“Several?” Nefri muttered as the two males hissed in shock. “Do you mean—”
“Do you have the medallion?” Siljar interrupted, holding out an imperious hand.
Santiago hesitated, clearly consumed by a need to demand a further explanation of the missing prisoners.
Such as whether they’d been captured or were lurking in the shadows to cause yet another catastrophe.
Thankfully, her sharp elbow to his ribs helped him recall the dangers of antagonizing a member of the Commission.
With a grimace he dug into his pocket and pulled out the medallion. Nefri lightly touched his arm, knowing he would be suffering from the loss of his sire.
No matter what Gaius had done, they’d shared a connection that could never be truly broken.
“Here,” he muttered gruffly.
“I’ll take it.” Siljar reached up to snatch it from his hand.
Santiago frowned. “It needs to be destroyed.”
“It will be taken care of,” Siljar promised, and with a wave of her hand, the medallion disappeared.
Whether it was hidden in the folds of her robe, or something more mysterious, was impossible to know.
Santiago wasn’t satisfied. “Taken care of? Does that mean destroyed?”
Siljar offered her unnerving smile. “I must go.” She paused to bid Nefri a low bow. “Nefri. We are in your debt.”
Straightening, the tiny demon disappeared, leaving behind three vampires who were struggling to accept that they had actually survived.
“Someday . . .” Styx growled.
“Not now, Styx,” Santiago said in soft but startlingly commanding tones.
“But . . .” Styx turned to glare at Santiago, then seeming to catch some unspoken message, he slowly smiled. “Right. I’ll leave you to it.”
They watched in silence as the massive vampire left the ruined room in a less dramatic fashion than Siljar. Still, it wasn’t until they could sense the Anasso jogging away from the warehouse that Santiago grasped Nefri’s shoulders and gently turned her to meet his somber gaze.
His lips parted, but Nefri had been waiting from the moment she’d been released from control of the spirit to offer her apology.
Not that an “I’m sorry” actually made up for trying to kill your lover, she wryly admitted.
“Santiago,” she began, only to be outmaneuvered when Santiago placed his hand over her mouth.
“It’s over.”
She grasped his wrist to tug his hand away. “But I need to say I’m—”
“No.”
She arched a brow at his arrogant tone. “No?”
“From this point forward, the past is done,” he said, his eyes dark with a plea that tugged at her heart. “The only thing that matters is the future. Our future.”
She hesitated, desperately wanting to accept his offer.
How many years had she wasted with guilt and regret?
How long had she denied her emotions out of fear?
“You think that’s possible?”
His smile held an edge of sadness that spoke of his own loss. “We’ve both spent too long being haunted by events that neither of us could control.” He cupped her face in his hands, his touch tender. “I want a fresh start. Don’t we deserve it?”
She didn’t know if they deserved it.
Her past wasn’t entirely blameless. And the gods knew that Santiago was not an innocent.
But, deserving or not, her heart urged her to snatch at the happiness with both hands.
Well, after she’d tormented Santiago just a bit. He’d certainly done his share of tormenting over the past weeks.
“I’m not entirely certain,” she murmured.
His brows drew together, his struggle against his instinct to toss her over his shoulder and demand capitulation etched on his beautiful face.
Their combined arrogance and demand for control would make life together a delicious battle.
“Why?” he at last rasped.
She offered a faux pout. “You hit me on the head.”
“Ah.” His frustration melted to wry amusement. “Yes, I know.”
“That’s it?” she demanded. “‘Yes, I know’?”
He reached to curl her hand into a fist, pressing his lips to her knuckles. “You can hit me on the head if you want.”
She trembled, heat exploding through her veins to sear away the lingering chill from the spirit.
“As hard as your head is, it would probably break my hand,” she teased, moving forward to press against his lean body.
“True.” He smiled with a wicked promise that made her toes curl in anticipation. “Which means you might as well mate with me instead.”
“That doesn’t make any sense at all.”
“It makes perfect sense to me.” He wrapped his arms around her, studying her upturned face with a possessive satisfaction. “You and I make perfect sense to me. Be my mate.”
Her heart soared, but there was one last hurdle they had to confront.
“What about my clan?” she reminded him softly. She’d already prepared to step down from being chief. Her people would always have her loyalty, but nothing was more important than Santiago. “Eventually I’ll be able to turn the leadership over to another. But for now—”
“I’m not asking you to choose between me and your clan, Nefri,” he interrupted her, frowning as if he was baffled she would even suggest the idea.
“But your life is here.”
Without warning he leaned down to kiss her with a blatant claim of ownership.
One she met with her own claim.
“My life is with you,” he said against her lips.
And that’s why she’d bonded with this vampire out of all the thousands and thousands of men she’d known over the centuries, she silently acknowledged, feeling as sappy as any overhormonal teenage girl.
He was arrogant and stubborn and possessive to the point of insanity, but he never tried to make her feel like she should apologize for her power.
He made her feel . . . proud.
Of herself. Of him. Of the partnership they were creating together.
“You could accept living beyond the Veil?” she pressed, needing him to be sure.
“Of course.” The wicked smile widened, giving a flash of fang. “I intend to open a fight club with a few fairies who know how to enjoy an orgy. . . .”
“Santiago,” she growled.
He chuckled, brushing his lips over her forehead. “How many times do I have to tell you that you make it too easy?”
“Actually I intend to make it very hard,” she warned. “Maybe if I keep you busy enough I can keep you out of trouble.”
With one smooth motion he scooped her off her feet, cradling her tight against his chest as he headed for the door.
“But you like trouble,” he reminded her, his expression promising all sorts of sinful havoc.
She looped her arms around his neck, the emotions she’d denied for so long flowing freely through her like the finest champagne.
“Actually, I love trouble.”
Santiago stood with Viper in the corner of Styx’s formal salon.
It had been three nights since they’d managed to . . . to what? He grimaced. He couldn’t claim they’d defeated the spirit. But at least it was contained and now in the hands of the Commission.
Since then he’d devoted his time to keeping Nefri tucked in his arms. Not only because his insatiable hunger for her was a constant ache, but because he was determined to make certain she was completely recovered before returning to her duties.
Unfortunately, Nefri had decided she couldn’t possibly be mated anywhere but in her private lair beyond the Veil.
So while he was fiercely happy to have her in his bed, he was growing restless to complete their mating.
Only when they’d shared their blood and bonded on the most primitive level would he be satisfied.
Tonight . . .
A tingle of anticipation raced through him as he watched Nefri move through the crowd that Styx had invited to send them off to the Veil.
He would have refused Styx’s offer of a party if he hadn’t known that powerful vampires from around the world had flocked to the Anasso’s home in the hopes of meeting the mysterious Nefri.
And if he were being perfectly honest, he enjoyed watching the guests fluttering around her in obvious awe.
She looked like the perfect ice queen dressed in a silver robe that brushed the floor and her hair falling in a river of ebony satin down her back.
Aloof and untouchable.
Until he had her alone.
Ready heat swirled through him, making him shift in discomfort.
How much longer did he have to play nice?
He’d shared his beautiful mate long enough.
He was ready to get her alone.
And naked.
Definitely naked.
Perhaps sensing he needed a distraction before he went “caveman” and simply hauled her off, Viper moved to stand at his side.
“Are you sure about this?” his former clan chief asked, looking like a Regency dandy in his ivory velvet coat trimmed in gold thread complete with knee breeches. His long silver hair was pulled back with a matching velvet ribbon and his midnight black eyes held a lazy amusement that didn’t entirely disguise his lethal power. “Living with a clan chief isn’t easy.”