Leo de Froulay’s library was like something out of Architectural Digest—a parquet wood floor, cozy reading nooks and aisles upon aisles of leather-bound books.
His butler ushered me inside, announcing me to the primus, and left.
I walked the length of the library beneath a row of crystal chandeliers. Scattered among the bookcases were small tables displaying beautiful objects. A shimmering dark-glass globe, an antique Victrola, a ruby vase filled with ice-white flowers.
De Froulay waited at the back of the library behind an enormous ebony desk. “Good evening.” He closed a sleek silver laptop and stood up.
Tall and broad-shouldered, he was stunning even for a vampire, with a mane of white-blond hair and the sculpted face of a Greek god. He was dressed more casually than Moreau in a midnight-blue dress shirt and black pants, but his clothes had that just-right, handmade fit, even his polished leather shoes.
In another lifetime the Paris primus had been a famous French actor. When he walked the streets of Paris, humans literally ran into lampposts trying to get a better look at him. He didn’t have to lure humans to be his thralls. They lined up, begging to be taken.
“Ridley.” He spoke my real name—the one my mom had given me when I was two years old—with a slight hesitation. I knew he thought it was ugly. The first time we’d met, he’d asked why I had a boy’s name.
He circled his desk and held out his hands. “It’s good to see you.”
“Bon soir.” I put a smile on my lips and took his hands.
His fingers were cool. He kissed me on both cheeks with lips that were even colder. “You look très belle, ma p’tite. I like the dress.”
I shrugged and released his hands. I’d chosen a plain, pale-blue thingy that could’ve doubled as a slip, the most inoffensive dress I found in Moreau’s collection.
“It’s not mine. A loan from Enforcer Moreau.”
“Ah. Philippe has good taste.” He nodded at the red leather couch in a nearby alcove. “Please. Seat yourself.”
I complied, holding the slip-thingy’s tiny skirt against my thighs so I wouldn’t inadvertently flash him.
“Some blood-wine?” He turned to a wine cabinet.
“Yes, please.” I crossed one ankle over the other.
Proving to Primus de Froulay that Ridley Crawford wasn’t completely feral.
And yeah, I hated that he brought out that Ridley in me—the Ridley who eyed other, more girly women, wondering how they achieved those put-together looks without seeming to try.
Me, I’d had trouble walking in the high heels I’d borrowed to go with the dress. I’d never mastered those tiny, hip-swaying, pigeon-toed steps you needed to walk in three-inch heels. Besides, it took too damn long to get anywhere.
De Froulay poured two glasses of blood-wine and handed one to me, leaving the bottle on the cabinet’s black granite top. He touched his glass to mine and took a seat on the couch’s opposite end.
“How have you been? You are well?”
“I’m good, yeah.” I sipped the wine. My cells happily soaked up the blood, my vampire-half starved for the blood fix.
It was hands-down the best blood-wine I’d ever drunk. I sneaked a peek at the label. Some vineyard I’d never heard of.
De Froulay nodded at my glass. “You like it?”
“Yeah.” I heard myself and winced at my awkwardness. “I mean yes, it’s very good.”
“It’s from my private vineyard.”
“Of course it is,” I said under my breath.
He heard me; he was a vampire, after all. He lifted a dark brow and let it pass.
I set the glass on the coffee table. “Why am I here, Primus de Froulay?”
He pursed his perfect lips. “Can’t a father spend some time with his daughter?”
And there it was, finally out in the open. My pulse gave an agitated skitter.
Fuck, fuckity-fuck.
We’d first met three months ago. At that meeting he’d skirted around the issue, questioning me about my mom and where I’d spent the last twenty-seven years.
I had no doubt he’d had me investigated before he’d ever contacted me. He must know how things had been for my mom and me, and about that missing six months of my life before Crow had stumbled upon me.
But he couldn’t know I was a slayer. My cover was too good, with layers upon layers.
To the world, Ridley Crawford had graduated from a high school in small-town Pennsylvania, then enlisted in the Army and spent the next four years in various global hot spots.
Peel away another layer, and you’d find that after leaving the Army, Ridley had become a mercenary for hire.
What you wouldn’t discover was that I’d once been known by another name, one even I didn’t know because I was still a toddler when my mom changed it.
That my mom had been murdered by the vampires who’d come for me a few days after my twelfth birthday.
And the biggest secret? I never attended that high school in Pennsylvania or enlisted in the Army. Instead, I’d been recruited by Slayers, Inc. and spent my teenage years working my ass off to become a vampire-slaying machine.
