by J. P. Uvalle
“Absolutely, darling.” She turns to Harper and me with a plastered on smile. “Miss James will be your intern for the day.” She puts emphasis the word day, a little too much for my liking.
My blood starts to boil with hate for this woman, but my heart skips a beat when Mr. Westbrook turns to stare at me. Those sterling gray eyes of his are unforgiving.
I’m so fucked.
“But, I—”
“Is there a problem?” He huffs.
“If you’re incapable, Miss James, I’d be more than happy to find someone else up for the challenge.” She tilts her head slightly and smirks at me.
Challenge accepted!
“No. I’m capable,” I say with conviction.
“Meet me in my office after getting me some coffee. Black. Two sugars.” He turns on his heel and marches back to his office, slamming the door.
I gulp down my fear.
“Miss Lane. You’ll be working with me today,” Cruella winks at Harper.
I don’t waste time. I go and make Mr. Westbrook’s coffee—black with two sugars—and beeline straight for his office. I take a deep breath, say a prayer to myself, and knock. His gruff voice penetrates through the door, commanding me to come in. The sound makes me jump in my skin. And as soon as I walk in, he snatches the coffee cup from my hand. It amazes me how it doesn’t spill.
What a douche.
He turns to scowl at me almost as if he heard my inner thought. “Sit down, Miss James.”
I do as I’m told with an eye roll, of course.
He walks over to look out the window, takes a sip of his coffee and forces his other hand into the pocket of his slacks. “First order of business, we are hosting a last minute fashion show for a few clients, this Friday at Avenue…”
I’ve always wanted to go there.
He leaves the view of the window and slams his coffee cup on the desk, still managing not to spill a single drop.
How does he do that?
“Miss James…” he grits through his teeth.
I jump a few inches off my seat. I clear my throat and gather any kind of courage to speak. “Yes, sir?” Oddly, I maintain eye contact when all I want to do is look away.
He scares the life out of me.
His face is now beet red. Mr. Westbrook adjusts his tie and says, “…You’re responsible for finding us four models, and confirming all the vendors for the event.” He opens up a desk drawer and pulls out a stack of portfolios and slams them on the desk. “Get to work.” His order comes out in a low growl.
I swallow hard. “Yes, sir.”
IT’S ALMOST DUSK, and Mr. Westbrook kept me behind to go over the details of the show—for the millionth time—before he would allow me to step foot out of his office. I’ve completed every single task he’d asked for this morning without fail. Still, he’s been riding my ass all damn day. I even held a casting call for models during my lunch break. I’m starving and I could eat an entire cow right about now. To make matters worse, Bernadette’s profile turned up in the stack of files. It brought up memories I’d soon like to forget. I took one look at her cock-sucking face and took the file straight to the shredder. I’ll be damned if she gets anywhere in the modeling business if I have anything to do about it.
“Good work today.”
Huh? Did he just say, “Good work today”?
I shift in my chair. “Come again?”
“Seriously, I’m impressed. Rarely does an intern complete my list of demands before noon. You should be proud of yourself.” His smile’s handsomely wicked. And I can’t deny that seeing him look at me this way—with lust heavily embedded in his gaze—is sort of a turn on. However, I immediately toss the idea of sleeping with my boss out of the window. Being the talent agency whore is not how I want to make a name for myself.
“Thanks.”
“I’d like to take you out to dinner, to commend you for all the hard work you did today.”
Say no, Trinity.
My stomach gurgles and I can’t stop myself from saying, “Yes.”
Chapter Nine
Lord Vladimir
“OPEN UP.” I repeatedly pound on the door of the house belonging to the high priestess of the Witching Willow Coven. The only coven allowed within the city of New York. If they aren’t connected to the Dyciphers, we have an even bigger issue on our hands.
“Lord Vladimir, so soon.” The high priestess, Emma retorts with her face hidden from our view by a purple veil. Emma is known for her flamboyant nature, which makes her behavior, extremely unusual.
