Dawn neared. Nïx was rumored to go out only at night. The light would drive the vampire to ground. He would find neither today.
Though Josephine could have traced anywhere in the universe, she’d be back.
He reached into his pocket. Beside her ripped thong was the necklace he’d stolen, the one she’d been touching to her lip when he’d first come upon her. He pulled it out, turning it in his hands. He’d taken the necklace for turnabout—his fingers were just as sticky as hers—but also because he’d suspected the piece would have meaning.
Those bits of metal were spent bullets.
Oh, yes, she’d be back. He had the bait; how to trap her? Evidently, his hold wouldn’t be enough.
When Rune had set out from Tenebrous, he’d outfitted himself to kill a Valkyrie, not to keep a vampire. He had no traceproof manacles with him, nor in his sanctuary at Tortua.
The nymphs had told him of a Lore shop in town. If he found a pair of cuffs there, he’d lure the vampire close with the necklace, then snare her.
Once she was his captive, he would do all the forbidden things he’d fantasized about.
Clawing, sucking, tonguing.
Kissing.
One of his most heated fantasies was the simplest: to take a woman’s mouth and make her moan—with pleasure instead of pain.
The last time he’d tasted another’s lips had been a kiss of death. Whenever he pictured kissing, he recalled that night.
Rune yearned for a kiss to erase his last.
Earlier, when one of the nymphs had forgotten herself and sought his lips, he’d grown sickened to remember, but he’d kept fucking. . . .
He pocketed the necklace, his fingers drawn to Josephine’s silk thong as if magnetized. With his other hand, he traced her bite mark, almost healed.
For all he knew, Nïx had dispatched the vampire as a spy. The Møriør’s weaknesses were few, but they could be exploited by a clever strategist. Just as Orion did to his enemies.
Rune stroked the silk again. Tonight he’d come harder than he ever had, and yet touching her panties had his balls so blue every footfall pained him. Maybe he should release some of the pressure, so he could think.
A pair of water nymphs at dawn would do the trick. He headed toward the courtyard. He’d just entered when the nymphs strolled in right behind him.
Exactly what he needed, a palate cleanser! A blonde and a redhead—ideal for getting past a brunette. He thought the blonde was named Dew, the redhead Brook. They looked well-tumbled.
What would Josephine look like when well-pleasured? He hadn’t seen to her at all, as she’d pointed out. But she moaned lustily enough when feeding from me!
He pulled his collar over his bite mark. “Did you two rush through your other trysts to meet me?” Of course they had.
They nodded. The blonde said, “We know tricks to speed things up, you see.”
He’d been forced to learn those same tricks as well. A memory arose of Queen Magh telling him, Please your customers, cur. Or perish.
Through a wave of revulsion, Rune flashed the nymphs a practiced grin. “May you never use those tricks on me. . . .” He trailed off, his ears twitching. He glanced around, sensing the vampire’s nearness. But he would’ve scented her if she were close.
Damn it, why couldn’t he stop thinking about her? Could her mesmerizing still have a hold of him if she wasn’t even here?
“We’ve got some info for you,” Brook said. “Will you pay us handsomely for it?”
“Indeed.” He was the Møriør’s secrets master now, and nymphs knew much.
“It’s about the female you were with earlier,” Dew said with a shrewd look. “The one we heard rocking your world.”
Brook added, “The whole parish heard it.”
He didn’t bother with a denial. “Continue.”
“What do you know about her?” Dew asked.
“Very little. Tell me.”
“We think”— Brook lowered her voice—“we think she’s a vampire.”
“What gives you that impression?” he asked, feigning ignorance. “She doesn’t smell like one.”
“We’ve seen her in a fight.” Brook shivered. “She hissed, she had fangs, and her eyes turned black. It’s why we’ve never tried to seduce her.” Few species would harm a nymph, but some vampires craved drinking them dry.
What if they had seduced Josephine? He pictured her sleeping with them—and, of course, himself—at the same time. Imagining any combination of attractive tarts servicing him and each other would normally be a pleasant musing.
This one filled him with irritation. He would be plenty for Josephine to handle. Nymphs would just muddy the waters. He pointed out to them, “Black eyes and fangs could mean demon.”
Brook smoothed her hair behind a pointed ear. “But she doesn’t have horns or wings.”
Dew nodded. “We’ve gone our whole lives without seeing a female vampire, and now the streets seem to be teeming with them. There’s a Valkyrie halfling one, and a Dacian one, but she’s sick with vampire plague—”
“Do you know where mine resides?” Mine. He almost laughed. That was a word he would never apply to a female.
“I think somewhere in the city,” Dew said. “She comes to the Quarter to pick pockets. She’s a klepto. One time I saw her wandering around in the pouring rain, seeming sad. She looked desperate to steal from someone.”