“So,” I said. “You’ve decided I’m your daughter?”
And what did that mean to me?
Because being the daughter of a vampire syndicate primus was basically my worst nightmare come to life.
But I couldn’t just walk out. On the way here, I’d texted Crow to tell her I’d been summoned to de Froulay’s lair. She’d ordered me to play along, find out what he wanted. Of course, she didn’t know he was my father. No one at SI knew that.
“I’ve known since January. But—” he spread his hands—"a man in my position can’t be too careful. The DNA test confirmed it.”
He’d had my DNA tested? He had been thorough. The question was why?
I pressed my lips together. “Don’t worry. I don’t want a damn thing from you.” As far as I was concerned, he was my sperm donor, nothing more.
“No?” He leaned back against the couch arm, eyeing me.
My knee was jiggling. I forced it to still. My hand went to my pocket, seeking the reassurance of my blade. But I wasn’t wearing pants, I was wearing a dress, and my blade was tucked into the pricey leather crossbody bag I’d also borrowed from Moreau. I’d had to hand over both the bag and the blade before security allowed me into his lair.
Emotions flitted across de Froulay’s handsome face. Nostalgia, and a hint of tenderness. “You have the look of her. Charlotte.”
A beat passed before I realized he meant my mom. By the time I was old enough to know her name, she’d been using an alias.
I dug my fingers into the soft leather cushions on either side of my thighs. “Leave my mom out of this.”
I was proud of my even tone, when I wanted to carve the words into his skin with a hot knife.
His dark brows lowered. “It’s a compliment. She was a beautiful woman.”
I set my teeth. “I said, leave my mom out of this.”
“You understand that I didn’t know about you. She left before she was showing. If I’d known, I would’ve made arrangements—settled money on the two of you. I didn’t hear about you until years later, and then it was only rumors.”
I shook my head. I hadn’t known and I wasn’t sure if I believed him.
Still, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that he’d seduced my mom into becoming his thrall in the first place.
“She loved you. She didn’t want your goddamn money.”
His beautiful mouth tightened. “I didn’t take advantage of her, if that’s what you believe. She signed a contract like all of my thralls.”
A black heat filled my head. The hell with what Crow wanted. I wasn’t going to sit here and listen to this vampire—this monster who’d gotten my mom pregnant, then thrown her to the wolves—talk about her like she was just another thrall.
I jumped up—and wobbled on the freaking high heels. I moved my feet further apart and planted the heels on the parquet floor.
“Sit down,” de Froulay said in bored tones.
“No.” I balled my hands into fists. God, I wished I had my switchblade.
“Sit.” His voice sliced at me.
I wavered. The prick had that much raw strength. Then I lifted my chin, spun on my heel—without, by some miracle, losing my balance—and stalked toward the exit.
“Ridley.” He sighed. “Calm yourself. I have a proposition for you.”
I stopped but didn’t turn around. “What?”
“First, sit down. I promise not to speak of Charlotte.”
I heaved a breath and reminded myself I was a pro. This connection to the Paris primus could be valuable. And Crow would be waiting for my report.
Think like a slayer. Fight like a slayer. Live like a slayer.
I returned to the couch. “Fine. What’s this proposition?”
De Froulay rested a long arm along the couch back. “I’d like to hire you.”
“To do what?”
“Spy on Philippe Moreau.”
I blinked. Moreau was de Froulay’s top enforcer. The two men went way back.
“Why?” I asked baldly.
“Something’s up.” De Froulay tapped a finger on the couch back. “He’s…different. People are coming and going all the time in that Saint-Germain lair of his. I think his parties are a cover for something more. But I can’t look too deeply into it without alarming him.”
“A cover for what?”
He lifted a powerful shoulder in a shrug. “That’s what I’d like you to find out. There’s nothing specific, but I’ve known Moreau for a long time. Something’s off. He’s lying to me, and I want to know why—and about what.”
“Why not ask one of your own people to investigate?”
“He’s my oldest and most trusted enforcer, right below my lieutenant. My people are loyal to me, but all but a few report to him. That’s how the hierarchy works. I can’t chance him realizing I’m investigating him until I’m ready to move.”
“I’m only in Paris for another week. I’ve been offered a better job in America,” I added, in case he wondered why I was leaving Moreau’s employ after such a short period.
