Lina felt so many different emotions at seeing Brandon again: overwhelming joy in one second, and nearly suffocating anxiety in the next. She’d been happy, angry, disappointed, and excited; so in love with him she could have smothered him in kisses, but then so furious with him, she could have kicked his ass—all at the same time. She’d tried to prepare herself mentally and emotionally before arriving in Kentucky, but all of the hurt, outrage, humiliation and sorrow she’d felt upon their breakup had come crashing back the moment she’d seen him. And although she’d relished the sensation of his arms around her again, his mouth against hers as they’d kissed, she’d been unable to shake the images in her mind of him kissing Pilar with the same passionate intensity.
Brandon had been anxious to see her, to talk with her. Lina could see it in his face, the urgent, almost pleading glances he kept shooting in her direction at the infirmary. While a part of her had wanted time alone with him, too, another had been somewhat relieved when Augustus had insisted that Brandon try to rest and recuperate. Although she still hadn’t learned much about what had happened to Brandon during his ordeal, it had obviously taken a physical toll on him. He looked gaunt to her, pale and haggard, his eyes ringed with heavy, exhausted shadows. Lina was worried about him.
And I’m still not ready to face him, she had realized. I don’t know when—or if—I’ll ever be.
While Brandon rested, Augustus offered her the grand tour of his home. The two had spent hours exploring the great house together and she was pretty much amazed that even Augustus hadn’t gotten lost more than once, considering the mansion was so enormous, you nearly needed a trail of breadcrumbs just to find the nearest bathroom.
During the tour, he led her to a small library that at first seemed so plain and unadorned compared to all of the other rooms she’d seen, she wondered why they were there. But then he opened a small closet and squatted down to face a safe tucked inside, and her curiosity was even more piqued.
“I have something for you,” he told her.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Not much,” he replied, punching in a quick combination of numbers into the keypad on the safe and opening the heavy door. Glancing over his shoulder at her, he smiled. “A small token of my thanks.”
“You don’t need to thank me,” she said, surprised and admittedly delighted.
He stood, walking back to her and carrying a small, powder-blue box in his hand. “Yes, ma chéri, I do. It took a tremendous leap of faith for you to trust me—trust in me—in Florida, and I know that. I appreciate it.” With a smile, he offered the box to her. “For you, Angelina.”
Normally she hated it when people called her by her full name. As a rule, her mother was the only one to do so, and then, only when Lina was in some pretty serious shit. But she had grown to enjoy the way her name sounded whenever Augustus spoke it aloud; it sounded elegant somehow. It made her feel beautiful.
She took the box from him and pretended to frown. “You didn’t have to do this.” When she saw Tiffany & Co. embossed on top of the box, her eyes widened. “You really didn’t have to do this.” And when she lifted the lid, she gasped softly. “Oh, Augustus.”
“The pendant is fashioned in an olive branch design,” he said as she slipped a gold bracelet from the cushioned lining inside the box, her hand trembling. A small circular stone—a round, smooth, amethyst—joined the two ends of a thin, filigreed chain, held in place by tiny wrought-gold leaves and vines. “The international symbol for peace and truce. Given the history between us, I thought it was appropriate. That whole ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’ thing.”
He was only teasing, turning her own words against her playfully, but still, she winced. “I was wrong about that,” she said. “About you.”
He inclined his head, his brow arched. “I’m not your friend?”
“No.” She tried to shoot him a glower, but couldn’t quite manage. “You’re not the enemy. You…you’re a good man, Augustus. And I’ve enjoyed getting to know you…to spend time with you.”
There was something sorrowful in her voice as she said this, as if she was telling him good-bye—which was stupid, she knew, because it wasn’t like they’d never run into one another again, or things would go back to the way they used to be between them. But at the same time, it felt that way to her, and something in her heart ached to realize just how much she would miss him.
He brushed the cuff of his hand lightly against her cheek. “As have I, Angelina.”
She admired the play of sunlight through the windows against the amethyst as he slipped the bracelet around her arm. The spherical stone lay against the pulse point of her wrist like a delicate lavender egg, and the gold infused with the warmth of her own skin tone, seeming to glow.
“I guess I don’t feel so bad about this, then,” she remarked, slipping her hand into the hip pocket of her jeans.
He smiled, curious and puzzled. “About what?”
