“Is that all?” I darted a look toward the door.
Safina leaned back after a swift look at Kyros. “Can we ask why you’re saying no, Miss Tetley?”
Because I’m not teaching you to get better at taking advantage of the humans in this city.
“I’m not here by choice. You’re acting like I give a single fuck about how this game pans out.”
“Kyros is your true mate,” Francesca said incredulously.
Vissimo were going to kill me one day. I didn’t care that my blood told me Kyros was my mate. Or true mate. Or whatever the correct term was. That meant zilch to me.
Neelan pushed off the glass wall next to Gerome. “You’d stand for that disobedience from your staff, big bro?”
Kyros unfolded to his full height. “My true mate, Neelan.”
Frustration. Wrath. Confusion. And something warm I didn’t want to look too closely at. Hold on, there was that ugly oily quality again. Like a throbbing.
What the hell was that?
Kyros moved around the table at an ambling pace I didn’t trust for one millisecond. “Basilia, are you allowing your decision to be dictated by what’s happening between us?”
I crossed my arms, ignoring the rabbit ear flopping over my left eye. “I don’t work any other way. If someone lies to me or treats me like crap, you better believe I won’t lift a finger to help them.”
“You secure houses for us.”
“So I can spend a few hours outside this asylum.”
“Might want to rein it in, Basil,” Gerome hushed, eyeing his brother.
Yeah, the last bit got to him for sure. Kyros didn’t like me displaying distaste for his blood or the homing beacon development after the second thrall. He didn’t like me insulting his tower either.
Boohoo.
I eased from between the table and chair as Kyros stopped behind me. He didn’t have a waistcoat on to match the form-fitting black jacket and trousers tonight, but the tie remained. I closed my eyes to shut out the sight of the vampire, doing my best to control the fierce awareness of how much I wanted to touch him.
The bond wanted me to rip off his clothes, shove him down on the table, and ride him until the sun rose. The itch under my skin burned to be satisfied.
“There doesn’t have to be hate between us, Miss Tetley.”
Lust. Frustration. Oily throbbing.
I scoffed, opening my eyes. “Really?”
“I’d rather have your willingness in this.”
“I’d rather a lot of things, too, Kyros. What we’d rather doesn’t always pan out.” I stepped around him.
Distance was a very, very smart idea.
“Give me one good reason why you’re refusing me? Something that isn’t related to how things stand between us,” he added when I opened my mouth.
Kyros folded his arms across the wide expanse of his firm chest.
They were talking to the wrong Basi. It was 2:30 a.m., not to mention anything else from the last week or beyond.
“Because you’re all fucking monsters,” I shouted, my hands balling. “The only ones who aren’t are the people you keep shoved down on the lower levels.”
I was about to detonate, and I really didn’t want to do that.
Kyros stepped closer. “Miss Tetley—”
Oily throbbing.
I held up a hand. “Tell me, Kyros. Why do you feel that way each time you say my name?”
Shock. Fear.
What a surprise. Kyros was hiding more bullshit.
“Something big, huh?” I said sarcastically. “Nothing new then.”
He turned away, and I took the opportunity to stride to the door.
His siblings watched in silence, eyes darting between us. Deirdre alone appeared bored by the proceedings.
“No is your final answer?” Kyros said in an even tone, still facing away.
I studied his back. “Sure is.”
“Then this conversation is over,” he stated.
Finally.
Pulling out Beast, I clicked my way back into Snake, noting the phone’s depleted battery.
Tonight seemed like the perfect fucking time to set that high score.
4
I dodged another sloppy missile thrown by the upstanding Bluff City citizen, Mr Triffz.
“Get the fuck off my property, you barrel-scraping hooker,” he bellowed.
Age showed in the fragility of his roar, but in the two minutes I’d known Mr Triffz, I’d realised he was anything but frail.
“I’m leaving!” I shouted back, dodging another missile as slop, from the throws he’d landed, slid from my hair.
He shook his cane in the air, reaching for the bucket by his feet. “Down with Live Right. You can’t put me in a home!”
If this was happening to anyone else, I’d be in stitches. Which, when I dived into the car a moment later, was what I discovered my crew doing.
Laurel hit the acceleration as soon as I was in.
Their laughter rang in my ears as I groaned at my new black jeans and sheer white blouse combo. Ruined. I might be able to salvage the jeans and white bra, but the blouse was a goner.
“He’s crazy,” I snapped, plucking the blouse away from my chest.
Josie clutched her stomach. “I’ve never seen a human run so fast in six-inch heels.”
Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up.
“Is it safe for you to be driving?” I asked Laurel. The SUV swerved all over the road. Blood streaked the vampire’s face. Crying with laughter never looked so messed up.
She gasped for breath. “Didn’t want to risk getting compost on the car.”
“That’s what this is?” No wonder it smelled so bad. Perhaps I should just be thankful the slop wasn’t his shit.
From the middle seat, I stared through the windscreen, recounting the last ten minutes of my life. “It’s safe to say, Live Right won’t secure that house anytime soon.” A house in Pink would always be owned by a human. There was some comfort in that, even if he was a compost-throwing sonofabitch.
I leaned forward. “Hey, can we—?”
“Nearly there,” Laurel answered.
She pulled over outside Mrs Gaughton’s less than a minute later, and I gave up the battle of keeping my white bra from damage. It was over.
Mr Triffz had won.
This round.
Certain the lavender bush would have guzzled the water I gave it three days ago, I reached into my Elegance pack and pulled out the bottle of water I’d brought along.
I’d barely taken a step when the front curtain twitched and a flash of garish red lipstick appeared in the gap.
The window opened a crack. “Basilia? That you?”
“Sure is, Mrs Gaughton. Just here to water your lavender bush. I stopped by the other day and it was looking sad.”
The front door swung wide. “You came around? Why didn’t you knock?”
Because knocking wasn’t necessary when it came to Mrs Gaughton. I wonder if she had a rocking chair right at the front next to the window. “It was Sunday. I assumed you were at your extended lunch.”
There was no reply, but a beat later, the entrance was yanked open. The mid-sixties woman barrelled down the driveway.
“I forgive you,” she scolded, slightly out of breath. “And I told you to call me Mrs Hannah.”