A Soulmark Series

by Rebecca Main

  “Right then,” I mutter to myself. “Think, Quinn. What next?”

  I go back to my laptop and seat myself on the ground. Priority number one was contacting Mr. Vrana; or was it? If I pushed aside my pride and went through with the job, I’d be two million dollars richer. It would be more than enough to put in my off-shore accounts and live out my life somewhere far away from crazy vampires and lycans. And witches. I suppose I couldn’t forget about those. I pinch the bridge of my nose before shaking my head in disbelief. What was I thinking? Those things didn’t exist. Zoelle and Ryatt were just incredibly good liars. That had to be the reasoning for the shadow of doubt plaguing my conscious.

  Priority number one would have to be finding records of my criminal past and wiping them clear. There was no need to find myself in this kind of situation again. Except I didn’t have the juice to run that kind of search and removal on my laptop. A small smile finds its way onto my lips. Good thing I knew someone who could do it for me. I just needed to get them a message.

  My laptop boots up normally, the screen a familiar black with flashes of green code zipping down its face. I enter in my credentials and locate the messaging interface I use with Big Bear, my contact. Just as I click the program, a message error occurs. I eye it warily and attempt to bypass it, but enough probing leads only to another message.

  “What the—no.”

  My eyes widen in horror and dread as a cartoon image of a shirtless Ryatt glides to the center of my screen, finger jutting out to waggle his finger at me.

  “No, no, no,” I hiss, frantically typing against the virus that has been activated. The screen begins to go blurry at the edges before completely going black. “Fuck! Ugh!” I shut the laptop with an angry snap and flop backward, throwing an arm over my eyes rather dramatically. “God damn.”

  The lock clicks over several minutes later with the door easing open immediately after. The footfalls, though muted and light against the soft gray carpeting, are male. It wasn’t Ryatt. The entrance would have been much grander and more demanding. Keenan was too big to move so gracefully as to make such little noise. Which meant…

  “Go away, Xander,” I grumble, not bothering to stray from my position of utter defeat. “Unless you’ve had a change of heart and have come to free me from my prison.”

  “I’m not Xander.”

  I remove my arm and sit up, a small frown burrowing its way into my brow as I stare at Keenan.

  “How did you do that?” I ask seriously.

  “I have the key,” he responds dryly.

  “Ha ha, very funny.” His expression doesn’t change, though I dare spy something akin to amusement in his eyes. “How did you move so quietly? You’re a big guy.” I outline his bulking shapes with my hands. “Guys your size, make way more noise, even when treading softly. Oh,” my eyes alight with amusement, “is this a wolf thing?” I ask conspiratorially, flipping onto my stomach. “Wolves are sneaky, ergo—”

  “No,” he deadpans. Well, he wasn’t any fun.

  “Oh.”

  “Military,” he corrects after a second of awkward staring and silence.

  “Got it,” I give him a thumbs up and flop back around, tossing my arm back in place to continue my wallowing. “What do you want, anyway?”

  “I’m supposed to tell you that lunch will be brought to you at one. Dinner will be at seven downstairs, and…” I peek out to examine his strained delivery. He seems to be struggling with whatever it is he has to say, a bright pink straining up his neck to his ears. “Wear something to show off your beautiful bust and magnificent ass, darling.”

  We stare at each other in mild horror before I give a strangled laugh. “Excuse you?”

  “Ryatt’s words, not mine,” he all but growls and stomps out of the room. The door shudders with the force of his exit, and the lock slides determinedly into place. It starts to happen again. A tiny, absolutely minuscule, smile tugging at the corner of my lips. That idiot. How he got the enormous man to comply would most likely remain a mystery, but at least it had been entertaining, and somehow, it had felt like an apology.

  +++

  I have several dresses packed away in my luggage, all carefully rolled within tissue paper and placed next to a mini portable garment steamer. I choose my outfit carefully, Ryatt’s words haunting me. He wanted a dress to show off my figure? Fine. But his wouldn’t be the only head turning tonight. The Elizabeth and James Rosa Dress is extremely flattering with its asymmetrical hemline and V-neckline that plunges just enough. The navy blue crepe dress is set off with gold cuffs and hoop earrings. I look a vision, if I do say so myself. I tug at the base of my ponytail to tighten it, overseeing my movements in the bathroom mirror with a critical eye.

  No one had bothered me the rest of the day, leaving me to find my amusements in the books strewn about the room and photographs on the wall. Mostly though, I had been working out my next move. I would help the Adolphus family get their precious crystal back, then get the hell out of dodge.

  The best time to get back the crystal would be during the art premiere that Mr. Vrana was hosting. I would go, and under cover of the masses, swipe the crystal and replace it with a fake. Hopefully, by the time he realized he was no longer in possession of the real crystal, I would be long gone. Untraceable. Forgotten.

