by K. A. Linde
“Where did you get this?” she gasped, her fingers hovering an inch away from the exquisite piece.
“It was my first conquest on my way to becoming a lord.” Beckham plucked the necklace from the box and gestured for her to turn around. “I always said that it was only fit to be worn by a queen.” She lifted her hair out of the way. He gently placed the necklace around her neck, the giant diamond settling right between her breasts. The choker clasped in the back. “And you are my queen, Reyna.”
“You make me feel like one.”
He placed a soft kiss on a part of her bare shoulder unobstructed by the necklace. Her heart fluttered at his words. She let her hair fall back down to cover the weighted necklace, which was sure to sink her.
“Perfect,” Beckham said. He draped her jacket over her shoulders and offered her his arm. “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
Chapter 20
Beckham escorted Reyna out of the building. They found a limo idling outside. Reyna should have expected it. If this guy was as powerful as Gabe made him out to be then that usually came with wealth. Unease settled in her bones as the reality of what they were about to do hit her. She didn’t know who this guy was or what he would want or even if he would answer their questions.
But they needed any help they could get. And she hated even more being put in that situation. She wanted to rush into the action and bang heads together. Figure out how to stop this and just do it. Except that hadn’t worked last time. She knew it wouldn’t work this time either.
She had to outmaneuver Harrington, which meant she had to do things he wouldn’t anticipate. Barreling in and attacking him…he expected. But her blood match with Beckham was not on his radar. The anti-vamp cult not something he’d ever consider. This…new contact…totally out of left field.
She could do this.
She was bound and determined.
A driver got out from the front of the limo and came around to open the back door for them. He handed them each a black hood.
Beckham raised an eyebrow. “You expect me to wear this?”
“Not me. But if you want to meet your contact tonight, you won’t argue.”
Beckham snarled. Reyna put her hand on his arm. The last thing she wanted was for him to go full vamp on this guy. He was just the messenger. They would take it up with their stupid contact later.
“Becks,” she whispered.
“We’re on a tight schedule,” the driver said, and gestured for them to get in the limo.
Reyna slid into the backseat, and after a few tense seconds Beckham followed suit. She took a deep breath then slid the hood over her head. She shivered as memories of her kidnapping flooded her. The feel of the guy grabbing her arm. Him knocking her out. Blackness taking her over as she was dragged out of Everett’s apartment.
“Oh God,” she whispered.
Her breathing was uneven. She was pretty sure she was hyperventilating.
Logically she knew that this wasn’t the same. Not even close to the same. She wasn’t being kidnapped. She was willingly moving forward with this. Yet, her brain couldn’t process the two things. It couldn’t move past the horror and violation.
Beckham’s arm swept around her shoulders and he held both of her hands in his. “Breathe,” he whispered. “I’m here this time. No one will take you from me. Not ever again.”
“Becks,” she gasped.
“I’ll kill anyone who touches you. I’ll protect you. You’re safe.”
“I’m safe,” she repeated.
She took a strangled breath and then let it out slowly. She did it a couple more times before she finally believed herself. With Beckham’s arms safely around her she felt the panic attack subsiding. The residual effects of her PTSD draining out of her.
God, she hated this.
Beckham never released her. He held her the entire drive as they moved through the city and to wherever their contact’s headquarters were. Even if she could have seen through this hood, she knew the limo windows were tinted and night had fallen. Maybe Beckham would have been able to discern where they were going, but she sure couldn’t.
It was forty-five minutes before the limo finally came to a stop. Reyna heard the window separating them from the driver slide down. “You can remove the hoods. We’re secure.”
They both tore them off as quickly as possible. Reyna finally felt like she could breathe again and Beckham still looked pissed at the indignation of it all. She hardly blamed him. He wasn’t the sort of man who was accustomed to such disrespect. Nor did he take orders well. This should be interesting.
The driver came around and let them out of the limo. He walked toward elevator doors, which were built into the garage wall. Reyna and Beckham followed. When the doors dinged open, he let them inside first then pressed a button.
“Have a nice time,” he said pleasantly.
Beckham straightened and dropped all emotion from his face in the span of a second. She knew that she wasn’t as good at that as he was. She’d hardened because of all the pain, but fear wasn’t as easy to conceal as she would have liked.
When the elevator opened, a butler was waiting for them. But Reyna’s eyes moved beyond the butler. The entrance to the home was at least three stories tall and as grand as any castle she’d read about in Europe. Persian rugs carpeted the floor, artwork hung in gilded frames, a crystal chandelier dangled from the ceiling. It was opulent beyond measure.
“Ah, Miss Reyna Carpenter and Mr. Beckham Anderson,” the butler said. “What a pleasure to have you in residence tonight. I am Edgar. May I take your coats?”
Reyna swallowed before taking her jacket off and handing it to Edgar, who didn’t even glance twice at her dress. He hung her and Beckham’s jackets up in a hall closet.
