Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 112287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
Jason was number one, and no, Vivek wasn’t jealous. He was in awe. The black-winged angel was Raphael’s spymaster for a reason; he seemed to divine data out of thin air at times. He was also generous with his knowledge now he’d seen that Vivek knew what he was doing, too.
Jason was the quietest angel Vivek had ever met, but he didn’t think he was flattering himself to believe they were becoming friends. A slow process, Jason on the opposite end of the social spectrum from Illium, but Vivek was more than content with the progression. It was obvious Jason took relationships of any kind seriously—if and when they did turn the corner into true friendship, it’d be the real deal.
The spymaster had already taught him never to disregard a young or weak vampire. “Often, they are the very people whose presence is forgotten in what can be opportune circumstances from a spymaster’s point of view.”
Tonight, Vivek paused long enough to give the bouncer a chance to speak.
“Thanks.” Tip disappearing into a stylishly cut pocket of the navy suit he wore with a black T-shirt, the buff man flashed him a grin, fangs glinting. “You’re in luck tonight.”
When Vivek raised an eyebrow, the vampire said, “Katrina’s here.” Breathless voice, his skin flushing. “The mistress in the flesh.”
Lightning flashes of exhilaration chased away the heaviness that was a constant in Vivek’s blood. “In the public salon?” As far as he knew, the owner of the Boudoir was always on the premises, but he’d never once spotted her in the seven months since he’d first discovered this place.
Katrina was a whisper, an enigma created of people’s fantasies.
Vivek knew the reality was apt to be a disappointment, but he couldn’t help himself. He was a man who liked to find answers. And come what may, he had to speak to her tonight.
There were no other options left.
27
“I don’t know if she’s still in the salon,” the bouncer said. “She came to speak to me for a moment earlier. She especially came to find me.” It was obvious he hadn’t expected the consideration from the woman at the head of an empire of carnality and excess. “I’m not sure where she is now.”
A minute later, when Vivek walked into the sumptuous space set up with richly upholstered armchairs, sofas, and a gleaming bar, the walls and the floor carpeted in dark ruby velvet, and the furniture antique with gilded accents, it was to find the room quiet.
Raising a hand in welcome, the barkeep turned to pour Vivek his usual. Sutrek was wearing the same type of thing he usually did: black pants and a fitted T-shirt in the same hue that showed off his body while remaining practical.
Jeans were not welcome in the Boudoir.
The thought of his upcoming drink made Vivek’s mouth water; he liked to tease Elena about her accidental blood café empire, but he was secretly addicted to the more decadent options among their offerings—and they now supplied the Boudoir.
Vivek nodded a hello at the male vampire who lounged on the chaise longue on the other side of the room, his ruffled white shirt open halfway down his ripped chest and his features languid. His skin was glossy white, inhuman in its marbled perfection.
The male didn’t respond, just watched Vivek skirt past a settee that held two stunning vampires dressed in skintight bodysuits. One was Black, the other white, both their skin tones on the extreme ends of the spectrum. Their bodysuits echoed their skin color, but their lips glistened ruby red, their hair scraped pitilessly back into identical buns at the backs of their heads.
He’d never seen them apart. Everyone called them the Twins.
The two looked at him with huge round eyes that held not avarice nor lust nor any other emotion he could name. What stared back at him from those eyes was age. He had no idea of the Twins’ age, but he had a feeling they were considerably older than Dmitri, and Raphael’s second was over a thousand years old. But not only were they old, they were . . . not quite human in any sense.
A whole different species.
Not every old vampire got this way, but the ones who did were damn fucking creepy.
The white twin ran her fingers over his sleeve. “Play with us, broken one.” Her voice was a sibilant whisper, her irises so pale as to almost merge into the rest of her eyes, her pupils tiny black pinpricks. “You interest us.”
“Not part of the merchandise,” Vivek said, and moved on.
He’d learned to be blunt with the Twins. Nothing else worked. And even that only worked part of the time. They seemed to have no concept of the word no, and from the way the majority of people reacted to them, he could see why. Each twin was striking on her own, but together, they were unearthly.