“One of life’s great mysteries.”
The water helped mute our footfalls, replacing the clomp of shoes with a soft splashing. Sneaking up on vampires wasn’t really a possibility anyway, no matter how quiet we were. Werewolves could hear well enough, but vampires had better senses all around. They’d know we were coming. I was just hoping they’d underestimate us. I’d spent much of my life learning how to use people’s lowered expectations to my advantage.
In spite of everything Peyton and I had been through, I still believed he thought I was beneath him. After all, how could a woman with a pulse best a three-hundred-year-old vampire? I was counting on his hubris to be his undoing.
We walked several minutes in silence, the scent of vampires, humans, sex and blood growing thick in the air. We were close, and both Desmond and I could sense it, but neither of us was ready to address what was coming.
My skin prickled with anticipation. I chose to think of it as a kind of excitement, rather than fear. Fear and I had been bedfellows too often over recent months, but excitement was almost unfamiliar at this point. Whatever came next would be the end of a chapter in my life.
I just hoped it wouldn’t be the end of the whole story.
“A vampire and a werewolf walk into a bar…” The voice’s sudden arrival made it seem much louder than it really was. What was likely only a speaking level boomed in my ears like a loudspeaker. “Stop me if you’ve heard this one.”
The words had a rasp to them, but beneath that was a cultured French accent. It was subtle, as if whittled away over time, but had the freshness of someone who might start using an accent after vacation.
I jolted, lifting my arm to stop Desmond, the way someone might reach out to protect the passenger in a car crash. My guard wasn’t necessary, though. Desmond had already come to a stop.
“No? Haven’t heard it? Good, I’ll go on.”
I scanned the darkness, trying to find him, but all I had to go on was his voice, and it seemed to be coming from everywhere at once.
“A vampire and a werewolf walk into a bar,” he repeated.
“You already said that,” I countered, clasping my sword like it was a lifeline. I feared someone might reach out and snatch it before I knew they were near. Silly what scared me at moments like this.
“Let me finish, missy. It isn’t polite to interrupt your elders.”
The last time I’d spoken with Peyton he’d been bound in chains and wasn’t able to secrete enough saliva to finish a sentence. He’d been a living corpse, and not in the classic vampire sense. Now, though there was a roughness to his voice, he was clearly doing much better. I wondered, briefly, how he looked.
I’d find out soon enough.
“Bartender says, ‘What can I get you?’ and the werewolf says, ‘I’ll have what’s on tap.’ Bartender looks at the vampire. Vampire says…” His voice drifted off into nothing, and I strained to find him. The hairs on the back of my neck went up a moment before his lips brushed my ear. “I’ll have what she’s having.”
Chapter Nine
My elbow shot back faster than Peyton was expecting and cracked him hard in a bone. He snarled and dug his fingers into my bun, jerking my head backwards, exposing my throat.
“I could bleed you dry right here, you stupid little bitch.”
“You won’t,” I wheezed.
“What makes you so sure?” His curiosity was piqued, I could tell as much from his tone and the way his grip loosened just a fraction.
“You like to watch.”
Oh, how I wished the innuendo wasn’t so accurate. Peyton had a well-documented flair for sadism, and he would want to watch to see how his machinations impacted me. He’d want to draw it out.
I still remembered the greedy way he drank in the scene when my mother kept a bullet wedged between my ribs, stopping me from healing. He would relish being the one to inflict that pain on me.
No, Alexandre Peyton had bigger plans for me than something quick and dirty in a sewer tunnel. He’d want to make it last.
“Maybe I’ve changed.” His mouth was on my ear, my head locked in place by his hand. It must have been a while since he’d bothered to cut his nails because they scraped against my scalp, as long as a woman’s and sharper than they ought to be.
“You’ll never change.”
“Secret, what do you want me to do?” Knowing Desmond as well as I did, I could tell how hard he was struggling to keep the worry out of his voice. He sounded calm and even cold, but lingering below the surface was the slightest quiver of uneasiness, and one would have to be very familiar with the man to know it was there.
“Hold on,” I said quietly. “Alexandre isn’t going to do anything rash. He still wants to have some fun.”