Hesitantly she withdrew her hand. “This.”
She offered something to him, something she’d kept hidden in her pocket since they’d left Florida, something she’d been both wanting desperately to give to him, yet wanting with equal desperation to simply throw away, toss into a lake or river or bottomless pit, if only to keep secret the shameful truth of what she’d done.
His eyes widened in surprise as she uncurled her fingers, revealing a small clay vial against her palm.
“The first blood…?”
Lina nodded, shoulders hunched, like a naughty child expecting remonstration. “I…didn’t give all of it to Valien…that night at Tejano’s place. I just…” With a sigh, she looked down at the floor. “I know it was wrong to take it. It belongs to Valien’s people. But I…I kept thinking about all of the things we could do with it. All of the things we could fix. But most of all, I thought about you…what you were giving up. A way to cure Eleanor.”
“Angelina…” he said softly.
“I know there’s probably not enough left to cure her now.” Lina rushed on, mustering her resolve, wanting—no needing—to explain herself. “Not all the way. But maybe with all of those treatments Michel’s been giving her, it could help. It could buy her some more time.”
He didn’t say anything, so she just stood there with her gaze pinned to her toes, her hand outstretched, the vial of first blood between them.
“Please take it,” she whispered.
She felt his fingertips graze her palm as he took the little jar. When he then pressed his lips softly against the basin of her hand, she looked up at him.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Anytime,” she replied with a smile.
He tucked the vial of first blood in his shirt pocket, then pulled a folded envelope from this same pocket. To her surprise, he offered it to her, unmarked and unsealed. “This is for you, as well.”
She laughed. “I’m out of things to give you in return.”
She lifted the envelope flap and reached inside, slipping out the lone contents—a check. To her. In an amount that nearly made her faint.
“What…what is this?” she gasped, blinking owlishly at him.
“You wouldn’t accept my money before but I hope you will now. This is for your mother. For her medical bills.”
Her eyes flew wide. “How…how did you…?”
He averted his gaze, sheepishly. “I’m a telepath, ma chéri.”
She felt her cheeks burn with color, mortified. Her brows narrowed slightly as she straightened her shoulders and with a deep breath, tried to muster some pride. “I…I can’t take this.”
“Angelina…” he began as she held out the check, but she cut him short.
“It’s really nice of you, Augustus. Really. But the bracelet’s one thing. This is something else altogether. I mean, I know I’d never…could never get something like this for myself…” She glanced down at the smooth purple stone at her wrist. “But it didn’t break your bank or anything to buy it. And I’m sure this wouldn’t, either…” She waggled the check at him. “But I’ll take care of Mama’s bills on my own. It’s going to take some time…and some overtime…but I can work something out, maybe even so Mama doesn’t have to know about—”
“Please,” he pressed. “Take it.” When she opened her mouth to protest further, he added, “You were right before—I am that proverbial one percent. I realize I’m extremely fortunate in that respect. I have the ability to help your mother when I know it would be a burden for you to help her yourself, and it’s my pleasure to do so.” He cocked his head, trying to draw her gaze because she’d suddenly found herself staring down at her feet. “It’s my pleasure, Angelina.”
She didn’t object—how could she argue with that? Instead, with a soft cry, she flung her arms around his neck and hugged him fiercely, rising onto her tiptoes because he was so goddamn tall.
“Thank you, Augustus,” she whispered again, trembling as she began to cry. “You don’t know what this means to me.”
He held her gently, his arms around her waist, his head turned down toward hers. “You’re welcome, ma chéri.”
* * *
“Augustus?” Lina called hesitantly, peeking through the doors into his suite of chambers at the Davenant great house. Several hours had passed since they’d parted company and although she’d tossed and turned in bed, she’d been unable to quiet her mind long enough to rest. Finally, aggravated with herself, she’d abandoned her guestroom and made her way along the winding labyrinth of corridors, at last finding his room.
She’d tried knocking on the doors but had received no response. She tried again anyway as she leaned over the threshold. “Hello? Anyone home?”
Her breath drew short in amazement as she looked around the entry antechamber. The floors and walls were crafted from hardwood, probably hand-carved, too, from the looks of the intricately designed engravings she could see. Oil paintings gave the otherwise dark-toned room splashes of brilliant, gilded color. She recognized one of the portrait subjects as Eleanor.
