustration evident. That, he could have accepted. What he didn’t like were the tears that flickered in her eyes—eyes that were too beautiful and fierce to showcase such pain.
Hurting her had never been his intention but seemed to be an inevitability. Just because his plan might kill her didn’t mean he wished death upon her. He found her company rather enjoyable, a rarity these days. She made him laugh. The last person to do that was Amelia.
He waited for the pain that usually arose with thoughts of his sister.
Nothing.
Odd.
Perhaps the movement of his plans had granted him a reprieve. Tonight had been a spectacular success, something to be celebrated.
But the tear rolling down Astasiya’s cheek dampened his celebratory mood. She flicked it away and turned to look out the window.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said softly.
“I’m fine.”
Issac gripped her chin and forced her to look at him. Her vivid gaze startled him.
Astasiya wasn’t hurt.
She was furious.
The tension in her shoulders and the mutinous line of her jaw both indicated she wanted to throttle him.
“You’re angry,” he said, sounding like a complete fool for uttering the obvious.
“And you’re perceptive,” she retorted.
The limo came to a stop just outside her building. Seeing it, she opened the door beside her and jumped out without waiting for Benjamin or saying another word.
Issac climbed out on his side and cut her off on the sidewalk.
“I’m sorry; did you want a thank-you?” Hostility poured off her in waves.
He frowned. “This bout of childishness is not attractive.”
Her expression told him that was the wrong thing to say, despite it being the truth. “Childish? You think I’m being childish? You know what? Fuck you.” She moved around him and marched off in a manner he considered to be the definition of immature.
Eyes rolling heavenward for patience, he started after her. She made it through the lobby before he caught her by the elbow. He maneuvered her into the elevator and hit the button for her floor. “Right, I can see you’re furious with me and no amount of groveling is going to fix that quickly.” So he did the only thing he could do.
He kissed her.
Hard.
When her lips parted in protest, he took full advantage and showed her with his tongue what he couldn’t say with words.
He wanted her.
The thought of her dying burned him despite it being her fate. They had little time to share together, and wasting it being angry over words wasn’t acceptable. Most women preferred honesty, and he’d given her just that.
Because he cared.
Because he needed her to know the truth.
Because he longed to enjoy these short moments with her.
Issac cradled her face between his hands, kissing her soundly, begging her to reply in kind. Needing her to respond.
Don’t block me out. Not over this. Not yet.
Astasiya sighed, a low moan of approval escaping her throat as her nails dug into his suit jacket. Not to push him away, but to pull him closer. An emotional battle raged inside her. He could feel it in the way she poured her frustration and anger into the kiss, the sharpness of her grip on his tux.
She was angry.
But she still wanted him.
If only they could take this back to her bedroom, he could make this right. The summons was in thirty minutes. Not nearly enough time.
The elevator doors opened.
He backed her out and up against the wall, not giving a damn who might see them. He ground his hips into hers, letting her feel the evidence of his desire, needing her to know that while he considered her the key to his success, that wasn’t all she meant to him. It might just be lust, but that had to be better than nothing. It had to be enough.
Astasiya’s tension lessened with each stroke of his tongue against hers until she melted into his embrace, succumbing completely to his will.
He knew how to work with this, his hand sliding to her breast to tweak her hard nipple through the dress. She arched into him on a groan, all inhibition thrown to the wind. He did it again because he could, reveling in her response and taking full advantage of the thin silk. Her breast fit perfectly in his hand.
The thin straps of her gown taunted him.
One tug and the fabric would pool around her waist.
Alas, that was a temptation to be fulfilled another night.
He broke the kiss despite wanting to do the opposite and palmed her cheeks.
“You seem to mistake truth for what I want to happen,” he whispered. “Fate has a path for you that doesn’t involve me. I’m only borrowing you while I can. Please don’t waste it by staying angry over a few honest answers.”
Arousal illuminated her gaze while fiery embers ignited in her pupils. She was turned on and angry. A heady combination that had him reconsidering his evening plans.
“You only saved me to use me,” she accused.
“I saved you because I need you.”
“To fulfill your plans that might get me killed.”
“All mortals die eventually, Astasiya.”
Some of her ardor died. “That’s how you justify it?”
He closed his eyes and tried to fi
nd his old friend, forbearance. This was why he only fucked women. Emotions were complications he avoided. Yet he felt compelled to placate her. When did he start caring so bloody much about hurt feelings?
“You’re a fledgling, Astasiya. When you die, you’ll be reborn a Hydraian. That is how I justify it.” He pushed away from her and led the way to her door. She trailed a step behind him, then leaned against the wall beside her residence.
“You’re saying when I die, I’ll become immortal?” she asked as he pulled her clutch from his jacket pocket. She’d left it on the table earlier in the evening, and he worried she might forget it. Her eyes widened as he handed it to her, confirming his thoughts on the matter.
“Yes, a Hydraian,” he replied.
“Then why bother saving me this week if I would just wake up?”
“Because the Nizari poison was specifically designed to make sure you wouldn’t.” He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I believe you are over your quota for the evening, darling. I’ll be out of touch for the remainder of the weekend.” He didn’t allow her a chance to reply, just pulled her in for a kiss before starting down the hallway. “Sleep well, Astasiya.”
Her muttered curse followed him all the way to his meeting. He was going to have some serious groveling to do when he saw her again.
11
The Soultaker
Tom suggested Stas wear something black. What he’d failed to mention was the lingerie part.
She stood off to the side of the dance floor in a clingy black dress she thought would work for a nightclub. Almost all the other women here were in bras and skirts, or less. Translucent black seemed to be the better wardrobe requirement.
Stas sipped her drink while the deep bass of the Arcadia vibrated through her limbs, her nerves frayed.
What did Tom want her to see here?
Something about Issac, clearly. But he’d claimed to be busy the rest of the weekend. Had he meant he would be busy here? Because it was pretty obvious what this club catered to—sex. She’d caught several couples on the leather couches lining the walls already engaged in passionate affairs, hence her presence at the edge of the dance floor, where it was safe.
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