Why put off until tomorrow what could be interrogated today?

From the outside, Hôtel de la Belle Etoile had changed very little since the last time Tatiana visited Paris several decades ago. She left Mikkel to direct the unloading of the car and went inside, pulling off the mandatory burqa once she entered the lobby. Some of the staff were different. And now the windows sported the latest in helioglazing, as did all the hotels run by and reserved for vampire nobility. Gone were the days of suffocating velvet drapes and interior rooms.

Other than those changes, it was still the same beautifully maintained interior, decorated in unrelenting Charles X style. The lush drapery, expanses of marble, gilt chandeliers, and yards of carved paneling suited her perfectly. This was the level of style a woman of her rank should enjoy when traveling. Still, being here meant the blood whore might yet breathe.

That was enough to ruin her trip.

Maybe she’d recover the ring. A potential bright spot. She relaxed as Mikkel joined her and the fringe concierge bowed his greeting. ‘Mistress Tatiana, how lovely to see you and your guest.’

‘I’m tired. Where’s my room?’ Fawning bored her, unless she was in the mood for it. Which she wasn’t, strangely enough. Must be stress.

‘Of course. We have the Empress Suite prepared for you.’ He smiled like a dog waiting for a biscuit. ‘I see the bellman is taking your things up. Is there anything we can do or provide to help you settle in? Anything at all?’

Sycophant. She smiled back, perfectly willing to test his mettle. ‘Female twins. No blondes. Not older than twenty-five, and still virgins.’ She glanced at her diamond and platinum Cartier. ‘Say … half an hour? I’d hate to spend my first night in Paris without a proper French meal.’

‘Good choice, darling,’ Mikkel said, giving her a wink. She returned his gaze and rested her hand on his forearm, imagining how delicious that blood would taste and how earth-shattering the sex would be afterward. There was nothing like a good scrog with virgin blood in your veins.

The concierge’s head bobbed in agreement. ‘Children then, my lady?’

A harsh memory flipped her smile to a frown. ‘Never children. Ever. Do you understand me?’

The concierge’s beatific glow faltered for a moment, then he recovered. ‘Of course, my lady, never. I shall make your request my number one priority.’

Muscle quivered beneath her hand. She relaxed her grip on Mikkel’s arm. ‘You do that.’

Chapter Nine

Eight feet by ten feet.

Chrysabelle counted off the room in steps. Slightly smaller than the guest cells at the Primoris Domus.

Not a useful tool anywhere. Not since Doc had taken the dinner fork back. Black paint obscured the single porthole. She used her nail to scratch near the edge. A thin line of paint came away. Well, that had potential.

Dismantling the fold-down bed was another option, but it seemed pretty sturdy. Her one attempt to rip the metal structure free had ended with her losing her grip and smacking her head on the opposite wall. The effort had also scraped the foundation off the backs of her hands. Hopefully, her face was still covered. Hard to tell without a mirror, but the chances this vampire would have one of those lying around was slim. Traditional silver-backed mirrors reflected a vampire’s true visage – the demon side of them. Not pretty. Not the way most nobles wanted to think of themselves, which is why they favored the pricey gold-backed mirrors. But this vampire wouldn’t have the money for a luxury like that.

She paced, getting angrier with each step. What had made her test him like that? With that much bloodlust in him, he could have killed her.

Maybe she didn’t care if he drained the life out of her.

Maybe he still would.

She stopped pacing. Her hand strayed to her throat. She rubbed at the curve of flesh between ear and shoulder. He would come to her angry. Punishing. He’d strike fast, his fangs sliding in with that white-hot spark of pleasure, breaking her open, sucking her in. Yes …

No.

She shuddered, instantly repulsed and compelled by the thought. How could she entertain such a fantasy? She was free. The days of servitude ended. Her blood rights were finally hers again. So why the drift into the ways of the past?

She knew why. Rushing to the single wall sconce, she thrust her wrist toward it. Holy mother, get me through this. Her veins pulsed fat and blue. Hypervolemia was setting in. Without a patron, without some way to rid her system of the extra blood, the buildup would continue to muddle her brain. Make her crave the delicate pain of fangs piercing her skin.

His fangs.

Her release.

Shame crept over her tightening body, even though she knew she couldn’t help herself. For the hundredth time, she scanned the room. No place to dispose of the excess. Not to mention that opening a vein in scent range of her vampire warden had ‘disastrous idea’ stamped all over it. She had to escape before she did something she might not live to regret. One by one, she unbolted the locks and eased the door open.

Doc leaned against the wall across from her cell. He gave her a little wave. ‘Going somewhere?’

She slammed the door shut. The varcolai couldn’t be out there all night. Could he? She took her frustration out on the porthole.

Finally, she turned off the light and lay down. The cot’s thin, itchy blanket stank of unwashed wool. Doing her best to ignore it, she closed her eyes and listened as hard as she could for any sign her guard might leave.

Nothing.

Then nothing turned into sleep.