  A knock sounds at the door just as I finish touching up my lipstick. Show time. I give myself a final look over, smoothing my hair and examining my choice of eye shadow. My Steve Madden stilettos are the finishing touch to my ensemble, but I linger in front of the mirror before putting them on. I could do this. So what if my whole world had just been turned upside down? This was just another job. And each job came with new rules and different players. I could do this.

  The door to the bedroom opens, accompanied by a second knock to alert me to their presence.

  “Ready?” Ryatt calls. With a forlorn sigh, I give myself a mental shake. I walk out of the bathroom and over to the foot of the bed where my stilettos await me. “You look…dazzling.”

  His voice sounds full of amazement. Awe, even, but I force myself not to look at him. Instead, I remain focused on the art of slipping into my heels without twisting an ankle.

  “Ready,” I say, plastering a demure smile on my lips. Ryatt clears his throat and holds out his arm, giving me his own charming smile.

  “Shall we then?” My fingers grace the soft linen of his suit jacket.

  “Hugo Boss?”

  Ryatt’s eyes twinkle down at me as he leads me from the room, “Burberry.”

  “They have excellent slim-cut suits,” I tell him matter-of-factly, taking on a new persona: Alice. Fashion connoisseur and full of worldly culture. Much like myself, I think with a self-satisfied smirk.

  “Looking forward to dinner?” Ryatt asks, the barest hint of reluctance in his voice as he watches my face.

  “If Zoelle is making it, I am,” I tell him honestly. Lunch had been a green gazpacho soup with a whole grain roll on the side. She had even left a note on the tray, asking if I had any allergies. Thank God I didn’t, lest I tamper with her divine cooking skills.

  “She is,” Ryatt confides as he leads me down a rather grandiose staircase. My eyes flit across the expanse of the room, narrowing in on the potential routes of escape should things take a turn for the worse. It was always good to keep one’s options open. “She has her own little patisserie and café, as it would happen. It’s doing very well so far, but it’s no surprise. She’s quite magical in the kitchen.”

  I roll my eyes as we finish our descent. “That was horrible.”

  “That was funny,” he insists gaily.

  “It wasn’t,” I deadpan. “You’re basically a grown child.”

  “I don’t think children come quite as equipped as I do,” he tells me innocently, “or do you require a refresher?”

  “Are you ever serious?” I complain, slipping my hand from the crook of his elbow. I needed to be on my A-game tonight, and our little tête-à-tête wa
s distracting. Each quip felt like a subtle poke at my carefully constructed wall. Searching out my weak points. I hadn’t forgotten his little proposition in the hallway. A chance to explore what could be between us? My heart skips a beat at his earlier words. Yeah, right. He catches me before I can storm off, pulling me flush against him. Goodness, his eyes were blue. Like the sky on a perfect summer’s day. Endless and stunning in their clarity.

  “I’m serious about wanting you,” he tells me solemnly, all traces of humor fleeing. My mouth goes slack at his confession, and I flounder under his heated gaze. He smiles then, softly and small. “Too much?” he jokes and goes about putting my hand back to where it was, leading me once again to the dining room. “I’m afraid I only run on two systems: lighthearted or intense. You’ll find that my siblings run on a similar system. Xander is either brooding or intense and Irina either tender or haughty. Xander usually falls to the former. Irina the latter.”

  “Good to know,” I mutter, calming my speeding heart with slow, deep breaths.

  “Nervous?”

  I scoff, rolling back my shoulders and knocking my head up a fraction. “Hardly.”

  “Just wait till you meet Irina,” he replies back cheerily enough, then stops in front of a set of doors. He sends me an assessing look, back to serious mode. “You’ll do fine in there,” he assures me.

  “I didn’t realize I had anything to be nervous about. This is just a business dinner. I’m here on business.” Ryatt takes a second before nodding curtly in response and opening the door. Time for Charlotte Donovan to make her appearance. The perfectly posh dinner guest to end all dinner guests. Ready to handle all manner of snobbery thrown her way.

  Everyone is seated: Xander, Zoelle, and a raven-haired woman who must be Irina. I meet each pair of eyes with a cool look, pleased to see Xander look uncomfortably away and Zoelle turn red. Unfortunately, the last of the party doesn’t react as I had hoped. Her eyes, a startling green against her fair skin, appraise me with apparent displeasure. As if I am gum stuck on the bottom of one of her shoes. Her disdain is nothing Charlotte Donovan can’t handle.

  “Good evening, everyone,” greets Ryatt, ushering me into the seat next to Zoelle. Ever the gentleman, he pulls out my chair and pushes me in, claiming the seat next to his sister and opposite me.

  “I like your dress,” Zoelle compliments.

