Like acommand.
Maybe I am in over my head.
Cleo VII regards Gideon from my shoulder. I silently command her to bite him. Instead, she slithers off me to wrap herself around a chair leg.Traitorous bitch.
“I may have been a mere human last time we tumbled in the sheets.” Gideon leans in. He doesn’t touch me, leaving a space between us wide enough for my imagination to fill with all kinds of filthy promises. “But I seem to recall you enjoying yourself.”
“It’s my job to make little donkeys believe they are stallions.” I glare up at him, defiant, determined to claw back control.
“Those little noises you made, and the way you bit down on me when you came so hard you broke your bed, was that all part of the act?” He’s so close now that his breath brushes my naked neck. “I’ve hada hundred and fifty years to practise. I know a few tricks that might surprise even you.”
“Somewhere in the woods, a tree is working hard to replace the oxygen you consumed with that absurd tale,” I bite back. “You should apologise to it.”
I want him to kiss me, so I have an excuse for castrating him.
Yup. That’s the reason.
It hasnothingto do with the tempting way his bottom lip puffs out, or the red cherry and poppy scent that swirls around me, making me light-headed and a heat flare between my thighs.
“You wound me, Arabella—”
A cold head drops between us.
Gideon yelps as Cleo VII expands her hood, her tongue flicking across his cheek. He staggers back, upsetting a cardboard box filled with Peruvian clay figurines, and adding them to the mess of coins on the floor.
Thank you, girl.
I hold out my arm and Cleo VII slithers around it, settling herself back around my neck. There’s a bulge inside her length. She must’ve found a mouse hiding in the vault and had herself a snack. I stroke her cool skin affectionately. I am myself again.
Gideon is my enemy, mymark, and nothing more.
“We were talking about Winnie,” I say coolly, enjoying how rattled he is as he tries to untangle himself from a bunch of gold chains.
“Yes. Winnie’s actually already at Sanctus. One of our members hired Dracluttera to organise his possessions.”
That’s right. Winnie is doing a roaring trade as a professional organiser specialising in decluttering for Upyr. While I have made a habit of carefully curating my possessions over the years, many of my kin hold onto objects for centuries, which can create storage issues, especially when downsizing from a castle to a Sanctus “executive treehouse”.
Gideon hops around, picking up Peruvian clay figurines. Thankfully, none appear broken. I move deeper into the vault, inspecting the objects and keeping as much distance between me and Gideon as possible. I pull out sacks of coins and notice some are much lighter than others.I’m behind a towering pile of Eighteenth Dynasty statues when Winnie texts to say she’s waiting upstairs.
“Never fear. Winnie’s here to save the day,” she calls out as I emerge into Brimstone. She’s wearing one of her favourite organising outfits – lavender wide-leg trousers with a soft grey shirt. There’s a smear of dust on her sleeve. Her eyes sparkle with excitement at the idea of tackling a new mess. A man turns from the bar to hand her a drink that matches her trousers. He sips a goblet of blood. “Gideon, Arabella, this is Paul Badica, my first client on Sanctus Estate. Over the centuries, he has amassed quite the collection of, er, pornographic woodcuts. I’m helping him to catalogue everything, and I’m trying to convince him to donate to the Prague sex museum so he can become a philanthropist instead of an, er, pervert.”
“Itisthe best of all the sex museums,” Gideon muses, stepping forwards to clink his own goblet with Winnie’s.
I have strong opinions about the best sex museums, but I’m too busy staring at Paul to voice them.
“Hello, Arabella.” Paul Badica waves, as if we’re old friends and not… andnot…
I knew it was all too good to be true.
Cleo VII senses my unease. She raises her body from my shoulder and expands her neck ribs into her hood. A low hiss escapes her.
“She’s hissing at you,” Gideon says to Badica, his eyes locking on mine.
“I’m not afraid of snakes.”
“I’m not talking about the snake.”
Gideon’s right – I’m hissing under my breath.