“Your meeting will be in the office tonight. Would you care for some refreshments? Coffee, tea, wine? Biscuits and scones?”
“No…no, thank you,” Reyna said.
“Ah, well, I am certain you will want something while you wait.” Edgar snapped his fingers. A woman in a black dress and white apron glided into the room. “Prepare a tray for our guests.”
“Of course.” She curtsied—actually curtsied—and then disappeared.
Beckham didn’t blink. Reyna couldn’t stop blinking.
“This way,” Edgar said.
They walked through grandiose room after grandiose room. Some as large as ballrooms, with marble floors and fireplaces as large as people, others elaborate sitting rooms with antique Tiffany lamps, sumptuous curtains, and velvet-cushioned furniture. Dining rooms with antique bone china and seating for at least twenty. Everything was luxe and old…very very old.
“Here we are.” Edgar pushed the door open to a room at the end of the hall. “He will be in soon. Make yourself at home and I’ll have refreshments brought in.”
Reyna walked into the room in a daze. “Oh my God,” she barely breathed.
His office was…a library.
It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen in her entire life. It went up as far as the eye could see. Floor after floor after dizzyingly high floor. It boggled her mind the sheer height of the place. It didn’t seem possible that the library could keep going up and up forever. But somehow that was how it appeared.
And books covered every surface. Tables full of books half-opened and abandoned. Hardly a single space was free in the whole place. Just more books and more learning and more information trapped in here. Enough for a hundred lifetimes. A thousand lifetimes.
Her mouth watered with the desire to reach out and take a book off of the shelf and dig in. How could she feel otherwise being in this bastion of learning?
“I want one,” she told Beckham with wide eyes.
“I’ll get right on that.”
Reyna’s high heels clicked o
n the hardwood floor as she walked mesmerized through the room. What an incredible place to call an office. To get to cozy up in here anytime they wanted and indulge. To forget the world and all its troubles in a story. Was there anything greater than losing and finding yourself in the pages of a book?
“Good evening,” a woman said, appearing at the entrance to the office. She whisked in a tray full of treats—little finger sandwiches, delicate desserts, and piping hot tea. “My name is Isolde. It’s a pleasure to have you in residence tonight. Please, have a seat. No one wants to wait without having a spot of tea.”
Isolde directed them to a sitting area with plush brown-leather chairs that may have been the most comfortable thing Reyna had ever sat in. Isolde settled the tray of treats on the table then poured both Beckham and Reyna a cup of tea.
“Thank you,” Reyna said with a smile.
“Anytime, dear. It’s wonderful to have you here. It’s not often we have guests.”
Reyna felt like a guest. Though the thought confused her. She’d been hooded to get here and she didn’t even know their contact’s name. They were being pampered and treated with the utmost respect, but Gabe thought this guy was a scary motherfucker. It felt like a strange duality.
“Don’t eat that,” Beckham said, taking the strawberry macaroon from her hand and placing it back on the tray.
“Ugh! Do not deprive me of macaroons.”
“I’ll get you all the macaroons you want when we leave. But you never go into an enemy’s house and eat or drink.”
Reyna sighed. She saw the logic in that. But strawberry macaroon!
Beckham kept glancing at the watch on his wrist as they waited. And waited. No wonder Isolde had brought them something to munch on. Apparently, this dude really liked to keep people in suspense.
She didn’t ask Beckham how much time had passed. It would only make it worse.
Then suddenly the door to the library opened once more. Reyna jumped to her feet and Beckham followed at a more resigned, leisurely pace. He was back in control. Ready to take on the world. She was just anxious to finally meet this guy.
A soft breath escaped her mouth at her first sight of him. She tried to cover it with a cough, but it was pretty impossible. One look at him and it was obvious he was the most beautiful person she had ever seen.
Not like the deadly, dark, scary goodness that Beckham exuded. This man had none of Beckham’s bulk or menacing stares or looks that melted her panties. Nothing of what Beckham had that had made her fall in love with him.
But…this guy. Damn.
Like…damn.
He stopped in front of them with his hands loosely in the pockets of his ten-thousand-dollar suit. He held himself as if he knew no threats in this world. As if he was the top of the food chain. Not a scratch could hurt him.
His hair was brushed back off of his face. The black strands almost appeared midnight blue when they caught the light. His cheekbones were chiseled out of marble with just the hint of stubble along the jawline. But it was his eyes that were the most striking. A dark stormy gray that seemed to swirl to life when they were turned on her.
His very being exuded an eroticism that was unparalleled. As if he’d fucked his way through a few centuries and knew pleasure that no one else in this world or the next could imagine.
She stilled as he assessed her, and she couldn’t bring herself to utter a single word. He appeared to be no older than twenty-eight. And yet…there was no way that he was twenty-eight years old. No way in hell. Those eyes had known lifetimes.
He was…otherworldly. Definitely not human. But no way was he a vampire either.
What is he?
“Welcome,” he said, his gaze slowly shifting from Reyna to Beckham. “You may call me Graves.”
