Zaq had left the squat. I jolted awake, heart in my throat.
I turned over to make sure. His side of the bed was empty, the sheets cool, like he’d left a while ago.
Stupid, stupid, stupid to let myself fall asleep. To count on the fact that I was a light sleeper.
I knew I couldn’t trust him.
He was my prisoner, even if sometimes things between us felt…different. Like we were friends, or at least colleagues. Two people working together.
But I’d been getting by on three or four hours of sleep ever since we’d left Moreau’s lair, and it had finally caught up with me. On top of that, I’d eaten a big meal. The combination had taken me under like I’d been drugged.
I flipped to my other side. My backpack was still where I’d left it. Maybe I was wrong? Maybe he was still in the squat?
I sprinted down the hall to the bathroom and banged on the closed door. In my panic, I almost called Zaq’s real name but remembered in time.
“Kevin? You in there?”
“It’s me.” A woman I didn’t know responded. “Gigi.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
Damn damn damn.
I darted back to my room, where I pulled on socks and shoved my feet into my boots, then grabbed my backpack and scrambled down the ladder.
Cursing myself for not tying Zaq’s ankle to mine. Hell, I should’ve chained his goddamned arms and legs together.
The front door was nailed shut. I pulled open the back door and leapt over the cinderblock to the ground.
In the yard next door, a middle-aged man in a Yankees shirt was barbecuing ribs. I waved an arm. “Hey!”
He regarded me from under lowered brows. “You talkin’ to me?”
“Sorry, sir.” I dredged up an apologetic smile. “Can I ask you something?”
He shrugged a beefy shoulder. “You can ask. Don’t mean I’ll answer.”
“Have you seen a man wearing a blue cap? He’s about this tall”—I held my hand above my head at approximately six feet—“and he has a dark beard.”
“Yeah, I seen him. He went that way.” He pointed toward the street.
“Thanks.”
“About thirty minutes ago,” my informant added. “Maybe more. No way you’ll catch him now.”
Thirty minutes? He could be in Manhattan by now. Or on his way to Maryland.
Damn damn damn.
He could be anywhere.
I jogged around to the front of the brownstone. The light from the setting sun slanted down across the street, warming the buildings’ weathered chocolate-colored stones. People sat on stoops, staring at their phones or talking with friends. A group of kids kicked a soccer ball around, their happy cries filling the air.
It seemed like everyone in the neighborhood was outside taking in the cooler evening air. Everyone, that is, but Zaq.
My blood pounded in my ears. I’d fucked up—bad. I wiped my sweaty palms on my pants.
I returned to the house and questioned Dex, who confirmed that Zaq had left about a half an hour ago.
“He didn’t say when he’d be back?” Who was I kidding? He wasn’t coming back.
“No.” My friend’s broad face creased with concern. “Why? Is there a problem?”
“No.”
I passed a shaky hand over my eyes. He was gone. He could be anywhere by now. He knew this city as well or better than I did.
Damn damn damn. I’d have to contact Crow, let her know.
Despite the heat, the thought of my alpha’s anger sent a chill down my spine.
I returned to my room and rummaged through my backpack. He’d taken one of my blades but left the other two. I undid the hidden inner pocket. The syringe was still there but the vials were gone.
I grabbed my wallet and looked inside.
Great. He not only had a weapon, he had cash and a MetroCard.
A heavy stone of disappointment lodged in my chest. I sank into a crouch, my arms wrapped around my knees.
I’d trusted Zaq. Maybe I shouldn’t have, but I had. We’d made a deal and I’d expected him to keep his side of it.
He’s a syndicate prince. What did you expect?
Hell, he’d warned me himself not to trust him, said he only lied “about the important things.”
I knuckled my eyes.
Think. Where would he go?
Not to his father. Moreau had planted enough doubt that I was reasonably certain Zaq wouldn’t contact Karoly. Not yet.
But he might try to get in touch with his brothers. Last I’d heard, Rafe was in Montreal, but Gabriel was in New York.
