Chapter 6

Cassian's POV

She was still crying.

I stood there, watching her shoulders shake, listening to the broken sounds coming out of her throat. Tears streaked down her face. Her hands were trembling.

And all I could think about was that moment. That single, impossible moment when our eyes had locked.

My heart had beaten.

Once.

Just once.

It shouldn't have happened. My heart didn't beat. Hadn't beaten in centuries. The organ in my chest was a relic, a vestigial thing that served no purpose beyond keeping up appearances when I needed to pass as human.

But it had beaten for her.

The Zing.

I'd heard about it. Every vampire had. The elders spoke of it in hushed tones, like it was some kind of sacred myth. A soul-deep recognition. The moment when you found the one being in all of existence whose essence perfectly matched your own.

One vampire. One chance. One lifetime.

The probability was infinitesimal. Most vampires went their entire existence without experiencing it.

And mine had just happened with a human girl who was currently sobbing in a sex club.

A whore.

The word felt wrong even as I thought it.

No. She wasn't. She'd said she wasn't and I believed her. I'd seen her in the forest. Seen the way those dirty wolves had been chasing her. Seen the terror on her face.

This was their doing. The Fenrir Brotherhood's standard playbook. Hunt down humans who wandered too close to their territory. Wipe their memories. Sell them to places like this.

She was still talking. Still asking questions. Her voice kept breaking, kept hitching with tears, but she was trying. Trying to understand. Trying to buy time to escape the destiny of a human girl in this place.

Smart girl.

"We're in Saint-Lumière," I said finally. "The Nightfall Club."

Her eyes widened slightly.

Of course she'd heard of it. Everyone in Saint-Lumière had heard of the Nightfall Club. It was famous. Exclusive. The kind of place that showed up in glossy magazines and society pages.

What she didn't know was what it really was.

Nightfall didn't cater to human clients. Oh, humans worked here. The women serving drinks, dancing on stages, servicing clients in private rooms. All human. But the customers? The ones paying premium prices for premium entertainment?

Vampires. Werewolves. And the occasional demon if they had enough gold to cover the entry fee.

This was a supernatural establishment. And Saint-Lumière itself, the glittering European metropolis that humans thought they knew, was the beating heart of supernatural control over the mortal world.

They had no idea.

The humans who lived here, who worked their normal jobs and went to their normal schools and lived their normal lives, had absolutely no idea that every major institution in this city was owned, operated, or controlled by beings who could tear them apart without breaking a sweat.

The banks. The hospitals. The police department. The courts.

All of it.

And the humans just kept going about their business, blissfully ignorant, while we fed on them in every sense of the word.

It was the most fundamental rule of our world. The Shadow Pact. Every supernatural being, regardless of species or allegiance, followed it.

Never reveal your true nature to humans.

Not out of kindness. Not out of some misguided sense of mercy.

Because it was efficient.

Centuries of ruling humans had taught us that much.

Hidden control was always more effective than open conquest. No resistance. No rebellion. No messy wars or public executions.

A knock on the door interrupted my thoughts.

I wasn't surprised.

Shane. The head of the Sklar family. The owner of this club. He'd have someone watching. Making sure his expensive private room was being used appropriately.

Making sure I wasn't causing problems.

Tonight had been about two things.

First, the traitor. One of my own had tried to sell information to a rival family. He'd fled into werewolf territory, thinking the wolves would protect him. Thinking I wouldn't follow.

He'd been wrong.

I'd gone in personally. Dealt with it personally. And in the process, I'd seen her. This girl. Being chased through the forest by a pack of Fenrir wolves.

I hadn't sent my people after her. It was their territory after all.

But clearly they'd caught her. Clearly they'd sold her here.

And now she was my problem.

The second thing tonight was supposed to be about Shane. About settling a very old, very specific debt. My people were out there right now, handling it. Pushing the pieces into place.

I hoped they were making progress.

The knock came again. More insistent this time.

