Page 30 of Unholy Nights

"But—" she starts to protest, but I cut her off with a gentle finger to her soft lips.

"Trust me," I murmur, watching her eyes darken at my touch. "Let me show you how Christmas should feel."

I round to the driver's side, my mind already racing with possibilities. Tonight is about Emerald. About showing her a glimpse of the world I want to give her—a world where she's cherished, protected, free from the suffocating expectations of her mother and men like Emmitt.

A world where she belongs to me, and only me.

I slide into the driver's seat, watching as she fidgets with her seatbelt. "Ready for an adventure, little one?"

She looks at me, a spark of excitement breaking through her ingrained hesitation - that careful restraint her mother's drilled into her. But I see past it, past all of Madeline's conditioning, to the girl beneath who craves freedom. Who craves me. "I think so. Where are we going?"

I start the engine, the Aston Martin purring to life beneath us. "You'll see," I say, watching how her eyes light up at the possibility. "This is just the beginning."

Watching Emmitt's empire shrink in my rearview mirror, I savor what's to come. The glass and steel monstrosity recedes into the distance, along with all the ugliness it represents. Ahead of us lies possibility—a chance to show Emerald a taste of the future I have planned for us.

A future where she's mine in every way that matters.

As we drive through downtown, snow starts falling harder, coating the historic buildings in white. The old church on Main Street looms ahead, its Gothic spire piercing the dark sky. Emerald's gaze follows it as we pass, and something in her expression draws my attention.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" I nod toward the church. "Though not quite as interesting as the chapel on your family's estate." I watch her reaction carefully, hungry for every micro-expression that crosses her face. "I bet your mother never told you its history."

She shifts in her seat. It’s one of those unconscious, delicate movements she makes that she doesn't realize tears at my control. The way her thighs press together, so fucking innocent yet so tempting, proves she has no idea what she does to me.

"Mother doesn't tell me anything unless it benefits her somehow." She bites that fucking lip that drives me to madness. "What do you know about it?"

"Quite a bit." I can't resist sliding my hand onto her thigh, satisfaction coursing through me when her breath catches. "I’m a bit of a history nerd, believe it or not.” I flash her a smirk and she grins right back. “Your great-great-great-grandfather Alexandre had it built in 1889." I let my thumb trace circles on her leg through her jeans, watching as her pulse flutters in her throat. "For a French opera singer who captured his soul."

"An opera singer?" The breathy way she says it makes my cock twitch.

"Vivienne. She was performing Marguerite's aria from 'Faust' at the Seattle Opera House when Alexandre first saw her." I lower my voice, drawing her further into the story. "She played a pure, innocent girl tempted by darkness. Fitting, since he was already married to someone suitable, someone his family approved of. But Vivienne..." I pause at a red light, turning to drink in the sight of her. "She was dying of consumption, pouring her soul into that role while coughing up blood between performances. And still, he couldn't stay away."

"What did he do?" Her eyes are wide, hungry for more.

"He divorced his first wife—a scandal that nearly destroyed the Delacroix name. Married Vivienne while she was on her deathbed." I flex my fingers against her thigh, gripping her through the denim. "She prayed every day for recovery. And when she survived..."

"He built the chapel," she whispers.

"Yes. Though some said it wasn't God who saved her." I let my lips curve into a smile as I relish her entire focus being on me. "The more superstitious whispered about darker forces."

"Did they stay together?"

"They lived a long life together. Had many children. Until death finally claimed them both, decades later." My thumb draws circles on her thigh. "Alexandre's family called their love unholy. Said the chapel was his penance for choosing her over duty."

"And was it? Penance?"

"No, little one." I lock my gaze onto hers, letting her see just a glimpse of the hunger that consumes me. "It was a declaration. A monument to his total devotion to her. A dare to anyone or anything to try and take her from him.”

The way she shivers at my words makes the predator in me purr with satisfaction. She has no idea how perfectly she's playing into my hands, how every reaction draws her deeper into my carefully laid plans.

The rest of the drive is short, and when I park near the edge of a quiet, snow-dusted hill overlooking the glittering lights of Emerald Hills, I hear Emerald's sharp intake of breath.

"This is beautiful," she murmurs, her eyes wide as she takes in the view.

"It's private," I say, stepping out and coming around to her side to help her out into the snow. I open the trunk and pull out a basket and thick blanket I had the kitchen prepare. "Including hot chocolate."

She lets out a soft laugh that makes my cock twitch, and I watch that flawless Delacroix mask crack as genuine joy lights up her face. "You planned this?"

I spread the blanket over the hood of the car, then reach for her, pulling her close against me as we settle onto the warm hood. Snow started falling on our drive up here, and soft flakescatch in her dark hair like stars. Every one of them a wish I've made since that first night—to have her, to keep her, to make her understand there's no life without me.

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