Page 81 of Her Dark Salvation

The black of night enveloped the room, the only source of illumination the lights of distant buildings and the soft glow of streetlamps visible through a wall of windows. Until the flick of a match.

A flame sparked to life at the hands of a man who sat on a leather sofa facing the windows. He lifted it to light the stub of cigar he held between his teeth, and it highlighted the angular cut of his jaw.

Marco puffed until the cherry burned hot. He shook out the match, tossed it into the ashtray next to him, and rested his arm on the back of the couch. He stared out the window into the dark Boston night, and tendrils of smoke, backlit by the cigar’s muted glow, trailed toward the ceiling.

I was in Marco’s suite. Or was it a cage? Was I prey trapped by a deadly predator?

I’d fainted the night before. That I remembered. The transformation of his obsidian eyes into crimson fire had pushed me over the edge into darkness. But he’d caught me. Taken care of me. Undressed me, wrapped me in a robe, and tucked me into bed.

Was I making excuses? No. Marco would never hurt me. Of that, I was sure. Wasn’t I?

I swung my legs out from under the comforter and over the side of the bed, testing them on the cold slate floor. My cheeks burned at my near nakedness. The robe so thin it was almost transparent, so short it barely covered my ass. Curiosity restrained by fear, I took tentative steps toward the sofa, stopping at its end, and gathered my hair over my shoulder.

Marco still wore his tuxedo pants, but his coat and bowtie were gone along with his socks and shoes. He’d lost his button-down in favor of a sleeveless undershirt, and the glow of his cigar accentuated the bulges of his muscled arms. He took a long drag, eyes still fixed on the window.

I twisted my hair into a tail, needing something to fidget in place of my necklace, an anchor to help me muster the courage to finish what I’d started.

He glanced at me sidelong and tapped his cigar into the ashtray on the end table. “Good morning,” he said, his voice deep and rough.

“What time is it?”

He flipped his wrist to look at his watch, and the snake on his arm twitched with the flex of his muscles. “A little after three.”

My eyes dropped to my feet. I wiggled my toes into the shag of the area rug covering the space around the sofa.

“Your dress and shoes are in the closet. Siobhán put you to bed last night.”

I pressed my lips together, arresting a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

I could have left. Gone to the closet, gathered my things, and left. Instead, I rounded the corner of the sofa and sat, holding the bottom of my robe closed as I reclined into the sofa back.

He took another drag off his cigar, blew a smoke ring, and angled it to study the burning ember at its end. “What made you suspect?”

“Luca.” I picked at the ends of my hair. “I saw him feeding on his date outside the restroom before dinner.”

He chuffed out a breath and looked askance. “Fucking Luca,” he muttered under his breath.

“It wasn’t just Luca. I ran into his date in the restroom, and she asked me if I was…” I stumbled over the word she’d used. What had she called me?

He side-eyed me. “Asked if you were…”

“Your—your Source?”

He shook his head, annoyed, and brought the cigar to his lips.

He smoked. I watched.

After a time, he turned and studied me. “You could’ve taken a cab home. Locked your door. But you came up here. Why?”

My stomach flipped. I couldn’t answer with the truth, at least, not the entire truth. Yes, I’d wanted to know if the conclusions I’d drawn were reality. But what I didn’t want to admit was the darker reason I’d ventured to the penthouse.

I burned for Marco. Still. The danger of what he might be had done nothing to dissuade my body from aching for his touch. If anything, it had made it burn hotter. And after all the champagne, curiosity and excitement combined with lust to eclipse fear.

I cleared my throat and shrugged a shoulder. “I thought there was another explanation.”

He regarded the stub of his cigar with a smirk, took a puff, and set it in the ashtray. “I told you before.” He swiveled his torso to face me, drawing my attention to his eyes. “You’re a terrible liar.”

My mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. I tugged at my hair and focused on the cracks in the aged leather even as the interplay between danger and seduction drove my body wild.

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