So what was the worst that could happen if Zaq got in touch with Gabriel? Gabriel knew his attacker had been from SI. Zaq couldn’t add much to that except to tell his brother about me.
Okay. I drew a centering breath through my nostrils.
I knew I should contact Crow, explain what had happened and ask how to proceed. If I stayed at the squat, Zaq might return with reinforcements, but I didn’t think he would.
He was smart enough to know that if he returned with reinforcements, he might make things worse. Taking me out wouldn’t save his brothers. They’d still be in danger.
Plus, the man was a lone wolf. He went his own way, did his own thing—like taking a commercial flight instead of a private jet, and traveling without a staff to smooth his way.
So if Zaq had left, it was to do his lone-wolf thing, something he wanted to investigate on his own.
So. I’d leave the squat but remain in the area in case he returned.
And I wouldn’t contact Crow. Not yet, anyway.
I waited for hours. Forcing myself to remain within sight of the squat even though every muscle and bone and nerve in my body screamed to go after Zaq.
Finally, around one a.m., my patience was rewarded.
I’d moved every half-hour so as not to attract attention. Currently I was hunkered down on the curb outside a bodega, nursing a cream soda. The street had emptied until it was just me and a couple a half-block away who were simulating sex without removing their clothes—or at least, that’s what it looked like.
A packed car drove by blasting Pitbull’s “Don’t Stop the Party.” Somewhere nearby a siren wailed.
I took another drink of soda. At one point, I’d gone back inside to use the bathroom and change into a clean tank top and jeans shorts. I’d also tucked my hair up into a knit hat—even though it was too damn hot for a knit hat and my head was sweating—and dimmed my dhampir-glow.
It had worked; nobody except for a couple of douchebag men had paid me any attention. And they’d backed off when I’d taken out my switchblade and started tossing it from hand to hand.
The hair on my nape lifted. Someone was watching me. I palmed the switchblade and rose to my feet, scanning the area.
In the alley next to the bodega, the shadows seemed thicker, darker. I took a fighting stance, legs apart, knees bent, and moved my thumb to the blade’s catch but didn’t press it.
“Who’s there?”
The shadows stirred, and Zaq stepped out of them and walked toward me. He stopped a foot away, gazing down at me with hooded eyes. “Hey.”
Relief flooded me. Relief and anger.
I shoved the blade back into my pocket. “Where the fuck have you been?”
“I had some things to do.”
“Yeah?” I gripped the front of his T-shirt and got in his face. “Next time,” I said between my teeth, “take me.”
He grabbed my wrist and dug his thumb into a pressure point, forcing me to release him. “You knew I’d come back.”
“No, I didn’t know. Not for sure, anyway.” I rubbed my wrist, barely noticing the pain. “You snuck out while I was sleeping. Why would I think you were coming back?”
Zaq grabbed my upper arms and jerked me closer, brow lowered. “Because my brothers’ lives are on the line, that’s why.”
We glared at each other. Beneath the beard-scruff, a muscle jumped in his cheek.
The bodega door opened, and a woman pushed past us, juggling a toddler and a bag of groceries.
Zaq cursed and pulled me into the alley. “You want to have this out? Fine.”
I blew out a breath. “Not out here. Let’s go back to the squat.”
I waited for him to start walking and followed on his heels like a sheepdog with one sheep. Zaq tolerated that for about three seconds before dropping back and putting an arm around my shoulders. I gave his arm—and his shaggy-haired and somehow-still-sexy self—the side-eye.
“We’re supposed to be ‘friends,’ remember?” he said out of the corner of his mouth. “Act like you like me.”
“Right.” I leaned into him, pretending to play up to him. But it wasn’t all pretense, because honestly? I leaned into Zaq because it felt good. I turned my head and took a surreptitious sniff of his spicy scent.
I was still pissed that he’d snuck out like that. But he’d come back. I’d been right to trust him.
My whole body went loose with relief. I wouldn’t have to inform Crow he’d gone AWOL.
