Lust made a strangled sound.
“I see.” Envy schooled his features into bland interest, giving away none of the amusement he felt at the thought of Camilla unknowingly sinking her teeth into a vampire.
He also could not recall a time when anyone had dared to give him a direct command.
Camilla stared up at him in challenge.
Lust let loose a low chuckle. “You must be the reason he’s in such a foul mood.”
“Pardon me, and you are?” Camilla asked, her tone still frosty as she looked Lust over, seeming less than impressed.
A considerable feat given that Envy’s brother was the prince who ruled over pleasure, and his very presence usually incited skirt-lifting or trouser-dropping admiration within seconds.
Lust appeared wildly amused—and far too intrigued—by her lack of swooning. Envy felt the magic of his brother’s sin slowly circle the artist, testing.
He gritted his teeth.
Lust bowed over her hand, letting a bit more of his sin out as his lips brushed across her gloved knuckles.
“His better-looking brother, naturally.”
“Charmed.” Camilla wrenched her hand away, then returned that impressive glare to Envy.
She hadn’t been affected by Lust’s power at all.
“I demand a private audience at once.”
Lust flashed him a surprised look, clearly taken aback too by her complete disregard.
Envy raised a brow, then nodded to his brother and Alexei. “Very well.”
Both men seemed cowed enough by Camilla’s entrance to heed the request.
Once they’d closed the door, he leaned against the table where his drink sat untouched, puzzled by her ability to withstand a demon prince’s influence.
“For someone who wishes to avoid ruination, demanding to be alone with me, unchaperoned, seems quite risky, especially after what I said last night. Unless of course you’re here to fulfill that naughty fantasy.”
He was curious to see whether she’d confront him about that.
She did not rise to the bait, instead pinning him in place with those moonlike eyes.
“Where is the forgery?”
“I assume you mean The Seduction of Evelyn Gray?”
“Do not play a game with me, my lord.” Camilla advanced, only stopping when her skirts brushed against his knees. “Vexley visited me earlier.”
Even though Vexley was nothing more than a pox on a pig’s ass, irrational jealousy seared through him.
“I am disinterested in any lovers’ quarrel you might be having.”
“How unsurprising. It’s safe to assume you’re even less interested in the threats of bodily injury that were made with his hand around my throat, my lord. As you cannot be bothered with all that, just tell me where the forgery is so I can collect it and be on my way.”
Envy stilled.
The heart he assumed to be shriveled and black pounded furiously as he looked Camilla over more carefully.
“He hurt you?”
One word, one look of confirmation, and Envy would have his demon blade in Vexley’s gut within the hour.
Camilla drew herself up, glaring. “Not this time, but he has threatened far worse if the forgery is not returned immediately.”
“That will not happen.” His voice was laced with its own violence.
Camilla jerked back, her eyes rounding as she looked him over closely, seeming to understand that he meant it.
In fact, he found himself suddenly striding toward the door, plan whirling into place.
Perhaps once he was finished with the mortal, he’d gift him to Alexei for a meal.
If Vexley proved to be a player, it would be most beneficial indeed.
“You cannot murder him,” Camilla said, sounding—of all things—partly aghast and mildly frustrated.
He didn’t slow his pace. “I assure you, I can.”
“Allow me to rephrase. You will not murder him.”
Envy finally slowed and glanced over his shoulder, suspicion winding around him like a tangled vine. One look at her stony face and he knew: there was more to this twisted tale.
When it came to Camilla, he really shouldn’t be surprised.
“Why?” he asked.
She swallowed hard, the column of her delicate throat moving slightly.
The very throat that Vexley’s cursed hands had attempted to desecrate.
Rage surged again before he obliterated it. If Wrath could see him now, submitting to his sin on behalf of someone else… the smug bastard would never let him live it down.
“Why won’t you allow me to kill him, Camilla?” Envy repeated.
He didn’t think it had anything to do with morals. At least not fully. He waited, silent, watchful. Allowing her time to give him the truth.
“Because the forgery isn’t the only thing he has of mine, my lord.”
Several beats passed while Envy waited for her to elaborate.
Camilla’s hands fisted at her sides, bunching in her plum skirts. Her anger and despair warred in the space between them.
“If he dies, so does my father.”
FOURTEEN
“METAPHORICALLY SPEAKING, I mean,” Camilla rushed to add, watching Lord Synton’s face carefully, noting the exact moment he decided against hunting Vexley down. For a minute, he’d reminded her of an angel of vengeance: all lethal grace and divine punishment, charging in to completely obliterate a foe for their wrongdoing.
Looking at him now, at the cold calm and utter control he had over himself, Camilla had no doubt Synton would be capable of murdering Vexley and not sparing another thought once the dastardly deed was done. The fact that he hadn’t done just that indicated that he’d weighed the advantages against the disadvantages and found Vexley to be safe from retribution.
For now.
She didn’t think Synton would glory in the kill, but he certainly wouldn’t mind being the one to dispatch Vexley.
Or, on second thought, as she saw his pupils constrict, perhaps he would thrill in the violence, welcome it with open arms. Which ought to make Camilla wary of him but somehow comforted her instead.
“How, exactly, does one metaphorically kill one’s father?” he asked. “Should I believe one might have also metaphorically killed one’s mother?”
Synton’s tone was cordial enough, but there was a hardness in his eyes, a stiffness in his shoulders, and an undeniable feeling that the man standing before Camilla was nothing more than a feral animal trapped in the cage of expensive suits.
This man liked the darkness, welcomed it; the shadows were where he preferred to be.
Camilla imagined painting Synton that way—his beautiful face emerging from the shadows, the lushness of his lips set against the harsh lines of a harsher expression, wielding a blazing sword dripping with the blood of his enemies.
“Miss Antonius?”
Her name jolted her out of her vision. Camilla shook her head, clearing it. “I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. And of course I didn’t kill my mother. She left to travel the world. End of story.”
“Enlighten me about your father, then.” He bit out the words as if each syllable gravely offended him.
She took a deep breath. “Vexley is in possession of something that belonged to my father. Something I very much want back. If he’s to be believed, it’s secured outside Waverly Green, and only he knows its precise location. Should Vexley meet a foul end, I won’t ever retrieve it. It’s an object my father treasured, so losing it… it has a great emotional attachment for me, is all.”