Page 75 of The Vampire Kingpin
Because I’d made up my mind to keep Lark. In a few short weeks, she’d become necessary to me. She was Amina and then some—sharp, fearless, adaptable.
Velma was right. I’d spent too long stuck in a limbo, punishing myself for Amina’s death. Afraid to let another woman break the chains around my heart in case I lost her, too.
But Lark had changed everything, and the thought of going back to the way things were made my chest compress like a giant vise had me in its grip.
For the first time in years, I felt something real—happiness, hope.
Mine. My vampire—the primal part of me—had seen the truth before I had, and I was damned if I’d let Lark go now. She was my mate, and as soon as we were free of the Darkman asshole, I was going to tell her that. Hell, if she’d just agree to the fucking bond, I’d promise her the moon and stars.
“Ready?” I asked her, adjusting the mesh mask on my face. Damn thing was too tight—a new design of DeeDee’s—but for now I was stuck with it.
Lark lifted her chin, determination etched in every line of her beautiful body. “Let’s do this.”
We started down wide marble stairs flanked by ebony rails carved with wolves on the prowl, their teeth bared, tails supporting the railing. The ballroom below was filled with masked, shadowy figures; men in dark tuxedos and topcoats, women draped in sultry fall colors—reds, oranges, golds. A fog machine spewed mist that hugged the floor and slithered beneath the towering Gothic arches.
At the bottom of the stairs, Lark sent a sweeping glance around. “I don’t see him.”
“He’s here,” I said. “Or he will be. Remember, whatever happens, I’ve got your back. Velma and Monster, too.” Velma was against the wall, standing at attention in a black Kral uniform, and Monster was stationed near the restrooms.
Lark kissed my cheek. “Thank you.”
After this night, I’d owe Zaq Kral, big time. He’d not only talked his primus father into letting us trap Jared Darkman at the Midnight Masquerade, he’d allowed me to insert two of my top people into tonight’s security detail.
A server in a black corset and red skirt approached, a tray of blood-champagne balanced on her palm.
“Want a drink?” I asked Lark, but she shook her head.
“Let’s dance, okay? Maybe we’ll be able to see him.”
The band was playing a slow, ponderous waltz, and the floor was packed. I’d never met a supernatural who was a bad dancer—we love music and moving to a beat. But dancing with Lark was like dancing with a fairy. Light and airy, she easily matched my every move.
“Of course, you’re an expert at ballroom dancing,” I said wryly.
She tipped her head. “That a problem?”
“No. We’re just different, you and me.”
But I’m still keeping you.
I spun us around, navigating through the swirl of masked men and women. Lark flung back her head, the skirt’s red-and-purple pleats flaring out around her toned thighs.
“You’re a good dancer, too. And I like how we’re different.” Her lips curved in a slow, sexy smile.
I moved my hand lower on her back, slipping it through the diamond cutout. Her muscles flexed beneath my touch. I spread my fingers, caressing her at that sensitive spot just above her ass, and sure enough, she gave that small shiver I loved.
The band switched to a salsa. I gathered Lark closer until her lower body was basically glued to mine. We stepped forward and backward, hips swinging with the beat. I glanced down, eating up her cleavage with my eyes. Promising myself that at the end of the night, I would lick a trail from the bottom of that peek-a-boo diamond to the top.
And then I would slice through that collar of material around her pretty throat and sink my fangs into her…
She slanted me a mock-glare from beneath her long lashes. “Focus, Spider-Dude.”
“Then stop flashing your tits at me.”
She arched her back, giving me a better view. “But it’s so fun.”
I slapped her ass. “You are so bad.”
Her grin was an arrow to my heart. Pain and pleasure all wrapped up in a complicated ball.