I don’t like it, nor do I appreciate it.
My brood follows swiftly behind me as I move the witch to the side, entering the coven. “What do you know about the Dyciphers? Did your coven allow those wretched beasts in my city?”
“Now. Now. Don’t come in here all hasty and start accusing my coven of unfathomable acts. We would never betray our city. It must be an outside job.”
“Who then?” I huff. “Can’t you witches detect other witches, especially ones that don’t belong to your coven?”
“Well, yes—”
“Then why can’t you give me any answers to who I’m dealing with here?” I’m irate at this point and the cold of my blood begins to boil. “And what’s up with this veil nonsense?” I snatch away the fabric from her face. And that’s when we see it, her black eye. “What happen to you?”
She shakes her head as if to erase the memory from her mind. “A client got a little too rough when I didn’t follow through on his request.”
“What request?” I snap. “And don’t make me compel it out of you.”
She sighs. “The client required a love spell. A spell that involves elements of dark magic. As you know, this coven does not practice dark magic. So, I refused. He got angry—going on and on about screwing things up with his ex-girlfriend who he was desperate to get back.”
I couldn’t give two shits about this guy’s problems. “Okay, moving on. Are there other witches in the city?”
“If there are…they must be using a cloaking spell.”
Hmmm…
“Well, thanks for your help.” I gently touch her cheek. “Take care of that shiner, Emma.”
“Will do, my Lord.”
Emma
LORD VLADIMIR, THE charming vampire I’ve ever laid eyes on, and his brood march out of the front door leaving me with the ever-growing lust I have for him. I frown, plagued with the guilt that I had to lie to my Lord moments ago. If I even so much as give him the slightest hint of what’s going on, it would have been a disaster. Fabine—a human servant to the darkest of all evil—is ordered to kill me and my coven.
The door to the basement opens. “Good job, keeping your fucking mouth shut. I’ll be back later on to check on things.” Fabine shoves me to the ground on his way to the door. He opens it slightly, and then peers over his shoulder. “Not a word,” he says before shutting the door.
“Not a word.” I smirk to myself. I have discovered a tiny loophole they aren’t aware of yet. Trinity is as much the end, as she is the beginning. And I am determined to curve this situation as best as I can with my hands tied. I love this city. It’s been my home for centuries, and I’ll be damned if he slithers in and burns it to the ground.
“The devil does not come to you with a red face and horns; he comes to you disguised as everything you’ve always wanted.”
~ Unknown
Chapter Ten
Trinity James
WHAT WAS I thinking when I decided to accept his dinner invitation? Not that it didn’t go well. That’s the problem. It went a little too well. Mr. Westbrook or Lance, he insisted I call him, is a different person outside the agency. Surprisingly, he was laid back and easy to talk to. We talked about everything from sports, music, and movies, to all the high-maintenance clients he was forced to tolerate. Like when he caught a top model blowing a guy for coke, you know, the juicy
stuff.
Speaking of juicy, so are his lips.
What the hell is going on with you, Trinity? I thought we decided you weren’t going to sleep with your boss.
We’re inside his penthouse on Park Ave. I’m straddling his lap, in a recliner. I don’t know exactly how I ended up back at his place. I guess having an attractive man in your company after you haven’t had sex in a while will make you do crazy things. Bad things. Also, my mind keeps lingering back to the dream I had last night. Although nothing happened in my dream, it has me so wound up. So, here I am, a fancy dinner and two drinks later, lip-locked with my boss.
Classy, Trinity. Very classy.
Lance’s tongue dives deeper into my mouth the same time my back starts to flare with itchiness. Unable to ignore the pain, I unlatch my lips from his. “I should go.” I slide off his lap and slide on my heels.
“Awe, c’mon, Trinity. Don’t leave. We were having fun.” In a drunken daze, he reaches for my hand but misses.
