Masters of the Night by Elizabeth Brockie Read Free Book Online

sit in
vermin’s clothes, stinking, carrying God only knows what filth on my claws, and
for what? Just to glimpse her.
    Angie’s violet gaze suddenly left the book and
centered on the beam, or more specifically, the mouse. “Enjoying the
view?”
    She had sensed his presence, who knew for how long?
    He scurried across the beam, dropped to the floor, became himself, and
was sitting across from her at her little reading table before she could
exhale.
    A universe of emotions passed through her eyes. None of them the desirous stars he had hoped for. She stared at him as though
a nightmare had just materialized before her, a horror of discovery. The vampyre who shared her being was indeed real and right in
front of her.
    “Slaying for DuPre must pay well,” Henri said
sardonically, eyeing the lavishly wrapped parcels. Then he kicked himself in
the butt mentally. That was not what he wanted to say. He had wanted to
say—hell, he didn’t know what he wanted to say. But not that.
    Her cheeks reddened, and her body tightened. “What—are you doing here?”
she managed, her hand shaking as she fingered a page of the book.
    He leaned toward her, and his watery blue gaze swept through her opaque
violet one. “What are you doing with The Breakfast Slayer Club? I left you with
my descendent cousin, with Stephen. I didn’t let you live so you could become a
slayer. I wanted you to—have a real life. Some fun, some adventure.” He paused
and arched an eyebrow slyly, invitingly. “With me perhaps?”
    “I’d rather eat a handful of live wasps!”
    He studied her, puzzled. He had expected a measure of aggravation with
him perhaps, but not this, this open animosity. He had saved her life, after
all. “You sound—a little irritated.”
    She pursed her lips. “I would kill you right here, right now, if I had the
power!”
    Holding his arms out to his sides in a mock gesture of surrender, he
flashed a sly smile. “Ah, but you do.”
    Her next words were a bitch-slap. “When I learn to use it, I will.”
    The glacial coldness in her tone seared him to the core, an odd pain
reaching into his heart. An ache that stole his control. The emotion of feeling hurt, wounded, was new to him.
    Or perhaps so old he had forgotten.
    At any rate, he quickly pushed it aside. He could deal with human
frailty later. There were more pressing matters at hand. “Why are you with DuPre and that scurvy band of stake throwers?’” he
demanded.
    “I’m not your minion,” she spat. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”
    “You clean up nice,” he said, tossing her a brilliant, white smile. “Spunky, perky, impertinent, and maybe even a little sexy.”
    She half-rose from the nook to run, but in a flash, he was putting his
hand of power over her soft, human one. “Don’t, Angie. I’m sorry. Please. Sit
back down. I only came to talk. I’m a vain, arrogant bastard. I know that. I
guess it happened when I was bitten.”
    “I think you’ve probably always been one,” she said, but eased back
into her seat. Slowly. Watchfully.
    Henri could feel the pulse in her wrist racing. She was scared. With no
memory, apparently, that he did what he did to save her.
    She does not yet remember she was being beaten to death by her mortal
lover, and bleeding out , he realized unhappily.
    But he knew as her eyes became brackish, that she was sensing acutely
the irrevocable union with him.
    He also knew she was acutely aware that experiencing her in return was
pleasuring him all the way to his groin.
    “I am a vampyre , and you are pleasantly
gorgeous, but I’m not going to hurt you, Angie,” he said softly, his voice
coffee-rich as he stroked the back of her hand lightly with his fingertips.
    “Then why are you here?” Angie was barely able to ask, wondering at the
sensation of pleasant warmth his moving fingers caused as they pressed lightly
against her skin.
    “You need a guardian, Cinderella. You couldn’t throw a stake and hit
the broad side of