Page 3 of The Serpent's Bride
Verydiscreet.
Turning, she smiled at him, knowing it wasn’t her expression but her low-cut top that was catching his gaze. Her dress plunged down between her breasts, and he hadn’t stopped staring at her cleavage all night.
That was fine. That was why she had chosen this body and this dress in the first place.
Walking up to him, she slipped her hands up his chest, smoothing them over his shirt, before unbuttoning his coat. “Can’t imagine how stressful it must be, working for the Nostroms…such a powerful family. So manyconnections. What’s it like to be so close to them?”
“You know how it is. A job is a job. Mael is a slavedriver. His sister is worse.” Mark grunted. “Usually, Mael has me runningall over the city, delivering messages for the mayor. Like he couldn’t just pick up a damnphone.But right now, get this, he has me handing out invitations for his psychopathic brother’s wedding.”
What.A cold chill ran down her spine. She forced warmth into her voice. “A wedding? That’s romantic, though.”
“Sure, normally.” Mark snorted. “Except this poor dame isn’t a vampire, sweetheart. Do youknowwhat happens when a human gets married to a vampire?” He sighed. “Best you don’t.”
“I read a moontale like that once. Maybe they’ll fall in love and he’ll turn her.” She tried to play the idiot routine. It seemed to work, as he just shook his head. “Sit, let me give you a shoulder rub.” She motioned to an upholstered bench over by one wall. It was a deep green velvet, lined in brass, and matched the same hyper-modern detailing as everything else in the room. “I’mfantasticwith my hands.”
Mark chuckled. “I can’t wait to find out…” He moved to sit on the bench, shrugging out of his coat and tossing it aside. “Give me a little show first, though, yeah? Show me what I’m renting this room for.”
Disgusting.
Her smile didn’t flinch as she stood in front of him, just out of his reach, and slowly slipped out of her own coat, letting it pool on the floor. She turned her back to him and, taking her sweet time, bent over, unlacing her shoes.
“Fuck.Yes.”
Her jaw ticked. She was very glad he couldn’t see. As she straightened up, she slid her hands up her legs, making sure he could imagine his hands in their place, riding her dress up her thighs. Kicking off her shoes, she let her dress fall back down before turning to face him.
“Aww…” He stuck out his lower lip in a comical pout.
“Have to leave something for the main event. Besides. Seems like I have you excited enough.” She chuckled at the obvious state he was in.
With a shrug, he leaned back a bit to undo his belt and unzip his fly, releasing some of the pressure on what must be an uncomfortable situation. “I’ve always appreciated a beautiful woman who knows how to use it to her advantage.”
“Mm.” Walking around behind him, she stroked her hand up his arm and to his shoulder, kneading it.
“Anyway, you know what the funny part is, about the whole wedding fiasco? He hasn’t even everseenthe broad. She’s from one of the outer cities. Some rancher’s daughter. Never even visited the metropolis.” He let out a low groan, tilting his head forward. “Harder.”
She obliged, grasping both his shoulders in her hands and giving them a good squeeze. That drew another low groan out of him. She went on like that for a moment, waiting until his muscles eased and relaxed. Waiting for him to slip his eyes shut.
Reaching up, she pulled out the two long pins that kept her long locks curled up in a bun.
And drove them deep between his ribs and directly into his lungs.
Mark went rigid, arching his back, doing more damage to himself. He jerked, trying to spin and grab her, ripping bigger wounds in himself. It was already too late; he just didn’t know it yet. His lungs were filling with blood. He let out a strangled noise, went to shout, scream—and could only suck in liquid instead of air.
“Sorry.” She smiled. “You know how it is. A job is a job. Especially when the Nostroms are involved.”
Mark lurched for her, but his knees gave out. He coughed, red staining his lips. It was amazing how quickly a person coulddrown in their own blood. If a victim panicked—which most of the time they did—it could be over in a matter of moments.
“Try not to bleed on the furniture. None of this is the maid’s fault.” Sighing, she grabbed Mark by the wrist and tried to pull him over to the corner. He was already going weak, but he still tried to ball up his other hand into a fist and punch at her. It was easy enough to move out of the way of the pathetic swing.
By the time she dragged him into the corner, he was twitching in the last throes of death.
Brushing off her hands, she looked down at his crumpled form. Blood was seeping through his shirt. It’d likely be a decent-sized puddle on the black marble floor by the time she woke up in the morning. But, importantly, it wouldn’t get on the carpet.
Reaching down, she pulled her hairpins out of his back. They were custom-made, and she was hardly going to let Mark keep them. She let her glamor drop—well, part of it, anyway—as she headed to the door to ensure the deadbolts were thrown. There wasn’t any need to keep wearing the face of the prettiest woman she’d ever seen, now that her target was taken care of.
Being a shapeshifter was useful when one was an assassin.
Though the shapeshifting had definitely come first in her life before the killing-for-hire had.