“We were, but we can’t continue this any longer. It’s unprofessional.”
He gets up from his chair and stumbles over to me. Forcefully, he spins me around—pushing down on my back to hold me in place, face first, over his desk. When I let out a whimper, he misconstrues this whimper for pleasure and slaps me on the ass. “Don’t worry. This can be our little secret.”
“No.” I back into him as hard as I can and make a run for the door.
“Trinity, you bring that sweet ass back here.”
Lance follows me as I fumble to open the door, barely making out into the corridor in time before he tries to pull me back in. I walk with a quicker pace but resort to running when he refuses to take a hint. I knee him in the balls and run down the stairs.
He is relentless.
I sprint down the stairs as fast as a girl can run in heels. When I hear his booming voice so close behind me, I trip, miss the railing completely and fall forward. My heart feels like it drops into the pit of my stomach, bracing for the brunt of impact.
A black blur comes into view and breaks my fall. I collide into a body of solid muscle. The man standing in front of me catches me around the waist to steady me upright on the staircase. I feel a heat wave pulse through me even though his hands are cold as ice. “Are you okay?” The sound of his baritone voice brings up the lewd memory of my dream.
A soft moan slips through my lips and immediately regret it. I’m too embarrassed even to look at him at this point. Briefly, I glance over my shoulder to find Lance nowhere in sight. I blow out a sigh of relief and say, “I’m fine. Thank you.”
His laugh is soft yet so deep. “No problem. It’s what I do.” He bends down to pick up my shoe that I’d left behind as I fell and slides it back on my foot. “You really should wear better shoes.” When he stands up, my eyes trail the length of him. Finally, our eyes meet. My lips part, and I’m frozen in place, staring at him. I’ve seen pictures of him in books, but nothing compares to seeing him in person. Even though I’m not a fan of his kind, I’m strangely drawn to him in a way I never thought possible.
“Vladimir.” I try my best not to sound so enthused by his presence. I take the last few steps down. “It was nice meeting you.”
I turn the corner to the lobby and Lord Vladimir is right on my heel. “Maybe I should walk you home or hail you a cab?”
“Don’t you have more important things to do besides walk me home?”
“I can make an exception this once, seeing as you almost killed yourself of a set of stairs.”
“Ha!” I push past the rotating doors.
“Seriously. I’m walking you home.”
I roll my eyes. “If you insist, all mighty one.”
“And it’s Lord, to you, my lady.”
Walk home. You mean follow me home.
He keeps a couple feet between us and every time I glance back, I swear I catch him looking at my ass.
“Well, you walked me home. Now, goodbye.” I attempt to close the door in his face, but he catches it. “Now what?”
“This door is unsafe. You need to get this fixed right away.”
“Yes, all mighty Lord, Sir. Now goodnight.” My second attempt to close the door fails.
Why won’t he leave me alone?
“I need to inspect the place to make sure there are no intruders.” He pushes the door open wider and barges his way in.
I wave my hand in annoyance. “Yeah, come right on in.”
Seriously. No manners.
He thoroughly searches every nook and cranny of our small dorm room with unbelievable focus. He takes extra care going through my dresser drawer and at this point, I walk over to stop him.
“Do you do this for everyone you walk home?” I ask with my arms crossed, glaring at him. I find his protectiveness to be serious overkill.
“If I deem it necessary.” He walks past me and begins searching through our closet. “Do you even own a pair of tennis shoes?”
“Nope. Only heels and boots.” Right then, my phone starts ringing from my purse and Lord Vladimir goes fucking postal trying to find the source of this threat.
“For bloody sake. What the hell is that dreadful noise?”
“My cellphone.”
“I beg your pardon?”
I roll my eyes. “Get with the 21st Century, Vladimir.”
“Lord Vladimir.”
“Lord. Count Dracula. I don't give a shit. Get. Out.”
“Such disrespect for someone who just saved your life.”