Zaq didn’t know—or maybe he didn’t care—what a tightrope we were walking here. One misstep, and he was dead. And maybe me along with him.
Back in the room, I dragged off my hat and scraped my fingers through my sweaty hair. “All right. Talk. Where did you go?”
He fingered his stubbled chin like he was deciding what to tell me. Or whether to tell me anything.
“Look,” I said, “this isn’t going to work if we can’t trust each other.”
“But I can’t trust you,” he said almost gently. “Can I?”
That hurt. “I gave you my promise that I wouldn’t stake you.”
“Actually, you didn’t. Not in so many words.”
I thought back and he was right. I opened my mouth, but he crossed to me and laid his hand over my lips.
“Don’t say anything. That way you won’t have to break your word if it comes down to it.”
“Bu…”
“No. Don’t.” He pressed harder. “I mean it. Okay?”
I heaved a frustrated breath. “Okay.”
He took his hand away.
“But I wouldn’t break my word.”
“Quiet.” He set a finger back on my mouth.
Our eyes met. I felt a jolt, and suddenly, the anger and distrust between us morphed to sexual tension. The air almost crackled.
Zaq took his finger from my mouth. But instead of moving away, he combed his fingers through my hair, tucking a strand behind my ear, playing with the ends.
He curved his fingers around my nape. “Your hair is so pretty. Like sunlight in Greece. Or the Caribbean.”
His husky tones rumbled through me like a purr. I wanted to rub my head against his palm like a cat.
But the discipline instilled in me from a young age made me push at his arm.
His eyes sparked with something I couldn’t interpret—aggression? possessiveness?—and his fingers tightened on my nape. Then he exhaled and released me.
I stepped back, trying to put some distance between us, but came up short against the wall. Zaq moved with me like we were partners in a slow, sensual dance.
Too close. He was too close.
Too. Close.
My skin prickled with awareness. His body warmed mine from my breasts to my thighs, and his hot male scent filled my nostrils.
I closed my eyes, but that made it worse. Now he was all around me. Zaq—everywhere.
And I wanted more.
More heat.
More scent.
More touching. Because paradoxically, he was both too close and not close enough.
Zaq set his hand on the wall beside my head. I opened my eyes—and got lost in his green-and-gold irises. He had a dark, almost black line around the outside.
What were we talking about?
Trust. Right.
I brought my focus from his eyes to his nose. Filled my lungs with air and expelled it again.
And with regret, turned back into a slayer.
I slipped under his arm and put some space between us. “Fine. You don’t have to trust me, but you do have to work with me.”
He faced me. “I came back, didn’t I?”
“Yes, but…” I tightened my jaw and decided to save my breath. Arguing with him would get me nowhere; he clearly intended to do whatever he thought best. I’d just have to make sure he didn’t give me the slip again.
“I took some cash and a switchblade,” he said. “I bought a burner phone and some minutes, but I haven’t used it yet. And no, you can’t have the phone—and no, it’s not on me. I hid it before I showed myself to you.”
Okay, that was honest. “Fair enough.”
“And I found the tranquilizer.”
“Standard procedure. I had to be sure.” I sounded defensive, even to myself. Still, it was the truth.
Zaq’s nostrils flared. He took a step closer.
“Fuck your procedure. I’m willing to work with you because I need you and because I don’t want to be glancing over my shoulder everywhere I go, wondering if and when you’ll catch up to me. But you tranq me again and I will make you hurt, understand?”
All the spit left my mouth. Goosebumps popped up on my arms, and I had to fight the urge to back up.
Even after nine years and thousands of hours of training, an angry vampire still made me uneasy, and right then my brain didn’t see much difference between Zaq and a vampire.
My fingers flexed at my sides. I wanted the comfort of my blades, but I suspected that would only piss him off more.
And I wasn’t afraid of him. Not really.
The fear was a primitive reflex, a throwback to the twelve-year-old who hadn’t been able to fight back.
I dipped my chin in a terse nod. “Understood.”
