Fooling everyone around them.
Much like he’d duped Sadie Dumus.
His fingers stilled, thoughts turning in another direction.
So now the female was claimed. Mated to a werewolf.
Good. She wouldn’t be a distraction.
The head of her coven was an outright bitch but he could handle Geneva. The arrogant female was much like Sadie, thinking she was smarter than she actually was. She wanted to take control of New York? Good luck with that. When Sadie found out she’d wipe the floor with the woman’s ass. He often wondered if overconfidence was a feminine trait, but that wasn’t fair. Not all women were created equal. Especially in his eyes.
Olivia.
Her name suited her perfectly.
Regal. Beautiful.
Forever out of his reach.
He knew he shouldn’t go to her but in a blink he’d phased from his hideaway to the small diner where she waited tables. As per the norm he took the booth in the back, so he could watch her without notice. To be safe he put a veil in place so no one would see him. Mortals were drawn to him but also terrified of him. Best to let them think they were safe and sound within the secure little bubble they placed around themselves.
A flash of blonde drew his attention. There she was, coming from the back.
All of his troubles evaporated.
He hadn’t seen her in weeks.
He inhaled deeply, wanting to draw her scent into his lungs. He had to sort out the other unwanted aromas—cheap beer, greasy food, stale sweat—until he locked onto what he was searching for. His shoulders relaxed, eyes drifting closed, his mind awash in bliss. The female bathed in lily of the valley. He loved that about her. Hell, he loved even more than that if he was being honest with himself. And to think she’d once been a willing vampire slave, allowing them to feast on her blood and body.
Such a pity.
He drew another breath, taking it in, letting it pervade his senses.
The first time he’d seen her—resting on rounded cushions placed upon the floor with a glistening gold collar on her throat—he’d accepted his first defeat. Blonde curls had fallen to her shoulders, her piercing purple eyes like newly bloomed violets. Dressed in white, she’d looked like an angel who’d been trapped in a den of depravity.
He’d wanted her like hell on fire.
In most cases he’d have requested her services and claimed his due. While he didn’t use slaves often, he’d been tempted once or twice. He needed to sate his needs once in a while. Who better to get him off than a human female who used vampire blood to remain forever young? As an added bonus, his involvement and participation tricked The Fallen into thinking he was just like them. Twisted and sadistic, manipulating humans to be whatever they wanted.
So he’d approached Conrad Masterson and asked about the girl seated at his feet.
To his dismay her master refused to share, stating the angelic creature that belonged to him was off-limits. It had made no sense. The Fallen didn’t care about mortals. They were toys, mere playthings used at their leisure. Conrad had instructed the angel—Olivia—to collect their things and take them to her quarters. Aldon had no choice but to watch her stand and walk away, her curvaceous backside taunting him as she strolled from the room.
The memory was scorched into his head.
He couldn’t forget her, even when he tried.
Over time the image of her had become an obsession. He couldn’t bed other women without seeing her face. Even when he drank he pictured her, allowing himself to wonder what it would be like. The softness of her blonde curls would caress his face, her silken skin soft as she begged for his bite. She’d shatter into a million pieces when he sank his fangs into her flesh, crying out as she came.
The truth was he’d found something he wanted but couldn’t have.
It lit a fire in his ass.
So he’d returned to Aurora Palace—an exclusive mansion on the outskirts of Georgia where members of The Fallen dwelled—determined to change Conrad’s mind. He didn’t know the male very well but all black vampires were pretty much the same. Everything had a price. Once he found out what Conrad wanted, Aldon could take the woman to his bed, drink until he was full and be done with it.
He hadn’t been prepared to learn that Conrad had been killed.
With her master gone Olivia had been set free. It had taken him a couple of weeks to find her—here, at this place. Her departure had made little sense. Most would have stayed, grateful to be treated like a pampered pet, content to be a belonging and not a person. But not her. The perplexing mystery of a woman baffled him. She’d taken her things and left, vowing never to speak of her former life.
It was a sealed deal too, inked in black magic. If she ever revealed what she knew to other mortals, the curse placed upon her would kill her in an instant. She was free to speak with other slaves—or other vampires for that matter—but never to those who knew nothing about the supernatural world.
Where is she?
Lost in his thoughts, her scent had drifted from him.
He inhaled, searching for her, wanting to feel her presence all around him.
One day he’d ask her why she’d left. Perhaps when he’d figured her out he’d lose interest. Over the years many women had attempted to snare him but he’d never stuck around. He bored of them easily, casually pushing them aside. He was what humans referred to as a player, moving from one partner to the next.
There. His lips curved into a smile. There she is.
Another scent mingled with her blood, burning in his nose. He frowned, trying to block it out. He attuned everything to Olivia, wanting to be crystal clear. If he hated one thing about her working—as he didn’t think she should be working at all—it was the place she’d chosen to earn her living. At the diner she catered to others like she did as a slave, cleaning up their messes, doing precisely as she was told.
He stopped breathing, eyes flying open.
That scent. It can’t be.
Something was very, very wrong.
Panicked, he searched for her, eyes wild as they darted across the room. Her glorious curly hair was gone, cut into a short pixie. And she was rail fucking thin. So slight he’d break her with a stiff fucking. There were circles under her eyes, her frame barely strong enough to support the tray she carried. Even in her current state she smiled at the family seated at her table, carefully placing their meals before each one of them.
He took another breath, staring straight at her. There it was, bright as day.
No, damn it. No.
He knew what the smell meant, even when he tried to tell himself it couldn’t be. He’d encountered it on numerous occasions from the various mortals all around him. There wasn’t another smell like it, almost like a citrusy acid. The stronger the scent, the worse the condition.
She’s dying.
Everything inside him rebelled, screaming it would never happen.
He dropped his guise, doing something he never did, acting on instinct.
Everything for him was carefully planned. In order to stay alive and one step ahead of his enemies, it was a necessary precaution. His brothers would kill him when they found out he’d dropped his guard, asking him what the hell he’d been thinking. He’d tell them the truth.
He’d never seen it coming. He’d never seen her coming. There had to be a reason he couldn’t stop thinking about her, drawn to her in a manner that would never dissipate.