Vampire Debt - Supernatural Battle (Vampire Towers #2) - Kelly St. Clare Page 0,45
p.m.
That. And—
“Basilia.” Kyros’s voice slithered over my shoulders, eliciting a shiver I felt to my very core.
Damn him.
He stopped beside me, and I forced myself to take him in, to feel my raw reaction to his body and the desperate anticipation of a sweaty night tangled together.
Then I let the frantic need flitter away to the trash heap where it belonged.
“It’s Miss Le Spyre. Use it.”
His soft growl slipped between us, but I ignored the warning as I loaded strawberries and diced mango onto my plate.
“I didn’t expect you to come,” he said with a bite I knew was filtered excess from my order.
“To the tower or for lunch?”
When he didn’t reply, I gathered the answer to my question was both. A yearning belonging to Kyros struck me full force, and my wide eyes flew to his before I remembered myself.
This fucker didn’t get to yearn for me.
“There are things we must discuss,” he said low, stepping closer. “Will you join me for breakfast?”
The warmth of his body seeped into mine. “You expect me to sit with you? After what you did?”
I popped half a strawberry in my mouth, insides clenching as his gaze dropped to my lips.
His meadow-green gaze flared. “I’m not deluded enough to expect that. We must arrange the finer details of your changed contract with Live Right. It’s a business discussion, nothing more.”
Yeah, sure. “Oh, then I’ll figure things out with Angelica.”
His jaw clenched, and I popped another strawberry in my mouth, humming with pleasure as the sweet juice flooded my mouth.
Kyros lifted a hand and wrapped a strand of my butter-blonde hair around his forefinger. He could surely feel my loathing, just as he could feel the white-hot lust spearing me at his touch.
“Four days ago,” he said so softly I could barely hear. “Around this time. What happened?”
Four days ago, I’d cried hard enough and long enough to fill a lake. For a lot of reasons, but Kyros was definitely one of them.
His betrayal had pushed me over an edge I’d spent twelve years avoiding.
Tilting my chin, I closed the distance between us, resting my fingertips on his muscular chest. I let my gaze roam over his muscular frame, sliding my hands down to tug at the bottom of his charcoal waistcoat. Reaching up, I twitched the sleeves of his crisp white shirt into place and adjusted his perfect tie, my insides purring as his pure want rolled through me.
For a moment, just a calculated second, I allowed my yearning to rise too.
When his lips parted, I locked the longing away.
I patted his chest. “It could have been fun, Kyros. Such a shame you fucked it up.”
I heard several gasps from the audience studiously pretending not to listen.
As I turned away, Kyros whipped out an arm, capturing my hand. He drew me back, eyes dipping and scanning as though searching for something only he could see.
“How do I un-fuck it all up?” he eventually asked.
More gasps.
Hushed murmurs.
Shit, even I was shocked at the show of humility in front of his minions. Except Kyros firmly believed in the singing of our blood. Or whatever the fuck it was. Despite what he did and did not feel for me, the alpha viewed me as his true mate. The humility wasn’t for me—not because he loved me or was sorry. Kyros already believed I would be his and wished to know how most efficiently to get there.
Poor guy.
I wasn’t going to let him lose me. Not really. But the chase had to be believable.
Checking my watch, I murmured, “You don’t un-fuck anything, Kyros. We move on from here. It is so sweet of you to offer though.”
He blinked, and I slid my hand free.
Waving at the staring vampires, I said, “Have a good day, everyone. Go knock ’em dead.”
They redoubled their efforts not to openly eavesdrop.
That’s right, fuckers. Listen away. You’re playing my game now.
I’d returned as a spy in their midst—my grandmother’s spy. They had no idea what was about to hit them.
Vissimo would rue the day they entered Bluff City when I was done with them.
11
“Mr Trenington,” I said as the door opened. “My name is Basilia Tetley. How are you today?”
The face of the early-thirties man didn’t even twitch in welcome. He had the appearance of a long-distance runner who forced himself into corporate clothing during the week. “Are you a Jehovah?”
I pulled up short. “What’s a Jehovah?”
“A Jehovah’s witness.”
Oh. “No, not a Jehovah.”
His gaze sharpened. “What electricity company are you from?”