During her tour, she’d learned of Augustus’s love for antiques, an appreciation and interest he’d shared with his son, Sebastian. “The Rococo period—France in the 1700s—was one of our favorites,” he’d confided.
“That’s when you born, wasn’t it?” she’d asked. “The time period you grew up in?”
“Why, yes,” Augustus had replied, surprised and visibly impressed that she knew this.
“That is Auguste Noblet, le Vicomte de Valmont,” she heard him say now from behind her as she paused to admire one painting in particular depicting a young boy in flouncy, frilly Rococo dress, a powdered wig, starched stockings and heeled shoes.
Lina turned and found him standing in the doorway of the adjacent room watching her with undisguised fascination. He cradled a half-empty tumbler of what appeared to be scotch on the rocks in his hand.
“I must have been no more than eight years old when that portrait was done,” he remarked. “And yet to this day, I remember clearly how itchy that godforsaken clown suit was—and how insufferably boring it was to stand still for so long.”
She laughed, but it came out sounding clumsy and shrill. Something about the intensity in his gaze as he regarded her made her feel sheepish and shy all at once, although she had no idea why.
“Bon jour, ma chéri,” he said, walking toward her. “What a lovely surprise to see you again.”
“I hope I’m not interrupting…” she began.
“Not at all.” He leaned down, brushing his lips against each of her cheeks in turn, and she breathed in deeply, unconsciously, the fragrance of his cologne. “I always have time for you, Angelina. Would you like to join me for a drink?”
She smiled. “I’d love to. What the hell. What are we having?”
“Today it’s Bloodhorse,” he told her, extending his elbow politely. “I’ve decided tequila doesn’t sit well with me.”
Lina laughed—a more relaxed and natural sound this time—and hooked her hand against his arm, letting him lead her into the next room. It turned out to be even more astonishing than the last, with three massive fireplaces constructed side by side, each one at least as wide as Lina was tall, and all crowned with a Greco-Roman styled relief sculpture series.
“It tells the story of the Trojan War,” Augustus said, following her gaze and realizing her distraction. “How all of the great kingdoms of ancient Greece once went to battle over the heart and hand of the world’s most beautiful woman.”
“Helen of Troy,” Lina murmured, tilting her head back to better admire the stone panels. “The face that launched a thousand ships.”
“You’ve read Homer,” Augustus remarked, walking over to a side table where a glass decanter and tumblers had been placed.
“Ages ago, when I was in school.” She glanced toward the leather-upholstered couches arranged near the fireplaces and jumped in surprise to realize they weren’t alone. “Oh, my God. I am interrupting.”
“It’s quite alright,” Benoît assured her with a chuckle as he rose politely from his seat. “Auguste and I were just catching up on business matters. Rather boring, I’m afraid.”
Lina could smell the bourbon on his breath, and didn’t miss the slight slur in his words. She couldn’t help but wonder how long Benoît and Augustus had been sitting around drinking—or how many sheets to the wind they had become in the process.
“I…I should go,” she mumbled, feeling foolish and intrusive, her cheeks burning with embarrassed color.
“Please stay,” Augustus said, and there was something in his voice, a barely imperceptible plea that she might have imagined, but kept her rooted in place. “I told you, ma chéri. I always have time for you. Tell me, is your guest room to your liking?”
“It…it’s gorgeous,” she said, accepting a glass as he offered it to her. “Everything here…it’s like a museum or something.”
Benoît chuckled again at this. “Auguste has always had a keen eye for antiques.” With a bawdy wink, he added, “I suspect it’s because he’s one himself.”
Lina laughed despite herself at this and even Augustus managed a slight, crooked smile for his brother’s benefit.
“Yes, ha, ha. Ta mere la pute,” he told Benoît drily.
“Perhaps the young lady could share her opinion on Monsieur Davenant,” Benoît suggested. “You’re a police officer, no? I imagine your line of work necessitates being a good judge of character.”
“I guess so.” Lina glanced uncertainly at Augustus. In truth, she hadn’t been able to say with any certainty whether or not she was still a police officer until earlier that afternoon. To her surprise, she’d received a phone call from Elías.
“You let me leave for Miami,” he’d said, forgoing any greeting or preamble.
“You wanted to see your son,” she’d replied.
“You let me abandon the case—and you.”