Chapter 21
Graves.
Reyna swallowed. It fit him perfectly. How many people had he put six feet under? If her time with other walking predators was any indication, the answer was many. Many, many, many…
“It’s my pleasure to have you here tonight. It was…fortunate that I heard your request. I apologize for keeping you waiting,” Graves said. “I had…other matters to attend to.”
Murder or fucking.
There didn’t seem to be an in-between for him.
“I see that you didn’t partake of my refreshments.” His eyes shot to the food and back. “Believe me when I say that if I wanted you dead, poison would hardly be my choice. I prefer something much more macabre.”
“Poison is hardly the only possibility,” Beckham said.
“I suppose you can never be too careful,” Graves responded.
Beckham crossed his arms. It was written in every line of his body that he wanted this over with.
“And you,” Graves said, turning to Reyna. “What did you fear from my tea?”
“Um…too much milk?”
A muscle feathered in his cheek. It was as if he was contemplating smiling but it had been too long since he’d last done it.
“Humans.” He turned back to Beckham. “I see why you like this one.”
“Standing right here,” Reyna said.
Graves tilted his head. “Indeed.”
“We’ve come with payment,” Beckham interjected. “Are you willing to answer our questions or not?”
“Ah, straight down to business. Vampires always seem to despise the pleasantries,” Graves said as if Beckham’s behavior hardly registered on his radar.
“Pleasantries drag out negotiations.”
“Are we negotiating?”
“We should start,” Beckham said impatiently.
“We didn’t come to bother you,” Reyna said. She took a step forward between the two men. “We were told that you had information that we need about William Harrington. If you can help us, we would appreciate it. So, can you help us?”
“I can,” he said.
Graves towered over her slight height. He was eye level with Beckham if not slightly taller. He dwarfed her in comparison. He stepped around her body, his moody gray eyes considering her from every angle as he made a leisurely circle.
She stiffened at his nearness. What was he doing? Why was he looking at her like that? Was he purposely trying to provoke Beckham? Because she was certain at any moment he would come barreling into Graves’ side. She didn’t dare glance at Beckham but she could feel his anger unfurling from him like wings expanding out of his shoulder blades.
“And what will you give me for my help?” Graves’ voice slithered over her skin, crawling over her until she had to grit her teeth against the desire to close her eyes and sigh.
Beckham was steeling himself and his voice had regained its composure when he spoke. “We’ve brought payment.”
“Wonderful.” Graves strode away from them and, seemingly at random, lifted a book into his gloved hand.
She wondered why he was still wearing them inside. Everything else about him made him seem like a worldly gentleman, but the gloves…they didn’t fit.
He flipped to a page near the center and scribbled something in the margins. “Please sign here and here.”
He offered the book to Beckham. “What is this?”
“Confirmation of payment. A receipt, if you will.”
“No contract?”
“You will give to me that which I desire of your own free will,” Graves said. “I haven’t had to force anyone yet.”
Beckham seemed to vacillate before putting pen to paper. She could see that he didn’t want to put his signature in Graves’ book. To leave behind a record of their presence here. But it didn’t seem like Graves would let them off the hook otherwise.
“Thank you,” Graves said, turning to Reyna. “And you, my dear.”
Reyna took the pen in a shaky hand. Beckham’s signature was one of a dozen on the ledge
r. Not a single name was recognizable. It wasn’t as if Harrington had been here and Graves would let them know. She sighed softly and then scribbled her name on the line.
Graves snapped the book shut with a flourish and tucked it under his arm. “Now payment. You were informed of what I require.”
“Yes. I’ve brought you the diamonds of the Lady Charisma. Before I became a vampire lord of the city, I toppled several other cities along the way. A domino effect, if you will.”
“I’m well acquainted with your exploits,” Graves said in a crisp, bored tone.
“This was my first conquest. My very first spoil of the war that I started.”
“Hmm,” Graves murmured. He gestured to Reyna. “And this is the necklace?”
“Yes.”
“Gaudy thing.”
Beckham bristled. “It’s worth a king’s ransom.”
Graves replaced the book on the table he’d grabbed it from. It promptly blended into the rest of the mess. He seemed unconcerned with the worth of the diamond necklace or really with Beckham at all. He had his hands back in his pockets and he was standing less than a foot from Reyna, staring intently at the…jewelry.
“I like the packaging.”
Reyna stifled a scoff. Packaging. Fuck.
“May I?” he asked Reyna.
“I can remove it,” Beckham interjected.
“Now, what would be the fun in that?”
“I…I can get it,” Reyna whispered.
“Lift your hair.” His voice commanded in a way that gave her very little choice.
Her eyes found Beckham’s as she gently lifted her dark hair off of her shoulders and held it to the side. Through his eyes, she could see the torment raging in him. How much he wished they hadn’t come here. How he hadn’t anticipated someone like Graves. Beckham was used to being the highest peg on the ladder. She didn’t like it any more than he did to find out he wasn’t.