Page 70 of Gilded Wicked Mirrors
She never should have investigated this case or got herself tangled in this secret underworld. Not like she could run away from it now. Her life was on the line . . . in more ways than one.
His breath tingled against her ear. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“How can I believe you? You’re—”
“A monster?” he finished.
She inhaled sharply. “Yes.” She whirled around to face him, her back against the wall, his chest inches from hers.
A dark silence cut between them like a machete. His countenance was a dark and stormy night. He embodied a creature of darkness. A creature of death.
“More accurately, you’re a vampire.” Her voice was a lilting, withering soprano.
From down the hall, two people spoke in sultry tones. Emrys glanced around, the muscle in his jaw feathering. Worry colored his face. “Please, don’t say that so loud,” he whispered.
That was the last thing Quinn wanted to hear. A rich, powerful, selfish vampire did not tell her what to do. Her fear melted away and was replaced by anger. “I will say whatever I want when I want at whatever volume I want.” The voices got closer. “VAMP—”
Emrys placed a hand over her mouth. He flinched slightly before pulling her out of the hall and into a room just as a maid and a footman stumbled by, intoxicated and exuberant. He closed the door so that they could have a more private chat.
“Stop it,” she mumbled into his hand.
“You stop it.” Emrys pinned her to the wall with his hand still over her mouth, a painful expression coloring his face. “Youcannot say vampire out in the open like that. Your tattoo binds you. If you spill the secrets to a non-council member who doesn’t already know, your tattoo will punish you. It won’t kill you like it would me, but it will hurt you.”
It would hurt her. So, the tattoo was as much a punishment as it was a boon.
Quinn opened her mouth to either respond or bite him when she noticed where they were. An extravagant bedroom with a four-poster bed draped in crimson curtains.
Oh, many gods. She was alone in a bedroom with the Playboy Prince. A clandestine meeting at night. It looked terrible. Not to mention, she’d never been so alone or so vulnerable with a man. She hadn’t experienced much young adult mischief, if she were truly being honest. She was far too controlled—too sheltered. Plus, imagine the scandal. The newspapers would jump for joy to run a story about the prince and a ballerina meeting in a bedroom in the dead of night.
Her breaths came in a quick and unsettled pattern. She stared at his full lips, and an image of him kissing her danced through her mind. And all their previous encounters mingled there, too. Emrys was built for passion, and as much as she had resisted before, she wanted to know what it was like to kiss a wicked vampire.
Fireflies buzzed in her stomach.
Stop it, mind. Don’t imagine yourself kissing a vampire. Are you insane? This is Emrys Avalon, your nemesis. Do not fantasize about him.
But the image didn’t leave; it was like a foreign body in her mind—a parasite—that wanted to latch on and stay forever.
“You need to be quieter,” Emrys said, his hand still resting on her lips, still silencing her. He flashed an expression that said, can I trust you enough to let my hand go?
She nodded, frustration lighting up her core. This stupid, arrogant man told—
He dropped his hand from her mouth, but instead of freeingher from the wall, he instead placed his hands on either side of her face, boxing her in.
But she was having none of it. She may be a foolish human, but she still had weapons. As fast as she could, she reached into her skirt pocket, pulled out a knife—she always had a small medical kit with her—and slid it against his throat. “Please, get out of my way.”
Quinn flinched. She was threatening a powerful immortal, and she chose to say please. It did not display confidence.
Emrys chuckled but didn’t budge. “What are you going to do with that, Quinnevere?”
Her heart pounded in her ears, and she tried to pull together a logical plan, but she had none.
Infuriatingly, Emrys raised one of his raven eyebrows. “For clarity’s sake, you think I am an immortal—”
“I know you are.”
He sighed and raised his gaze to the ceiling. “Right. And you think I am a murderer.”
“Yes.”