“It wasn’t your fault. Pilar tricked you.”
“She screwed with my head. Brainwashed me.”
“She planted the idea, that’s all. Because she loves you and she wanted you to be safe. And you didn’t abandon me. I can take care of myself.”
He’d managed to laugh. “Yeah, so I heard. That FBI guy, Simms, has been singing your praises ever since I got back today. Something about you blowing the Cervantes case wide open. Not to mention Cervantes himself.”
“Yeah, well, Marcus probably exaggerated a little bit. I had some help.”
She and Augustus had broken God alone knew how many laws when they’d infiltrated Tejano’s private circle. She’d cringed to consider just how many possible charges—both state and federal—the two of them could likely be facing now. Not to mention Valien, Jackson, and the rest of the corillo.
“You’ll have to tell me all about it when you get back in town,” Elías said. Then, after a pause, he’d added, “You…uh…are coming back, right?”
“I don’t know. Do I still have a job?”
He’d laughed again, back to his old self. “Definitely.”
When Benoît patted the couch cushion beside him in unspoken invitation, Lina sat down, keeping her posture primly rigid, her knees together, trying hard not to look as uncomfortable and socially awkward as she felt.
“You don’t trust Aaron Davenant?” She’d been speaking to Benoît, but it was Augustus who spoke first in reply.
“Not as far as I can throw him.” Tilting his head back, he drained the drink dry; she listened to the ice cubes clink softly together.
“Why?” she asked, frowning.
“Because the man is a criminal,” Augustus said. “His sole function in working for Diadem Global, Lamar’s international conglomerate, was to scout out new business opportunities for his father—mostly in weapons trafficking and the drug trade. He’s a contract killer—Lamar’s personal attack dog, sicced against any man, woman, or child who crosses the Davenant clan.”
“He’s also had the first blood,” Lina said pointedly. “And was pretty much a one-man illegal venture for Lamar from the sounds of things. Whether he liked it or not.”
Augustus made a snorting sound at this.
“Brandon said he saved his life, rescued him from Lamar,” Lina said.
“Then there was some benefit in the task for Aaron, ma chéri,” Augustus said grimly. “I guarantee it.”
“Auguste can’t read his mind to know for sure,” Benoît said, leaning toward Lina and dropping a conspiratorial—if not somewhat tipsy—wink. “That pisses him off.”
“Neither can you,” Augustus growled. “Neither could any of the Morins when we caught him trying to slit Tristan’s throat in California.”
“And it pisses you off,” Benoît observed again.
“You’re damn right it does. Especially when the salaud is currently a guest under my goddamn roof.”
“He’s injured, Auguste…” Benoît began.
“The most dangerous animal is a wounded one.” As he spoke, Augustus paced in front of the fireplaces, his long hair streaming behind him, his brows furrowed. “He’s a Davenant, Benoît. That makes him a threat to you, me, and to everyone in this house that I…” His voice faltered as he looked at Lina. “That I care about,” he finished quietly.
“One thing I don’t understand,” Benoît remarked, “is why Lamar would barter in the healing properties of both Aaron’s and Brandon’s blood, but apparently not use any of it for himself. I mean, you’d seen the man, Auguste…what was left of him anyway. Lamar was practically a dry-rotted husk with half a pulse. Why give to others—even for a price—something that he himself could have benefitted from?”
“Maybe someone can only reap the benefits of the first blood once,” Lina suggested. “Augustus thinks Lamar used it, too, years ago when he fell off his horse and hurt his back.”
“Julianne told me as much at any rate,” Augustus said. It was clear the mention of his former wife upset him, that the revelation of her betrayal was painful to him. His brows narrowed and he set his empty glass down on a nearby table, heading for another doorway. “Excuse me, won’t you?” he murmured. “I…I’ll be back.”
“Of course.” Benoît nodded as Augustus left the room.
Lina fidgeted in her seat, shifting her weight.
“Would you like another drink?” Benoît asked, rising to his feet. “I, for one, am ready for a refill.”
“No, thank you. I think maybe I should go,” Lina said. “I didn’t mean to upset Augustus.”
“You didn’t, child,” Benoît reassured her with a smile, removing the glass stopper from the etched decanter and pouring a hearty dollop of bourbon into his glass. “Julianne did. Augustus trusts very few people. And he cares for even less.”
