Even while standing at the door, getting ready to press the doorbell to Spider Sylvain’s mansion, he questioned his sanity.
Nash groaned when the doorbell turned out to be a security device.
“Who’s calling?” a woman asked.
“Nash Drake.”
“Someone will be with you in a moment, sir.”
“Thank you.”
He didn’t have to wait long. A woman, probably the same one who answered the buzzer, pulled the door open. She wore jeans and a yellow t-shirt with a sunflower on it. She had a white rag hanging out of her back pocket.
“No one answers the door around here.” She smirked and held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Zipporah. Everyone calls me Zippie.”
“Nash.” He took her hand and shook it.
“I know. You said through the security buzzer.”
“Right.” Nash walked into the grandest foyer he’d ever seen. The staircase wound around. The banister was dark wood—maybe black walnut or mahogany. Nash wasn’t too knowledgeable about such things. All he knew was that it was gorgeous.
There was a lot to look at. “Nice house.”
She chuckled. “Not so nice when it’s my turn to clean. We’re all a bunch of pigs.”
“No staff?”
“Trust issues. We have a rotation.” She shrugged. “It works for us.”
Nash could imagine the Sylvain family having a lot of enemies. The problem with being so notorious that people thought you were at the top of the food chain was defending that spot. Eventually, someone would try to knock them down, if they hadn’t already. It was only a matter of time before they lost. So not having staff was probably a good move.
“Well, I have to get back to it. Someone will escort you to Peter’s office. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Drake.”
“Nice meeting you too.”
She left Nash standing in the foyer.
A long table sat against the far wall. A vase full of yellow and white roses sat in the center. A small wooden bowl was the only other thing on the table. From Nash’s vantage point near the door, he couldn’t see what was inside. For a moment, he thought about getting a peek, buthe thought better of snooping around the house of Spider Sylvain. If Nash had enough sense, he would hightail it out of there.
Nash sighed and shook his head.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Jon,” he mumbled under his breath. “What the hell did you get me into?”
Nash was insane. He had never had a death wish before, but had to really wonder about himself.
Nash was pulled out of his self-deprecation when a man walked toward him from a long hall. He had his head down, which made Nash think he might not be the person Nash was waiting for. Did the guy sense him yet?
Shadows obscured most of his body. Nash hadn’t noticed the sunglasses covering half the man’s face until he grew close enough to the foyer lights. He wore jeans and an oversized sweater that advertised Duchester as the ‘Windiest City in the Midwest’, complete with an embroidered swirl of what Nash assumed was a representation of the wind and a cityscape getting blown sideways by the swirl.
The man lifted his head. He stopped where the hall met the foyer, gasping. “Holy shit. Holy fucking shit.”
The guy definitely had fangs. They peeked out when he licked his lips. He took a step closer and sniffed the air, his nose twitching as though he were a puppy smelling something delicious for the very first time. Nash would bet the guy’s eyes had also shifted, but he wasn’t taking off his sunglasses for Nash to find out for sure.
He stuck his hands in his pockets. “Who are you?”
The guy’s body language said he was intrigued and hands-off all at the same time.
They were mates, but Nash thought better of bringing it up. He’d wait and see if his mate warmed up to him first.
