Page 68 of His Ruthless Match
I made a mental note to look deeper into it. It would probably be a dead end, but anything new and shiny deserved to be looked into. And if I’d learned anything about The Below, nothing was fucking free.
The vampire den loomed ahead, a blackened jewel in the midst of The Below. The crumbling façade of what had once been a grand opera house felt like a dying memory— an eerie reminder of the decadence that had long since rotted away. I led Eva up the grand staircase, the stone groaning beneath our weight, the sound unnerving but not enough to slow my pace. This place had its own pulse—a sick, suffocating energy that thrummed through the walls—and I could feel it creeping up my spine.
Eva’s footsteps slowed behind me, but I didn’t turn to check on her. I didn’t need to. She was with me, and in this world, that was enough to protect her.
When we reached the top of the stairs, the main hall opened into an opulent space made monstrous by its decaying nature. Gilded chairs and velvet settees were scattered around, creating pockets of secrecy and whispered deals. The flicker of chandeliers above us cast fragmented shadows on the polished floor, and the sharp stares of vampires and couriers alike bore down on us.
Eva’s voice broke through the tension. “This place feels wrong. In every sense of the word.”
I’d felt the same way when I first set foot in this den of vipers.
“Relax, Delgado. They can smell fear, but they know better than to act on it here. Just stay close to me and keep your mouth shut.”
I felt her move closer to me. Her discomfort was palpable, and for reasons I couldn’t explain, it thrilled me. But I couldn’t focus on that now. I had a mission. Eva’s safety was paramount, but there was something else at play here, something I was getting paid handsomely to resolve. I was a professional, after all.
Eva’s eyes flicked to the couriers darting between the vampires, arms laden with boxes. They moved with purpose, but there was something in their gaze—an eerie hunger that only the undead could carry. Some lingered a moment too long on Eva, their crimson eyes scanning her with a predatory gleam. She sidestepped even closer to me. The subtle admission that she trusted me to protect her was not lost on me.
I slowed my pace and lowered my voice so only she could hear. “The smuggler’s in the back. Grayson Marks. Human, arrogant, dangerous when cornered. The usual.”
“Sounds delightful,” she muttered, her eyes narrowing at the vampires circling the room, all pretending not to watch us.
“Pay attention to the movement. This isn’t just a vampire hangout. Look at the couriers,” I said. “What do you think’s in those boxes?”
Eva’s gaze followed one of the couriers who had a tight grip on an ornate box. Her brow furrowed. “Artifacts?”
“Yep,” I said grimly. “Stolen artifacts. Some of it’s legitimate—some of it’s from House Orvash’s private collection. But this much business, this much smuggling, goes beyond House Orvash’s directive. Someone’s pushing boundaries. And Orvash knows. That’s why we’re here.”
Eva met my eyes, her expression thoughtful. She seemed to be processing everything, her sharp intellect kicking in.
I led us toward a back hallway, where two towering guards stood at attention. One of them—a hulking vampire with a scar slashing across his jaw—straightened as we approached. His crimson gaze flickered to me, then to Eva, assessing us with a practiced air of indifference.
“Private meeting,” the vampire growled, his voice deep and gravelly. “You need to turn around.”
“Unless you want to explain to House Orvash why you’re standing in my way, I suggest you step aside. I’m their representative, and things may get messy. I’m assuming you’d rather stay out of it.”
The vampire hesitated, his eyes flicking to Eva again. She kept her face blank as she held his gaze, but I could feel the subtle tension in her body. Her pulse was quickening, and I found myself standing a little taller to shield her from anything that might happen.
Finally, the vampire grumbled and motioned for us to pass.
The room beyond was cramped but luxurious—shelves lined with artifacts of questionable origin, a desk piled high with papers and trinkets, and a few figures seated casually, waiting. Grayson Marks, the smuggler, lounged in a chair. His wiry framewas swallowed in a suit that screamed money, arrogance, and opportunism. Two brutes and a vampire, clearly a hired gun, flanked him.
“Well, well,” Grayson drawled when he saw us, his voice smooth and laced with disdain. “The Shadow’s lackey. To what do I owe the honor of this unexpected visit?”
I took another step forward, my presence overwhelming in the dim room. “Artifacts, Marks. You’re moving goods that don’t belong to you.”
Grayson’s grin never faltered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I didn’t waste time. Eva had already stepped slightly to the side, her eyes scanning the cluttered desk. She took a ledger from the table, her brow furrowing as she started flipping through it. I let her look, assuming she might find damning evidence of corruption Grayson couldn’t deny.
Eva paused. She’d found something. A pattern. I could see it in the way her lips pressed together, the tightening of her jaw as she absorbed the information.
Grayson’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Who the hell is she? And what the fuck is she doing reading my ledger?”
I didn’t hesitate. “She’s my lovely assistant, and I’d suggest you don’t speak that way toward her, or I’ll rip your fucking throat out. Got it?”
Grayson’s lips curled in amusement. “And what exactly is your role in all this, sweetheart?” he asked, his tone dripping with mockery. “Are you really Jareth’s little secretary? Or are you just here for decoration?”
Eva clenched her jaw, and before I could step in, she fired back. “I’m the one who’s going to tighten the noose around your neck if you don’t start cooperating.”