As he walked back toward the sofa, refreshed drink in hand, he glanced behind him toward the shadow-draped doorway through which Augustus had disappeared. “He’s lonely,” he said in a quiet voice, once apparently satisfied that the two of them were alone. “He won’t admit it aloud, not to me, not to anyone, I suspect, but I know him. I know how his mind works, and his heart.”
Benoît sat down beside her on the couch. After a long moment during which they both simply sat there, cradling their drinks in their hands and staring at the empty fireplaces, he said, “Eleanor is dying, you know.”
“I’m sorry?” Lina glanced at him; he’d spoken so quietly, she was sure she’d misheard him.
“Eleanor,” Benoît said, glancing her way. “She’s very ill…”
“The blood disorder.” Lina nodded, puzzled by this turn of conversation, seemingly apropros of nothing. “Augustus and Brandon have both told me about it.”
“She’s been in California the past four years receiving treatment in the hopes of prolonging her life,” Benoît said, and Lina nodded again, aware of this. “But in the past year…and with Sebastian’s death…I’m afraid the stress has gotten to her. Her condition has worsened. And it just keeps getting all the more so.”
“I don’t understand,” Lina said.
He took a long swallow of bourbon. “Auguste can’t touch her anymore,” he said. “Her body can no longer withstand most physical contact. He told me that the slightest embrace, any more than the most glancing of touches and within moments, it looks as though he’s beaten her, the bruising is so severe. She literally cannot bear it. Before his own death, Michel Morin had given her a prognosis of six months or so. And most likely, much less.”
Oh, my God, Lina thought. She’d known all along that Eleanor’s illness was serious. They’d only recently buried Lisette Morin, Tristan’s mother, who had died from the same ailment. But even though the woman had always seemed frail, Lina had never guessed the full magnitude of her deterioration. Or what it was doing to her husband.
“He released his other wives,” Benoît said. “When Eleanor was here, he seldom bothered with the lot of them. When she was gone, he was with them only out of loneliness for her. Soon he will have no one.”
“You think he would have kept them if he’d known?” Lina asked.
“What, about her condition?” Benoît asked, and she nodded. With a sad chuckle, he said, “He knew, ma chéri. He’s known all along. Michel always kept him up-to-date on her progress…or lack thereof.”
Lina blinked in surprise. “Why did he let his other wives go, then?”
“He says it was to prove his devotion to Eleanor,” Benoît remarked. “But I think they never really satisfied his loneliness. Perhaps with them…or without…in the end, it made no difference. He didn’t want them.”
With a groan, he stood, setting aside his glass. “Would you do me a favor, ma chéri? Two of them, really. First, keep this conversation between us. Auguste is a proud man. He admits nothing easily or readily, even to me, and it would humiliate him to know I’ve breached his confidence so.”
Then why did you? Lina wanted to ask, but held her tongue.
“Second,” Benoît continued. “When he returns, would you tell him I waited as long as I could, but I had to go. It’s been a long day and I’m exhausted.”
“Sure.” Lina nodded. “Of course.”
“Thank you.” Benoît took her by the free hand and gave her knuckles a light kiss. “He was right about you, by the way.”
“Who? Augustus? What do you mean?”
“He told me you were perhaps the most remarkable woman he has met since Eleanor,” Benoît replied with a smile.
“He said that?” Lina asked softly, touched.
Benoît nodded. “And the most confounding,” he added with a wink, and Lina couldn’t help herself but laugh.
After he’d taken his leave, she glanced at the nearest clock and realized Augustus had been gone at least twenty minutes. As Benoît had noted, it was getting late, and in his absence now, she felt intrusive all over again.
“Hey, uh, Augustus?” she called out. The high ceilings and hardwood floors did little to dampen the resonance in the room, lending her voice a slight echo in the otherwise undisturbed silence. “Augustus?”
She went to the doorway he’d used and peered over the threshold. It was dark inside, with all of the lights dimmed and drapes pulled except for a pair of French doors, which stood open wide, leading out onto a narrow balcony, and through which moonlight filtered into the room. By this dim glow, she could make out the hulking shape of an enormous, four-poster bed toward the back of the room, a chest of drawers to her right, a looming armoire to her left.