  I give her a somewhat strained smile in return, then turn my gaze to Irina, who has yet to finish her appraisal. “Is that a Fallon necklace?” Irina’s eyes alight with a semblance of approval.

  “It is,” she replies, her voice smooth as silk. “It’s from the Armure Collection. That’s quite the eye you have, though; I suppose when one makes a living off of stealing fine goods they’re bound to learn a thing or two about quality.”

  Point Irina. My smile tightens. Zoelle clears her throat at the standstill.

  “So,” she hedges awkwardly, “you steal for a living. How do you enjoy your work?” Irina’s eyebrows nearly clear her hairline at the question, but mine are a close second. Ryatt clears his throat, amusement written clearly over his face at Zoelle’s crude remark. Then his eyes dart pointedly to me and I put on a more diplomatic look.

  “I like to think of myself as a property re-investor.”

  “That’s quite catchy,” Ryatt remarks, raising his wine glass in salute to me. “Don’t you think so, Irina? Xander?”

  “That’s one way to put it, I suppose,” Xander agrees. He seems to be suffering from secondhand embarrassment on his significant other’s account.

  “A thief is a thief,” Irina comments, her tone suggesting she will not be swayed from her viewpoints. “At least you’re doing it in style,” she says after a moment, her tone not exactly softening, but becoming warmer. “I have the Rosa Dress in Raspberry Ice.”

  I relax my posture just slightly and meet her piercing gaze. “Not many people can pull off that color.”

  She smiles loftily. “I know.” Ryatt shoots me an approving look that has me biting my tongue. As if I need his approval. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Zoelle pass Xander a somewhat helpless look.

  “Ryatt told me you have a café?” A plate of mini tuna tartare’s is placed before each of us; little crostini displayed around the spherical mound in a semi-circle. I wonder how Zoelle's would compare to La Menagerie’s.

  “Yes,” she answers proudly, “I opened it just a month or two ago. I’ve had a good profit so far, but that’s because I worked like a dog to promote it beforehand.” I’m about to dig into the tasty first course when my fork stalls, as if by its own accord.

  “This wouldn’t happen to be laced with any kind of, I don’t know, weird, magical drug, would it?”

  “Oh! No!” Zoelle cries in distress, “Absolutely not, no. Here, take mine.” She swaps our plates before I can protest and takes a rather hearty bite of the dish as if to prove her honesty. Irina looks on in unveiled disgust at Zoelle’s performance before rolling her eyes and digging in herself. Ryatt looks to be holding back a laugh and Xander is once more taken under by secondhand embarrassment. I had a feeling that was going to be happening a lot to him tonight.

  The tartare is delectable, cool, and refreshing. And, dare I say, even better than La Menagerie? “Did you make this?” I ask.

  “No,” she says, the stain of her blush still rampant on her cheeks. “I did make the menu for tonight though, and outlined the recipes for the household kitchen staff to go by.”

  Everyone enjoys the rest of the first course in relative silence until all plates are wiped neatly clean of any remaining crumbs. Course two comes out, a small, spiral tower of what looks to be pasta carbonara. Mmm.

  “Do you cook?” Xander asks politely.

  “I make a mean toast,” I tell him seriously, “and I’ve been known to prepare an equally formidable bag of chips.”

  “A woman after my own heart,” Ryatt comments, taking a slow drink of his wine as he watches me once more with that heated gaze.

  “Don’t listen to him,” Irina rebuffs. "He’s always so sensational.”

  I smirk, “I hadn’t noticed.” Our dinner continues, and I’m surprised by the relative peace that is kept. I suppose that meant it was time to shake things up a bit. “So,” I begin as my empty plate is taken away and my glass of wine refilled. “I’ve learned about lycans from Ryatt. A bit here and there about witches thanks to Zoelle. What should I know about vampires?” There’s an edge to my cordial tone—a mix between patronizing and condescending skepticism.

  My dinner company shares measured looks. Xander seems as if he is about to begin but looks to Ryatt instead, as if to give him the right-of-way to explain. Which is when Irina speaks up.

  “They’re quite vain creatures,” she tells me matter-of-factly. “Though, much of that has to do with preserving their bodies. They are dead after all. The supplement of blood from others, humans and animals alike, is a tricky thing. You see, as vampires get older, more blood is required to keep their bodies in pristine condition. The larger intake also helps evolve and strengthen their supernatural abilities of speed and strength. The oldest vampires can even compel others to do their will. It’s a bit like hypnosis, I suppose.” She trails off with a far-off look in her eyes until quickly shaking herself of her reverie.

  “New vampires are rarely made, as their bloodlust in the first 50 years or so is so unstable. Many succumb to the bloodlust if not taken under the guidance of their sire, becoming slaves to their hunger and running rampant like mongrels.”