He stared at me for a long moment. Then he shut his eyes, shook his head. Angry at both himself and me.
And don’t ask how I knew—I just did.
“I went to the library,” he said.
I blinked. “The library?”
Not what I’d expected him to say. Not that I knew what I had expected, but definitely not that.
“Yeah. The humans follow my family—you know that. Social media, the tabloids. I wanted to see what they were saying about me and my brothers.”
“And?”
“There was a picture of Gabriel and Rafe the night after I was captured. And after that, nothing for two weeks. Until today when some paparazzi put up a picture of Gabriel with a woman named Camila Vittore. You know who she is?”
“Just that she and Gabriel were together for a couple years and then when things seemed to be getting serious, she took off.”
He nodded. “Well, she’s back. They were photographed near Gabriel’s building on the Upper East Side.”
“Is that a problem?”
“Hell if I know.” He dragged a hand down his face. “Gabriel must have heard I’m missing. Father would’ve told him, and besides, he knew I was on my way back to New York. So why bother with Camila now unless she came to him? And if that’s true, the timing is pretty damn suspicious. Maybe she’s working with someone—Jessa, for example.”
“Not Jessa.” I shook my head. “Vittore’s not with SI, and we wouldn’t send anyone but a trained slayer into a situation like that. But I suppose she could be working for the Tremblays.”
Zaq pounced on that. “So the Tremblays are part of this. Victorine’s lieutenant was there in the airport, and later at Moreau’s lair. SI’s working with them.”
I hesitated, not sure how much to admit to him. But I needed him to trust me. “Not by my choice. The decision to work with Prima Victorine was made by someone higher up. I can tell you that she came to us first.”
His lip curled. “That’s fucked up. Since when does SI take sides in a syndicate feud?”
“They don’t. Not usually. In fact, this is the first time I’ve ever heard of it.”
“That you know of.”
I shrugged and glanced away, flashing on the video of Étan with his teeth in Zaq’s throat. Guilt slunk, weasel-like, through my chest and settled in the pit of my stomach.
Stepping closer, I touched Zaq’s arm. “I had no clue they’d drink your blood. That was never part of the plan. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop them. I had to pretend I didn’t care or Moreau would’ve kicked me out of his lair.”
His muscles hardened under my fingers. Darkness smoldered way back in his eyes. “They’ll pay. Étan—and Moreau, too.”
It was the first time Zaq had let me see behind his mask—and he had been wearing a mask, more than I’d realized. A cool, controlled, let’s-get-this-done mask. I felt weirdly honored that he’d allowed me to see the anger he must feel at how he’d been treated.
Zaq glanced at my hand on his arm, but not like it bothered him. No, it was a thoughtful look, like he was considering what it meant—and recalling that night in Père Lachaise.
His gaze returned to my face. The darkness remained, but now it had a sexy, speculative edge.
Heat stabbed from my breasts to my womb. I released him and stepped back. “What else did you find out?”
“Who said I found out something else?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know.” I couldn’t explain it myself, but I was sure he was keeping something from me. “You seem upset. More upset than you’d be if this was just about Camila Vittore.”
“Well, you’re right. I am upset. I’m afraid we may have a traitor, someone high up in the hierarchy.”
“A traitor? You found that out at the library?”
“Not at the library. I also went to a couple of vampire dives in Manhattan. And don’t worry, they didn’t know it was me. I can pretty much make myself invisible to vampires—it’s a quirk of my glamour—and they bought it. I was trying to pin down my father’s location, but no one’s heard anything since he left for Paris.” He shook his head. “Anyway, I heard a rumor that the Krals have a traitor. Too many things are being leaked. People are on edge.”
I didn’t say anything, but his gaze sharpened. “You know something.”
I moved a shoulder. I wasn’t ready to tell him that someone had been feeding us high quality intel—and I didn’t mean Jessa. These were things that only someone high in the Kral hierarchy could know.
“Tell me, Ridley.”
I shook my head.