I walked to the door. Didn't open it.

"What?"

My voice came out flat. Cold.

There was a pause. Then the server's voice filtered through, unctuous and careful.

"Sir. Do you need any assistance? It sounds like things inside are... not proceeding smoothly."

I almost smiled.

"You think I need help subduing a human?"

Another pause. Longer this time.

When he spoke again, his tone had shifted. More cautious. More calculating.

"Of course not, sir. It's just that Mr. Shane wanted to ensure everything was... satisfactory."

Translation: the room's too quiet. You're supposed to be fucking her. Why aren't there any sounds?

But he was right. The silence would raise suspicion. I needed to make this look convincing.

I turned around.

She'd stopped crying. Was wiping her face with her sleeve. When she saw me walking toward her, she shrank back into the corner of the couch.

Her eyes went wide.

I could see her pulse jumping in her throat.

This was going to be unpleasant.

I closed the distance in two strides. Bent down. One hand braced against the back of the couch behind her, caging her in. The other caught her chin, fingers firm, holding her face still.

She tried to turn her head. Couldn't.

"Wait—"

I kissed her.

She went rigid. For one second, completely frozen.

Then she started fighting.

Her hands shoved at my chest. Her body twisted, trying to get away. Small sounds of protest caught in her throat, muffled against my mouth.

I didn't let go.

Her scent hit me full force at this distance. Something sweet and warm and fundamentally human. It bypassed every rational thought in my head and went straight into my bloodstream like a drug.

My body responded instantly.

My cock hardened so fast it was almost painful. The fabric of my pants suddenly felt too tight, the friction unbearable. Every instinct I had was screaming at me to pin her down, tear away those ridiculous scraps of clothing, and take what my body was demanding.

Calm down.

I forced the thought through the haze. Forced myself to focus.

But then I felt it. The pulse in her neck. The steady, rhythmic throb of blood moving through the artery just beneath her skin.

It was like a drumbeat against my senses.

The hunger rose up so fast I barely had time to register it. Two kinds of hunger, layered on top of each other. The sexual need and the blood thirst, both demanding satisfaction, both clawing at my control.

My fangs started to descend.

No.

I bit down hard. Not on her. On my own tongue.

The sharp pain brought a flash of clarity. Blood flooded my mouth, coppery and thick. I used the momentum of the kiss, the pressure of my mouth against hers, to force a small amount of the blood past her lips.

She choked. Tried to pull away.

I let her go.

She stumbled backward, bent over, gagging. One hand pressed to her mouth. Her whole body convulsed.

I stepped back. Ran my tongue over the already-healing wound.

The blood would mark her. My blood. Progenitor blood. It would sink into her system, leave my signature woven through her cells. Most supernatural influences would have reduced effectiveness on her now. Werewolf compulsion. Vampire thrall. Witch hexes.

And I'd be able to track her. Always. No matter where she went, I'd know exactly where she was. What state she was in.

She was still gagging. Her face had gone pale.

"You—" She looked up at me, eyes watering. "What did you just—that was blood. That was your blood. What the fuck—"

She stopped mid-sentence.

Her hands flew to her temples. Her whole body swayed.

I watched, waiting.

The blood was taking effect. A side effect, really. As said, most supernatural influences would have reduced effectiveness on her, including the kind the Ash-bringers used to erase human's memory when needed.

Her eyes went unfocused for a moment. Then they cleared. Sharpened.

When she looked at me again, everything about her expression had changed.

"I remember," she whispered.

Her voice was hoarse. Shaking. But there was a certainty in it that hadn't been there before.

"The forest. I remember. I saw you. You were there. You were—"

Her breathing picked up. Fast. Panicked.

"You're a werewolf. You and your people. You were chasing us. You were hunting us—"

My eyebrow twitched.

Then I felt it. The corner of my mouth pulling up. Just slightly. The faintest hint of a smile.

A werewolf.

She thought I was a filthy werewolf.

What an insult!