Page 7 of Seduction in Blood
When I didn't say anything, Remus sipped his vodka as he stared out his window. "Sorrento said you owed him a sizable debt you've been unable to pay."
"He didn't give me enough time to repay it. I was in the middle of a lucrative operation when he caught me. If he'd given me two more days, I would have handed over a tidy sum."
The Wolf considered my words. "Still leaving a rather large balance."
I couldn't argue.
"Sorrento has his own debts and favors to pay. As do I. It's how the world works. The only question is the degree."
That spurred my curiosity. What type of favor would my debt require? I straightened from my growing slouch. The leather seats were scrumptious.
"Let me assure you. No one is trading you off as a slave, per se."
When I narrowed my eyes, he only smiled and sipped his drink.
"It's not you personally that is of interest. It's your talents."
My eyes grew wide. Did this shifter think a sex slave was any better?
He chuckled. "Your skill as a thief."
I blinked. Sorrento kidnapped me in the middle of a heist so I could perform more heists?
"Unless Pandora's reputation as a thief is only matched by her skill in the bedroom." He grinned, and for the first time, he let the lust, along with his teeth, show through his heated gaze.
This time I sneered, but I couldn't help the blush creeping to my cheeks. I wouldn't categorize sex as one of my specialties. A growl might have slipped out to cover my embarrassment, which only seemed to please him. Wolves.
"Sorrento said you were feisty. I would suggest you keep that in check. Trelane doesn't respond well to disobedience."
"If someone wanted me for a job, all they had to do was ask."
He shook his head. "That's not how it's done. And besides, I'm not completely sure if your skills will be enough to clear my own favor. Hence, the refund declaration Sorrento made."
Great. Not only did I not know my fate as payment for debts owed, but it also seemed I could be returned like some broken doll. I was beginning to feel like that unwanted Christmas gift that kept getting passed around.
"Then why go through all this trouble?"
"Because, my dear, with great risk comes great reward. And when the hunt becomes personal and the stakes are high, one can't afford to work with contractors."
Before I could ask what he meant, a bell chimed, and Remus set down his glass to retrieve his phone. He read the text then glanced my way. "There are magazines in the side panel if you wish. I'm afraid I need to take care of some business for the remainder of our drive."
I turned toward the window, pulling my legs up and curling into myself, my glass of vodka tight in my grip. I nursed the rest of it as I watched the passing landscape. Remus had lived on a large estate with wide-open fields that edged a forest. Now that I understood he was the area's alpha with a large pack, it made sense. Plenty of space to run with no one watching.
We had driven through the city and were now headed along the coast. When we broke out of the forested landscape to find glimpses of the ocean, I noticed the sun dipping toward the horizon. It would be dusk when we reached our destination. The witching hour. Or, in this case, vamp hour. And for the first time, I wondered what Ginger had thought when I didn't come home. She'd warned me about this last heist. I snorted. I don't think this outcome was what she'd worried about.
The limo made its last turn into a private drive and stopped at a twelve-foot gate. I glanced around, my first inclination to review the security. The stone walls were as tall as the gate, and though I couldn't see much from this side, I was certain the wall surrounded the entire estate.
When the gates opened and the limo moved forward, I straightened, marveling at the vast expanse of lawn and giant sycamore trees as we wound our way up the drive. The trees opened to reveal the mansion, and I cringed. The hairs on the back of my neck rose in protest.
The gothic three-story monstrosity appeared to be in shadows with the sun setting behind it, casting an unearthly orange glow around its stone structure. It was out of every horror movie I'd ever seen, and a cold shiver settled deep in my bones. I set my glass in the console and wrapped my arms around my middle. Ominous lights glowed from several windows—sentinels watching our approach. It wasn't until we pulled up to the front door that I noticed unnatural shadows in the recesses of the mansion. Two moved closer to the door. The others remained as motionless as statues. Maybe my eyes were playing tricks, but I didn't think so. As a thief, I was used to working with limited light and saw well in the dark. The vamp had personal guards.
When the driver and another man got out, the first thing I heard and smelled was the ocean. The crashing waves had been muffled by the soundproof limo. The combination of salty air and rotting fish was a familiar smell one would expect at a fishing dock, not at the mansion of the city's most notorious bloodsucker.
Both passenger doors opened simultaneously as Remus and I were assisted out of the vehicle. The Wolf led the way. The driver and the other man, who I assumed was a bodyguard, escorted us to the door. If I'd been in the same situation, I would have brought more men, especially as I noted the number of shadows increase. But I assumed men like Remus and Trelane had to play nice if they lived in the same city, at least while guests at each other's homes. And I assumed Remus must be a guest since he was using me to pay off a favor.
The door opened as if by magic because no one met us. But after we walked through, I saw a diminutive man standing behind the massive ten-foot wood door. He must have some magical strength to have opened that door, or maybe it was just hollow. I took note of the handle and locking mechanism, which didn't appear to be anything more than one would expect to find in an old mansion. The only question was whether there was an alarm if the door opened, what triggered it, and who was notified.
The inside was what I'd expected. Paneled walls, deep-green wallpaper, and paintings with diverse subjects and time periods—angels, battlefields, royal courts, and dance halls. But they all had one grisly thing in common—blood. Every painting had death portrayed in some brutal way, even in the most colorful and airy scenes. What a dismal place to live. And what did that say about the owner? Even the furniture was dark wood. Then, I felt the color drain from my face. Did they keep everything dark so no one could see the dried blood spatters of a meal gone bad?