His green eyes tracked over my face, reminding me I was dealing with a smart man, one who’d been raised by an equally smart—and ruthless—centuries-old vampire.
“You don’t have to say anything. I can guess. We do have a traitor.” He cursed. “They’ve been feeding you intel about me and my brothers. That’s how you knew I’d be in the airport that day.”
“I can tell you one thing. You didn’t find any media mention of Rafe because he’s undercover in Montreal. Your father sent him there to work on Zoe Tremblay. He told Rafe he believed the Tremblays were behind your kidnapping.”
“So you’re saying Father was suspicious of the Tremblays from the start?”
“Or he pretended to be.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I angled my upper body forward, willing him to believe me. He seemed to view his father through rose-colored glasses, which was insane. In the cold-blooded world of syndicate sharks, Karoly Kral was a big-ass, razor-toothed Great White.
“Think about it. If your father was trying to kill you and your brothers and wanted to throw suspicion on someone else, Victorine Tremblay would be the perfect choice.”
“True. But you can turn that argument around and say that if anyone wants us dead, it’s Victorine. She only signed that truce because she was forced to.” He shook his head. “No. The vampires in Moreau’s lair tried to tell me the same thing, and I’ll tell you what I told them. We’re my father’s heirs, his only spawn. He forced the vampire world to accept us. Why the fuck would he be trying to kill us now?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he’s well aware that Victorine’s behind this and he’s decided to take advantage of it. Maybe he’s tired of fighting your battles.”
“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”
“I know he had to fight to get you accepted by the Kral vampires. And I know some of them still aren’t happy about it. Maybe they’ve convinced him that dhampir heirs aren’t worthy of him.”
Zaq’s mouth tightened. “Maybe you’d be right if it was just me. But not Gabriel—he’s the crown prince. And Rafe’s the face of the syndicate, the man Father uses to charm the humans. He’s not going to toss them aside, not heirs of his own blood.”
“Are you willing to risk it?”
He stiffened. “How do you know so damn much about me and my family, anyway? The fact that Father had to fight for us to be accepted isn’t general knowledge.”
“Does it matter how I know?” Actually, I’d heard it from Twilight, and I wasn’t sure where she’d learned it.
“Yes, damn you. I don’t like knowing you were picking through my life without my knowing it.”
“Don’t tell me your father doesn’t keep files on his enemies.”
He ignored that. “What else did you discover?”
I compressed my lips.
He huffed an unpleasant laugh. “That bad, huh?”
I cleared my throat. “If by bad you mean, did I find out anything a good detective couldn’t find out, then no.”
He hooded his eyes. “You don’t know me, Ridley. You might think you do, but you don’t.”
His words hung in the air like a threat.
I licked my lips and his gaze went to my mouth. That sexy edge was still there, and God help me, I liked him a little dangerous.
He took me by the shoulder, gave me a little shake. “You’re wrong about my father. He loves us. Maybe not like a human loves, but in his own way he loves us. And even if he didn’t, he has no other heirs of his blood.”
I remained silent. Frankly, I believed Karoly Kral was perfectly capable of eliminating his own sons if he had a compelling reason.
Or maybe it was just Zaq. Maybe Karoly had seen a chance to rid himself of the son who caused him the most trouble, and he’d taken it.
Zaq released me and sank onto the mattress. He tugged his fingers through his hair. “He loves us,” he repeated like he was trying to convince himself.
I crouched down and placed my hands on his knees. I had to make him face facts.
“Look, you’re right; the Kral Syndicate does have a traitor. Somebody’s feeding us intel. But if you tell anyone I told you, I’ll call you a liar.”
His whole body went rigid. “Someone’s been feeding intel to SI?”
I nodded. “It’s how we knew exactly when and where you were landing.”
“Who?” he bit out.
“I don’t know.”
His fingers flexed like he wanted to grab my throat and shake it out of me. “Tell me, damn you.” He shoved his face into mine. “Who. Is. It?”
I reared back and pulled out my switchblade, releasing the blade. “Back off, Kral.”
