Page 52 of Vampire Savage

Oberon hangs up the moment the last word is out of her mouth and Wren pulls the phone away only to stare at the screen.

“Can you do this?” I ask, my voice calm, when she remains silent, rubbing my thumb along her neck.

She breathes in a shaking breath and squares her shoulders before nodding resolutely. She meets my gaze, a hard look in her own. “I have to. I have to remind myself of what I saw in his files. How I’ve never been anything but a resource for him. That he killed my mother, and now he plans to kill me.”

I don’t let my expression or tone change, and my thumb continues its caress. “I won’t let that happen.”

“I know.”

Letting her go, I straighten my cuffs and press a hand to her lower back, guiding her ahead of me. “Let me put a band-aid on that, and then I’ll see you to the office.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

WREN

Riding in the glass and chrome elevator at Benoit Tech, I grip my Kate Spade tote slung over my shoulder harder, the leather squeaking from the pressure. The mousy-looking older woman on the other side gives me a look in our reflection and I give her a brittle smile in return.

“He’s in a mood today,” I say, and her expression turns sympathetic. No need to explain who heis. Everyone knows who I am, not just because I’ve worked my ass off here, but because my father has always ensured I’m behind him during press conferences celebrating his successes. I have to resist shaking my head. Looking back, how could I never see that everything my father did for me was truly for himself?

Every victory I achieved, he claimed. I thought it was because he was proud of me. Then when he stopped offering me praise, he convinced me it was because he was pushing me to be even better. To help me reach my full potential.

Graduating early from high school. A double bachelor’s degree and then becoming one of the youngest people to ever graduate from the college with a doctorate. Competing in equestrian, performing as a cellist until I became a sought-after musician for chamber groups. Always telling myself that this time, this time he will be there with a smile on his face and tell me how proud he is of me.

How foolish I was. But Lan let me see the truth of the man Oberon Benoit is.

As much as I hate it, a part of me still loves my father, doesn’t believe he could have manipulated me my entire life after doing the same to my mother.

The elevator doors open and the woman steps off, leaving me alone with my reflection as the doors slide closed. The ascent jars me and my heart starts beating faster as my mouth dries. Shifting, my thighs stick together for a split second but it’s enough to distract me and my eyes drop to my breasts. I can’t hold back the smile even as my cheeks turn more red than my hair.

I’d obeyed Lan, getting dressed with his cum still wet on the tops of my breasts. It’s entirely inappropriate, something a well-respected woman in tech and business should never have allowed from a man. I should feel degraded, being reduced to a piece of property, something that he does to whatever he wants. He woke me by carving his damned initials in my thigh, for fuck’s sake. Yet, rather than feel caged and used and pathetic, all I feel is a liberating power and adoration.

I am Landon Polastri’s, body and soul, to use however he wishes. And he’s proven over the short time we’ve been together that he takes care of what is his.

He’s claimed me, taken me into his possession through brutal, savage, unapologetic honesty.

Nothing like my father.

My sex warms and I try not to squirm. I really don’t need to walk into my father’s office horny as hell. Beside, I’d already convinced Lan to fuck me, not that it was difficult when I was sitting on my bathroom counter, my skirt up around my waist and legs spread so he cover his mark in a bandage. It was harsh and wild, his hands gripping my thighs hard enough to give me more bruises as I clung to the counter’s edge. He spilled inside me, his expression hard as he snarled, his hair still perfectly in place. His golden eyes locked on the bandage covering his mark on me. I didn’t even get off, but I didn’t want to—didn’t needto. The high of making a vampire like Lan come undone so viciously, so completely, was enough that I grinned the entire way down to the parking garage of my apartment.

I refused to clean up. Feeling him trickle out and coat my thighs was the only way I was able to stomach sliding on my so-called engagement ring.

Even now, after listening to Landon’s plan, which requires me to act as if I’m excited for the arrangement with Miles, I hate the ring.

Grimacing, Lan holds my left hand and slides on the overly large engagement ring Miles had presented me with. His face is blank as he does, the ring slightly tight and it feels constricting in the way being bound in ropes doesn’t. My vampire notices my expression and seems amused as we stand in front of my private elevator. He’ll ride down with me then use his speed to leave me, keeping my father’s security guards unaware of his presence.

“How can you stand putting the ring on me?” Bitterness fills my voice and if it weren’t for Lan’s insistence, I wouldn’t wear it in his presence at all.

Lan hasn’t let go of my hand when the elevator opens and he tugs me in after him. Even after spending so much time together in my apartment, in my bed, I want to press right up against this cold, unfeeling-appearing vampire. I know all too well how hot he burns inside his shell of frozen steel.

“Because it means nothing,” Lan answers easily. The blunt statement in his unaffected voice erases my own conflict around the ring. “You are mine. This ring is nothing more than a prop on a stage for a play that will soon be over, Little Bird. It is a pretty chain that you can slip on and off at will, knowing that you are mine and never theirs.”

His words bolster me as the doors open onto my father’s office floor. This floor is similar to my own, and I’m greeted by a sleek and modern reception area with polished marble floors and contemporary artwork on the walls. The reception desk is waist high, exuding the air of high standards of efficiency and professionalism that Oberon demands. One receptionist is not at the desk, which means my father is likely already dictating orders to her and the other is speaking into his slim headset rapidly. He gives me a pained look, and I nod in return. When my father is in a sour mood, everyone knows it’s best to do what he says as quickly and unobtrusively as possible.

I stride through the workspace filled with cubicles on one side and glass-walled conference rooms on the other. The rooms are empty, the lights off, but the large windows along the outer walls let in enough light that the scattered paperwork and askew chairs suggests half-finished presentations.

The Nightshade vampires really have thrown my father into a tailspin. My lips purse as I try to hide my amusement.

As I reach my father’s office, his door opens and a flood of frazzled-looking employees hurry out. Oberon’s loud voice is still barking commands as they flee to their stations, and I square my shoulders. When Raul exits, I raise my brows. My father has never requested my assistant’s presence.

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