“Augustus?” she whispered, stealing into the room. The farther she ventured among the shadows, the more her eyes adjusted to the gloom. She saw the bedroom maintained in the same neat, orderly fashion as the rest of his private rooms; the walls adorned with similar framed paintings, although these all appeared to be landscapes and still life studies instead of portraits.
Augustus lay across his bed on his back, with one arm draped across his face to cover his eyes. Benoît’s revelation about Eleanor left Lina moved with sorrow and pity for him. She remembered seeing Augustus and Eleanor together in Lake Tahoe. She had secretly found their relationship pretty remarkable, if only because it had lasted for more than two hundred years. Augustus had waited on Eleanor’s every beck and call; he’d doted on her with an attentive, adulating devotion that—although she would have been loath to admit it at the time—Lina had found endearing. At the time, she’d wished that she and Brandon might enjoy a love as strong as that, even though she knew she couldn’t hope for any nearly as long.
Things sure have changed since then, she thought sadly.
She paused, caught in a stripe of moonlight that filtered in through the French doors, and tried to galvanize herself into motion You’ve seen him now. He’s asleep. Let’s get the hell out of here.
Lina turned to tiptoe back out of the room, but his voice, low and hoarse, stopped her in her tracks.
“Angelina.”
She turned slowly and saw he’d lowered his arm from his face. He was looking at her; she could see the glint of that same wayward moonbeam reflected in his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I…I didn’t mean to wake you.”
He sat up, swinging his legs around. His long hair spilled over his shoulder, luminous in the soft glow spilling in through the French doors.
“I-I was just going to leave,” she stammered as he stood. “I… Benoît is already gone. He left a little while ago.”
Augustus walked toward her, closing the distance between them in only a few swift strides. All the while, his eyes remained locked on her, dark and intense, his gaze unwavering.
“He told me about Eleanor,” Lina said. “I’m so sorry, Augustus. I just…I don’t know what to—”
Her voice cut short as Augustus hooked his hand against the back of her head. He pulled her forward into a fierce, sudden kiss. She stiffened, uttering a startled, muffled mewl at first. Then, as he cradled her face with his free hand, brushing his tongue urgently against the tight seal of her mouth, she whimpered softly and relaxed against him, letting her lips part.
It was like a dam had opened, all of the desire the two had been keeping in such careful check suddenly flooding out. Augustus uttered a low groan, his tongue tangling with hers, exploring her mouth, tasting her as if she was something—or someone—exquisite to be savored. For a long moment, they remained that way, only parting at last so they could both gasp for shuddering breath.
“Forgive me,” he whispered. “I…I shouldn’t have…”
“No.” Lina shook her head, trembling. “It…it’s alright.”
He closed his eyes as if pained. “You don’t know how much I’ve wanted to do that…how I’ve fought all day not to…”
She shook her head again, pressing her hand to his face. “It’s alright.”
“It’s just…I mean…” Opening his eyes, he looked directly at her, his expression torn. “My God, I am going to miss you.”
Lina rose onto her tiptoes, hugging him fiercely, burying her face against the side of his throat. “I’m going to miss you, too.”
“Every day since Michel told me about Eleanor, I’ve felt so alone…so hollow inside,” he said, a desperate admittance that nearly broke her heart. “There’s a difference between surviving and living. Surviving is…breathing and eating, marking the passage from sunrise to sunset, but living…living is finding someone to feel passionate about…something to find pleasure in. Every day I’ve struggled to find a reason to continue living when Eleanor is gone. She’s all I’ve ever really known of passion…of love. Now with Michel gone…and Sebastian…there seemed even less cause for me to stay…to live…”
“No.” Lina drew back, shaking her head, her brows narrowing. “Don’t talk like that, Augustus. Don’t you dare. You have plenty of reasons. Brandon needs you—now more than ever. So does—”
“But I feel like you’ve given me that reason,” Augustus interjected quietly, drawing her to complete silence. “You make me want to keep living, Angelina. Because when I’m with you, that’s how I feel inside…alive again.”
In the silence that followed, his words from Cervantes’s house came suddenly, hauntingly to her mind…
You still don’t believe there are portions of our nature that are incontrovertible? Because if you don’t, then what I’m left to believe is that what happened earlier between us was by choice—our free wills. That our behavior was well within our power to control or prevent…and we both chose not to.
