Page 25 of A Game of Love and Betrayal

At lunch, Brynleigh had enjoyed a double serving of blood—warm this time, which was how she preferred it—and listened as the other women shared about their dates. Brynleigh hadn’t joined in on the conversations. She’d spent the time in contemplative silence, wondering how she would react when she finally met the captain.

Brynleigh had run dozens of scenarios through her head, but she had never anticipated this. The moment she heard his voice, she froze. Her heart thundered at the mere sound. Her shadows writhed. She gripped her pen so tightly that it snapped in her hand. Eyes wide, she let the broken writing implement fall before the ink could stain her fingers.

For all her preparations, all her plans, all her meticulous calculations, Brynleigh hadn’t anticipated this.

Ryker’s voice sounded good. His gravelly, almost smoky tone sent a bolt of desire running through her.

She would be going to hell for this. What kind of person was attracted to the man who killed their family? Her fangs pulsed and burned in her gums. A completely irrational desire to break the wall between them and look upon the fae nearly overwhelmed her.

He was so close, and yet, so far.

“Hello?” Ryker said again. “Is anyone there?”

Brynleigh jolted, realizing she had to act quickly if she was going to save this relationship. How ridiculous would it be if this entire endeavor ended before it started because she couldn’t get her head on straight? She rubbed her temples and forced herself to get a grip.

“Hi. Sorry about that; I heard your voice, and I… forgot how to form words for a moment.” There was nothing like a sprinkle of truth in a relationship built on deception, right?

She was here for one reason, and one reason only: to make her enemy fall in love with her so she could get close to him. To do that, to make him Choose her, she had to be perfect. Not too hard, but not too soft. Desirable and easy to love, but not such an easy catch that he felt she was too simple.

Whatever Ryker Waterborn needed in a wife, she would be that person.

There was a pause, and Brynleigh imagined this man—this powerful fae—considering her words.

Please, believe me, she silently begged him.

Her nails dug into the flesh of her palms as she waited. She prayed to Isvana and Ithiar that she hadn’t ruined everything.

Jelisette would never forgive Brynleigh if she destroyed years of planning because of something as pedantic as attraction.

Rule number eight: emotions are for mortals, not vampires.

A frisson of icy fear ran through Brynleigh at the thought of her Maker’s displeasure.

The last time Brynleigh had forgotten one of Jelisette’s rules, she’d barely been a year past her Making. The incident was so minor that Brynleigh couldn’t even remember what happened.

It didn’t matter if she’d forgotten her transgression because she would never forget the punishment she’d endured.

Jelisette had locked Brynleigh in the cellar for a week and strictly forbidden Zanri from helping the Fledgling. Brynleigh had nearly gone mad from lack of blood so soon after her Making. She’d begged until her voice went hoarse. Screamed until her cries were nothing but air. Sobbed until she had no more tears. No one had come, no matter what she did or said.

Seven long days. Alone. Cold. Starving.

When Jelisette had freed her progeny, she’d simply said, “Remember, Brynleigh, rules are rules. We must always follow them.”

Brynleigh hadn’t replied. There was no point. Her Maker had proven her point. Follow the rules, and nothing bad would happen. Break them, and… well, the next time, she wouldn’t be so kind.

A baritone chuckle rumbled through the headphones, snapping Brynleigh out of her thoughts.

“I like you,” Ryker said. “You’re funny.”

Brynleigh sighed in relief, her eyes momentarily fluttering closed. Thank all the gods, she hadn’t completely ruined everything. Now, all she had to do was make sure he remained interested.

“Honestly, that’s the first time anyone has called me funny,” Brynleigh admitted, the words slipping from her mouth before she could stop them. “I’m not usually one to make others laugh.”

Scream? Yes. Run away? Also, yes. Laugh? Nope.

“Fascinating. I think you’re quite humorous.”

She wasn’t sure whether to be delighted or insulted by that comment. Was he laughing with her or at her? She supposed it didn’t matter. He sounded intrigued, which was good.

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