“For fuck’s sake.” He scraped a derisive look over me. “I’m not going to attack you. I just want some answers.”
“I don’t know who it is. I swear I don’t.” I retracted the switchblade and touched the handle to my heart. “I only know it’s someone high up. Someone who knows things only Karoly or one of his top people would know.”
His jaw set. “Doesn’t mean it was my dad.”
“They told us what plane you were taking to New York.”
“Any hacker could’ve found that out.”
“But would a hacker have told us that Rafael was in love with Zoe Tremblay? Or that Gabriel never got over Camila Vittore?”
Zaq blinked. Rubbed a hand over his face. “Not too many people know both those things,” he admitted. “Rafe didn’t even tell Gabriel the whole truth about Zoe. Just me.”
Putting the switchblade on the floor, I set my hands on his thighs again and leaned forward. Hating myself a little for pushing him like this, but it was in both our interests for Zaq to realize Karoly Kral was a callous prick.
“Your father could’ve found out. Rafe’s bodyguards would’ve known, for example.”
“Hell, I suppose you’re right. And ultimately, they report to Father. He’s our primus. But I still can’t believe…” He shook his head.
“What if your father did more than see an opportunity to get rid of you and take it? What if he somehow manipulated things in the first place so Victorine thought Karoly was after her daughter? You know she’s a little crazy when it comes to Zoe. And that summer he was in Montreal, Rafe did go after Zoe like a heat-seeking missile.”
I sat back on my heels, allowing that to sink in. I had to open Zaq’s mind to the possibility his father might be behind this whole thing.
Because I was starting to wonder about it myself.
“It could be his lieutenant,” Zaq said. “My dad tells him everything.”
“Tomas Mraz?”
He heard my doubt because he grimaced. “You’re right. That doesn’t make sense. Mraz is more than just my dad’s right-hand man. Hell, he’s his only real friend. And he’s like an uncle to me and my brothers.”
I turned over my palm in a you-see-what-I-mean gesture. “He could be working with your father. But I don’t see him working on his own. He’s not the type.”
“So I can’t trust my father. I can’t trust anyone.” His mouth twisted. “Even you.”
I rose to my feet, my mind a cloud of conflicting emotions. I’d been honest with him, telling him nearly everything I knew about this situation, but here we were, back to trust again.
“We’ll be fine as long as you’re straight with me.”
He stood up too. “Yeah? What about those vials of tranq?”
My gaze slid from his. “I told you, that’s standard procedure.”
“Well, to hell with your ‘procedure.’ I smashed the vials and tossed them in a garbage can.”
He closed the space between us. His eyes weren’t dark anymore. They were a bright jungle-green. They dared me to get angry about the smashed vials, but in a way, I was relieved.
It was one thing to drug and kidnap a man I believed to be a monster. But I knew Zaq Kral better now, and he was no monster.
“So, Ridley No-Last-Name.” His gaze challenged me. “Can I trust you?”
I stared up at him. I wanted to argue that yes, he could trust me, but when it came right down to it, could he?
Yes, I was doing everything I could to help him, to keep him alive. But if Crow gave me a direct order to stake him, would I disobey?
It felt like my heart was being ripped in two. When you stripped all else away, who was left?
The slayer? Or the woman?
Then Zaq cupped my face and I forgot everything but him. “Say it.” A low murmur that vibrated down my spine. “Tell me I can trust you. Even if it’s a lie.”
I closed my eyes, unable to take the intensity of that jungle-green gaze.
He made a pained sound low in his throat, touched his lips to my temple. “Lie to me, Ridley.”
My heart lurched like it was trying to jump from my chest to his. I took a shuddering breath, and then the words tore themselves out of my lungs like a small explosion. “It wouldn’t be a lie.”
Because, somehow, someway, I was going to find a way to keep Zaq Kral alive.
I grabbed his shoulders, raised onto my toes and smashed my mouth to his in a desperate, you-can-believe-me kiss.