“You're not someone. You're a vampire. I hate vampires. Please leave.”
The lines in his face soften, and he nods. “Of course, my lady.” His hand finds my chin and lifts my gaze up, making sure my eyes are dead-set on his. “Sweet dreams.”
And in a flash, he’s gone.
Lord Vladimir
AFTER TRINITY KICKS me out of her dorm room, I go to the hiding spot across the way to keep an eye on her. “Just a bit longer,” I tell myself. This girl has me all out of sorts to the point I can't focus on anything else. So, unlike me. Well, I haven't been this taken with someone since my wife, who lived eons ago. In my last term of command, I'd just bed a maiden and be done with her. But Trinity. I have yet had the pleasure of tasting her sweetness, but by how out of character I’ve been acting, I know she will become my addiction. Normally, a fiery attitude like hers is off-putting to me, but it’s only willing my desire to have her that much more.
To make her my everything. Mark her as mine.
She will be mine, even it's the last thing I do.
Mr. Westbrook
I WALK BACK into my penthouse with the worst case of blue balls and my night is only about to get even worse. Nausea boils in my stomach as I slowly close the door in front of me. I stare at it, hands trembling and sweat beading down my skin. I don’t want to face him, but I sense his presence in the room. He’s right behind me. So close, it feels like I have several knives lodged into my back from his penetrating gaze. As a newly transformed Dycipher, I have failed my Master.
“You. Come.” His demonic voices bellows.
I turn, hanging my head. I’m seconds away from pissing my pants. I had one job and one job only. And that was to get Trinity all hot and ready for Master to have his way with her. To embed his seed into her womb. To fully mark her as one of us. At his feet, I crawl onto all fours. “I’m sorry, I failed you. Please forgive me.”
A grumble leaves his shadowy silhouette, making my breath falter as his claws slice into my chest. I holler, feeling them plunge into me, the sharp points scraping along my heart. I’m lifted inches off the ground to meet his eyes full of fury, burning into mine like fire. The evidence of my fear trickles down my legs and drips onto my wood floors underneath me. “You worthless being. I give you one task, and you fuck it up,” he growls.
“I don’t know what happ—”
“I don’t need your excuses.”
>
The powerful whip of his arm dislodges his claws from my chest, and I go flying into the air and hit a wall head first. The heated pain from my head and chest radiates down the length of my body. I lay in a heap, helpless and discombobulated.
“I’ll take care of this myself,” he groans, shifting to a mirror image of me.
Chapter Eleven
Trinity James
Friday Night—The Fashion Show at Avenue
WHEN I OPEN the curtain to see we have a full house, my heart jumps in a frenzy. The show is about to start, and I’m our highlight model of the evening. The model I selected has been in the bathroom puking her guts up for the last ten minutes, and I’ve had no choice but to stand in for her. The last thing I want to do is piss Mr. Westbrook off after I’d given him another case of blue balls this morning. I don’t know what I have to do in order to get this man to stop harassing me. Which is why I requested to be Cruella Deville’s intern for the next few weeks. Surprisingly, she accepted.
“Showtime, ladies,” I hear her call out. She makes her way over, carrying her clipboard in her hand, marking my checklist off as she stops right in front of me with a beaming stare. “Trinity, dear. Why are there three models, not four?” Her hands go to her hips.
I take a deep breath, “Chelsea has been throwing up for the last ten minutes. I think she has food poisoning. I would be more than happy to take her place?”
I flinch, expecting her to rip me a new one but instead she smiles. “Sounds good, Miss Trinity. Hurry up though. We’re on in five.”
“Got it.”
She turns on her red heels and walks out onto the stage to welcome the guests. I can hear the applause echo through the intimate venue from backstage. Blowing out a breath, I line up the girls in order before heading over to quickly throw on the red and black lace dress and heels Harper picked out for the model to wear. It’s a size too small but I make it work. Barely. Once the dress is on, I struggle with the zipper.