“That will work. You can look around, report to me and leave. We both know you’re good at disappearing. I’ll pay you well.” He named a stupid-high sum of money.
My mind worked. I was pretty sure Leo de Froulay didn’t know about Zaq Kral or the Tremblay Syndicate’s deal with SI. Whatever Moreau was hiding from him, that was part of it.
The money I didn’t care about, except that money was security. That homeless twelve-year-old I’d once been would’ve given anything for even a tenth of that sum.
And I would love to take down Moreau if I could do it without compromising Op A.
I picked up my wine glass, sipped. “I’ll have to think about it.”
“No.” His tone was you-will-do-this arrogant. “I need an answer now.”
“Then the answer is no.”
His mouth pulled down. He examined me from beneath lowered lids.
I returned his stare with a calm look of my own. If I agreed to work with him, it would be a transaction of equals.
Amusement glimmered in his eyes. Amusement, and a touch of respect. “Then when?”
“Friday night. Moreau’s having a party. You’ll be there?”
“Yes. I always stop by for a few minutes.”
I nodded and rose to my feet. “I’ll give you my answer then. If I accept your commission, it would be best if I don’t come here again.”
He stood up and I stuck out my hand. “Until Friday, then.”
He looked from my hand to my face. The amusement increased. He was laughing at me, but I didn’t care.
He took my hand, gave it a firm squeeze.
A chill went up my arm. I hoped I didn’t regret this.
“Until Friday. The butler will see you out.”
He returned to his desk but I felt his gaze on me until I’d left the library.
Outside, the night was warm and heavy with humidity. I rubbed my forehead. Sick of vampires. Sick of myself.
Moreau’s car was waiting for me, but I told him I’d decided to walk back instead. The human driver nodded and left.
De Froulay’s lair was just off the Seine in a quiet, exclusive neighborhood. I headed for the river and lost myself in the crowd strolling along the Right Bank.
How had he found out I was his daughter anyway? I’d thought no one but my mother and the vampires who’d murdered her knew who I really was.
And Mom was dead and I’d buried Ridley Crawford along with her. Or at least I thought I had.
I pulled out my phone and texted Crow.
Reaper: The meeting went as expected. I may be able to use him.
Crow: Keep stringing him along.
I responded with a thumbs-up and kept walking.
The moon was full. Music spilled into the air from nearby cafés, and the city’s lights sparkled in the dark, moving water. I heaved a breath, willing the tension to drain from me.
The crowd thinned until it seemed that all that was left were couples, their heads together, talking in that way lovers do, like they’re the only two people in the city. I eyed the couple in front of me, their arms around each other and so close they were basically one body with two heads.
A curious ache pressed against my breastbone. I massaged it with the heel of my hand and sped up until I was past them.
I’d never had a lover. Sex, yes, to see what the hype was about—but never a lover.
I wasn’t even sure what that meant—to make love. Sex was sex, right?
When Crow had first brought me to SI’s North American training camp, I’d been too broken to focus on anything but becoming a killing machine. Monsters were real, and they’d stolen my mother from me. The only way to stay sane was to learn how to fight back.
I’d lived for revenge.
Ate only to make myself stronger.
Worked my body until I collapsed into bed, then got up the next day and did it again, longer and harder.
Dedicated my every breath to eliminating the monsters who’d murdered my mom.
Think like a slayer. Fight like a slayer. Live like a slayer.
After I’d completed the training, I’d gone back to Pennsylvania to visit my mother’s grave. That day I’d made her a promise—to stake the vampires who’d assaulted and killed her.
Unfortunately, I didn’t know their names or what they looked like; I’d been too terrified to see anything but sharp fangs and blue-rimmed eyes. All I recalled was three men in black, and that they’d spoken to each other in fluent French.
But I’d bet good money Leo de Froulay could identify them.
In fact, there’d been a time when I’d wondered if he’d sent them, even though my mom had insisted he wouldn’t have.
My step hitched and I almost stumbled in the high heels.
What if instead of taking de Froulay’s money, I proposed a trade—the three vampires’ names in return for spying on Moreau?
A corner of my mouth lifted in a smile that made a passing human blink and recoil from me.
I blanked my face but inside my smile grew. I liked this idea. A lot.
Not only would I finally learn the names of the monsters who’d murdered my mother, I could cause Moreau a world of hurt.
The only downside was Crow. If she learned I’d made a side deal with de Froulay, she’d be pissed off.
And a smart person didn’t piss Crow off…unless they had a death-wish.