He’d been toying with her at the time, or so she’d thought, but the truth—then, as now—was that she had chosen not to stop herself that night with Augustus. The blood lust may have heightened her senses, but the desire she’d felt—and acted upon—had been all her own. A part of her had died when Brandon betrayed her. And in that moment, she realized something she’d known inside all along, something she’d been trying hard to deny…
Augustus makes me feel alive again, too.
He met her gaze, his eyes dark and intense, filled with sorrow—and longing. “I don’t want to hurt Brandon.”
“I don’t either,” she whispered.
“But I just…I can’t…” His voice dissolved into a low, hungry groan as she tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer to her, kissing him again. Hooking the hem of her shirt with his hands, he tugged it up, pulling her arms free from the sleeves, slipping it over her head. He threw it aside as she reached for his waistband, tugging the tails of his shirt loose from beneath it.
While she unbuttoned his shirt, he slid his arms around her back, unfastening the pair of hooks securing her bra. As it tumbled away, he took a long moment to cradle her bare breasts in his hands, to relish the warmth of her flesh. Dipping his head, he slipped her left nipple into his mouth. As he teased it with his tongue, drawing circles against her warm flesh, she gasped in delight.
Using the edges of his front teeth, he first nipped her nipple lightly, then tugged more insistently, and she closed her fingers in his hair. With his hands, he explored her torso, caressing every contour and curve and she moaned, pulling on his hair, dragging his mouth away from her breast so she could kiss him.
“I want you inside me,” she begged, shoving the front of his shirt open, then pushing his pants down. “Please, Augustus. Please…!”
She unsnapped her jeans and he helped her push them down from her hips, along with her panties. He cradled her buttocks in his hands, then lifted her off her feet. Her long legs wrapped around his hips, and he pushed her back into the wall with enough force to knock a nearby framed painting askew. She felt the thick head of his arousal press against her threshold, and dug her nails into the muscles of his back, whimpering in eager anticipation. As she did, she happened to look beyond his shoulder toward the terrace doorway.
“Augustus—!” she gasped, stiffening all at once, clutching at him in bright, sudden alarm.
He jerked his head to look over his shoulder and saw what had startled her—Aaron Davenant outside on the balcony, his legs folded, his hand extended to balance himself as he crouched, catlike and nimble, on the stone balustrade. He stared through the open French doors at them, his eyes glittering in the moonlight.
Lina didn’t know how long he’d been there, but she dropped her feet to the ground and shrank behind Augustus, frightened. All she kept thinking was what Augustus had told her and Benoît about him:
The most dangerous animal is a wounded one… He’s a contract killer—Lamar’s personal attack dog, sicced against any man, woman, or child who crosses the Davenant clan.
“Banging the kid’s girl, Augustus?” Aaron asked, the corner of his mouth hooking wryly. “That’s got to be a new low—even for you.”
“You son of a bitch…!” Augustus seethed, his brows narrowing with murderous outrage, but Aaron was gone, slipping sideways off the railing and dropping to the ground two stories below.
“Augustus,” Lina exclaimed as he rushed across the shadow-draped room for the balcony, jerking up his pants as he went. “Wait!”
She ran after him as he burst out onto the terrace. Gripping the balustrade with both hands, he leaned over, his long hair whipping in a sudden gust of wind. She followed his gaze and could make out a silhouetted figure cutting across the rolling plain of Bluegrass behind the mansion: Aaron headed north toward one of the grazing fields on the farm.
“He’s on the run,” she said.
“Not if I stop him,” Augustus said grimly. To her surprise, he swung one leg gracefully up and over the top rail of the balcony. Straddling the balustrade, he turned to her, pressing his hand gently to her cheek and leaning down to kiss her. “Stay here, ma chéri.”
“What? Wait—!” Her heart suddenly shuddered in alarm as he leaped from the balcony. She had no idea how far it was to the ground—or how Aaron had managed to make the drop—but knew she’d break both of her legs—and probably her goddamn neck to boot—if she’d tried the same stunt. “Augustus!”
She leaned over, eyes flown wide, and watched as he landed on his feet, as lithe as a cat. His knees barely buckled at the impact with the ground, his balance unshaken. He looked up at her.
“Wait here,” he called. “Do not try to follow me.”
“What are you going to do?” she cried.
His brows narrowed. “I’m going to catch that son of a bitch,” he promised her. “And then I’m going to kill him.”