Good. She didn’t want to be anyone’s blood bride.
But she needed him to defile her sono onewould want her, and also… Well, it didn’t feel nice to get that reaction.
Whatever. I can still do this.
Carmine only needed one chance, one moment, one person. If not him, then maybe he’d know someone who could do it. Surely there had to be a person out there willing to take her virginity who wouldn’t expect to keep her, right?
It certainly sounded like there were a lot of people on Empire Estate. Atticus had filled her silences between unremarkable facts about her life with his low, raspy voice. He told her about how it used to be a gold mine, and that Harlan had a good crew of men he’d taken with him from the New Zone. They all lived on or around the estate and worked for him, either helping him with his many businesses or doing security, and not all of them were vampires, so she didn’t have to worry about unwanted advances. Someone would always be around to keep her safe.
Would one of those men help her? It was a risk to wait that long. What if Atticus was lying? She was beginning to believe he wasn’t, but she knew well that anyone could lie or change their mind. Carmine was entirely powerless. If it turned out he wasn’t driving her to the fairytale land of stone cottages and witches named Zia and all the glittery eyeshadow she wanted, then what could she do?
Nothing. Nothing but ruin the one thing the crypt’s matron told her was most important.
No one wants a bride who’s been sullied. Be like the Merciful One. Be pure so your line will be untainted and your blood sweet.
Carmine’s virginity was a weight around her neck. A target. A glaring neon sign that marked her as prey. She wanted to throw it out the RV’s window and watch it burst into a thousand pieces. Maybe ask Atticus to reverse over it.
Her mind churned as she rolled a bottle of synth between her palms. Atticus kept trying to get her to drink, but she didn’t like the taste of the brand he bought to replace what was in the RV already. The other was too chemically. This one was too bland.
He kept casting her dark looks that usually preceded a command for her to drink, but she ignored him. If he hadn’t punished her for her escape attempts, she felt reasonably confident he wouldn’t do it over a little synth.
“Who’s Michael?”
Atticus didn’t jump at her sudden question, but his rough, tattooed knuckles went white on the steering wheel. “Why?”
“You said he was going to pick me up. When you were talking to Harlan the other night.”
“He’s one of the boss’s crew,” he answered, scowling. “A demon. Nice enough, but he’s not a talker.”
Neither was she. Carmine could work with that.
She tilted her head, considering, flipping through the few demons she’d met on her slab. They were very interesting. They had horns or antlers, depending on the clan, and they were built so sturdy it took extra effort to prepare their bodies for burial. Her needles liked to bend when she pushed them through, fixing whatever was broken or torn or contorted in death, and she had to use pliers to get a good enough grip.
A demon could probably protect her. She’d read things about how devoted they were to mates. That could work.
Her goal was to lose her virginity and disappear, but there was always another option: She could find a good, strong mate. It didn’t sit right with her, not when she knew they’d expect her to give up her work, but maybe things would be different if he wasn’t a vampire — something she’d never even contemplated.
The bland synth went sour in her stomach at the thought of throwing herself at a man she’d never met, but she asked, “Does he have a mate?”
Atticus’s head whipped around. His eyes went narrow and dangerous in a way she hadn’t seen since that first night when he peered at her over the barrel of his gun. “Why the fuck are you asking?”
Carmine tried very hard not to tense. The fear that he’d discover her plan was a cold, hard weight in her gut.He can’t know. If he knows, he’ll try and stop me.
Forget about not being able to seduce him. If he suspected she was trying to lose her virginity by any means necessary, he wouldn’t let her leave his sight. She’d never get the chance.
Lying was not her strong suit, but she’d learned that sometimes saying a part of the truth was good enough.
“I was curious,” she hedged. “You made it sound like only Harlan has an anchor. Are all the other men single?”Please say yes.
Atticus looked like he’d just smelled something foul. Moving his attention back to the road, he bit out, “Yes.”
Another thought occurred to her. Azingof something went down her spine. It wasn’t pleasant. It was very muchnotlike the times he smiled at her. “Do you have an anchor?”Please say no.
“No.” And going by his tone, not to mention how he’d reacted to the idea of her being his bride, she guessed he didn’t want one.
That was a good thing. It meant that if shedidseduce him — by the gods, she still had to try, her ego be damned — hewouldn’t try to keep her. She could be sullied and then on her way.
“Drink your synth,” Atticus growled.
