The girl nuzzles the guy’s neck, her hands roaming his chest. He tips his head back, not from passion but resignation, and his focus drifts. Whatever chance I had at pushing further evaporates in the haze of her perfume and his intoxicated smile.
Damn, our opportunity to get more information is evaporating faster than this woman’s cheap perfume, but that doesn’t stop Marcus.
“Do you think they’re involved with the attacks that have been happening recently?”
The guy blinks at Marcus, like he can’t focus. “Relax, friend. It’s a party, not an interrogation.”
Nail Girl traces the pattern on his waistcoat with her sharp fingernails
I exchange a look with Marcus. Frustration knots my chest. We’re losing him.
Nail Girl cuts in with a whine. “Baby. Come dance with me.”
The vampire shoots us a look, half smug, half irritated. “Duty calls.”
Marcus gives a lazy smile, then shifts closer to me, lowering his head to my neck. To anyone watching, it looks like an intimate, possessive kiss, but his lips barely brush my skin as he breathes a single word into my ear. “Interesting.”
The warmth of his breath against the sensitive spot beneath my ear sends a shiver skittering down my spine. My pulse leaps, betraying me. I giggle, the sound breathy and wrong, like I’ve just been asked something wicked. “Yes,” I murmur, hoping it lands as flirtatious.
The couple disappears into the throng, and silence stretches between us for a beat. Marcus lifts his head, and our eyes meet. We’ve just stumbled onto something important. The look lingers longer than it should, weighted with something more. Something I can’t name without breaking whatever fragile line we’re walking.
18
MARCUS
Fuck. All that effort, all that playing nice, and it ends in nothing but blue balls. A complete waste.
All right, maybe not acompletewaste. Esmerelda wriggling on my lap is enough to make my pulse thunder, and that kind of sweet torture leaves my body begging while my brain snarls. I’m not mad at that. Not even close.
What pisses me off is how close we were. A sliver away from hearing the truth about the Mephistus coven, only for it to slip through my fingers. Drunk, useless vampires, drowning in their own vices. The information was right there on the edge of his tongue, I’m sure of it. But to push would have raised suspicion, and I am not prepared to put my people in danger. Not when they are here trying to get information for me too.
The frustration grinds in my chest. Small paper cuts of annoyance. My hand flexes against Esmerelda’s thigh, half to steady her, half to ground myself. Because if I don’t channel these feelings somewhere, I’m liable to rip the table in half just to get the anger out.
We’re not going to get anything more sitting here. The vampires have left to drink and take drugs, and I’m done wasting time. I lace my fingers through Esmerelda’s, and nearly flinchwhen electricity races up my arm. Her skin is warm, softer than I remembered, her hand fitting against mine too perfectly to be chance. My pulse stutters, then hammers. Damn, I need to get some control.
Having her on my lap has been pure torture. Every small shift of her hips brands me, every brush of her breath against my neck is like fuel to an open flame. I want to drag her closer, bury my face in her hair, claim her in a way no one here could mistake.
But I can’t. Blowing our cover would be reckless. Making her uncomfortable? Unthinkable. So, I rein myself in and hang on to the basics—a handhold, steady and unassuming—though my whole body burns like I’ve been scorched by her touch.
Grief twists everything out of shape. Makes you crave things you shouldn’t, confuse longing with need. Gods, maybe that’s all this is. Pain dressed up as hunger. But as her fingers curl tight around mine, I don’t believe it. Not for a second.
The club is slipping into chaos. When we first arrived, people weren’t being shy about what they were getting up to, but now, drugs and liquor strip away what’s left of their inhibitions. A couple in the corner are tangled together, pretending no one can see, but the look on the man’s face gives them away. Others avert their eyes, pretending at privacy. Some seem to get off on being watched, if the crowds gathering around them are anything to go by.
My stomach knots as I watch them grind against each other in plain view. Intimacy should be sacred, something cherished, not put on display for everyone to see. I even said as much in my vows.
The thought of anyone seeing Esmerelda, lips parted, her body arching in pleasure, sends heat ripping through me but not with desire. With fury. Possessive, protective rage that blindsme. My blood is boiling before I even realize it, my jaw clenched so hard my teeth ache.
I tell myself it’s because she’s my wife now, bound to me whether she wants it or not. That it’s duty, not jealousy, driving the insanity clawing at my insides. But I know better. This isn’t about guarding what’s mine. It’s about wanting what’s not mine.
We catch sight of Minerva, grinning like a maniac as she produces a sleek leather paddle from nowhere. She delivers a sharp smack to a stranger’s backside, and the poor guy yelps before leaning in for more. Min cackles, loving every second. Leonard, meanwhile, is at the bar, flirting shamelessly. Of course those two are pulling their weight. Which means I need to do the same.
I force a breath into my lungs, bracing myself, and tighten my grip on Esmerelda’s hand. The contact anchors me, but it’s more than that. I never expected her presence to bolster me. To ground me. Yet here she is, and I can’t let go.
We weave through the crowd, hand in hand, laughing, chatting, and flirting as we go. I lean close, murmur things meant to sound wicked, and she tips her head back with a smile that would make anyone watching believe it. Together, we’re convincing—maybe a little too convincing.
A man at the bar drags his gaze over her, slowly, hungrily, before flicking up to meet mine. His smirk is a silent dare. Heat spikes in my chest, sharp and immediate, and it takes everything I have not to bare my teeth. I shift my stance, sliding closer until my arm brushes Esmerelda’s waist, until there’s no space for anyone else’s claim. She doesn’t comment, only arches a brow, the corner of her mouth twitching like she knows exactly what I’m doing.
The whole act scrapes against my nerves. In real life, I could never do this. I don’t share. Not the woman beside me, not the way her body curves into mine, not the sound of her laughter.I tell myself I’m not jealous, that it isn’t the same thing. Maybe that’s true. But possessiveness burns hotter than jealousy ever could, and every wandering gaze aimed at her is like fuel to the fire.
