It was for that reason that she didn’t run to throw on something more appropriate, or at least put on a shawl to cover her neck, which was scandalously bared — an open invitation to bite or to slash, depending on one’s mood. Kaz wouldn’t care, and a guard sent to check on her would never say a word even if she’d answered the door stark naked.
Exhausted by the events of the day, she didn’t think to check the intercom to ask who stood on the other side of the door. She merely unlocked it, disengaged the ward that acted as an extra seal, and pulled it open.
For a second, all she could do was stare at the man who stood on the other side.
Taller than her, with wide shoulders and long, muscled legs, he was dressed in a dark houndstooth coat and smart mahogany monk shoes polished to a high shine. One hand, gloved in supple brown leather with matte white claw-caps, loosely clutched a long velvet box by his muscled thigh.
His skin was a luminous teal and his features were aquiline, sharpened by age and framed by lashes, brows, and a neatly trimmed beard of deep green. His hair was swept back from his face in one sleek wave. He was strikingly handsome, but that wasn’t what took her breath away.
It was the air of pure, unfiltered menace that radiated like a chill around him. She had never met him before — had never even spoken to him — but sheknewthis man.
Camille froze, one hand on the door knob, and found herself numbly greeting him. “Epifanio, I… didn’t expect to see you here.”
She felt his gaze dip down her body, taking in her thin silk robe and her bare throat with a single, cool glance. His voice was a silky, emotionless purr when he replied, “Clearly.”
Camille felt her cheeks heat. She knew she looked like a mess with her unkempt hair and her bloodshot eyes. Never in a million years would she have willingly shown a predator likeEpifanio Luzsuch a vulnerable image of herself.
Feeling wrongfooted and with no other polite option, she took a step back and gestured for him to come in.Well, I was going to email him anyway,she thought, watching him cross the threshold.
She thought that Margot’s brother Olivier was intimidating, but he at least hadsomewarmth to him. This man, however, looked like he could snap her neck without a thought. Standing in her entryway, he seemed to suck up all the air.
Wishing she could scurry away but knowing that would only make her look weak, Camille led him into the living room and, summoning her most aloof voice, said, “This is highly unusual. I was expecting an invitation to a meeting from your father, not a man on my doorstep.”
Epifanio didn’t look even a little fazed by the barely concealed reproach. Pulling one hand out of his pocket, he unbuttoned his coat at the same time that he tossed the velvet box onto the gold-edged marble coffee table.
“I don’t like to waste time. My father wants this union and I don’t like leaving things undone.” His eyes, a clear bottle green, pinned her in place. “We’re finishing negotiations today. Next week, we will fly out to my chalet in Switzerland. While there, you will sign the paperwork and this will be done. We will hopefully conceive offspring in that time. What you do after that is your business.”
Camille gripped the back of the couch, unable to mask her surprise. “Excuse me?”
One dark green brow lifted. “What about that did you not understand?”
Indignation flared. Fighting the urge to bare her fangs, she answered, “The part where you assumed I’ve decided to join with you.”
“Of course you have.” He tipped his head toward the coffee table, where the velvet box lay. “That is your union necklace. I expect you to wear it whenever you are in public.”
It was her turn to raise her eyebrows. Stepping around the couch, she reached for the box with morbid curiosity. Popping the lid with the tip of her claw, she peered inside to find a necklace that would cover her neck from chin to clavicle. It was absolutelyburstingwith diamonds and vivid green emeralds.
Revulsion crawled over her skin like thousands of tiny, many-legged bugs.He expects me to wear this?
She loved fashion and jewels more than she probably should, but there was something about wearing such an ostentatious display of wealth —hiswealth,hisclaim — that made her feel ill. There was not a chance she would ever wear a sign of Epifanio’s ownership on her person.
Camille stared at the glittering necklace and realized, with a deep inner stillness, that the only necklace she wanted was her consort’s bite.
Slowly, she looked over the lid of the box to find her guest watching her, his expression inscrutable. While she digested her own revelation, she asked, “Might I ask why? Union necklaces are awfully old fashioned.”
Somehow, Epifanio’s expression became chillier, the lines of his face starker, more deadly. “Las Vegas is not like San Francisco, Miss Solbourne. It is considerably more dangerous. Once you’re mine, your protection will be my responsibility. That necklace will let everyone know who you belong to — and who they’ll be dealing with if you are harmed.”
“Right.” Camille closed the box with a snap. “Well, I’m afraid that isn’t going to be necessary.”
Epifanio tilted his head to one side. It was a purely predatory action, the same way a lion might move a second before it pounces on the gazelle. “Oh? And why is that?”
Reaching over the couch to offer him the box, she answered, “Because I will not be joining with you.”
He made no move to take the box, but leaned forward until both of his hands were braced on the back of the couch, his shoulders rounded in a hunting crouch. The tips of his matte white claws pricked at the velvet cushions. “That’s not how this works, Miss Solbourne.”
“I’m afraid it is.” Camille swallowed her instinctive reaction to the sight of an elf much more dominant than her leaning closer, challenging her. The instinctive knowledge that Epifanio could maul her with one swipe of his claws was oppressive. The air he carried around himdemandedsubmission.
But she was more than instinct, more than the beast that howled in the heart of all elves. She was a woman, too, and more than that, she was aSolbourne, a Dia, the last of her mother’s line, and no shrinking violet. If Epifanio wanted to intimidate someone into submission, he picked the wrong fucking woman.
