Forbidden Desires : The Immortals Book One

Chapter 12

Moscow

Muddy ground and dead leaves replaced the melting snow. Daylight savings passed; the days would soon be getting longer. The compound buzzed with gossip about the "Brothers War"-should they choose Darien or Gaspard? To some, the choice was clear-the one who wasn't traipsing a leech under their noses as if everything were fine.

Scratching the back of his neck, Gaspard waited for the vampire outside her door. They hadn't spoken much since his outburst a few nights back. It's for the best, he thought-no way to get caught up with her. Despite this, he couldn't fight the soothing effect of her hand on his arm, her maddening scent.

He asked if she'd heard anything back from Cain yet, but her answer was always no. Gaspard ran his hand through his hair, trying his best to slick it back, but it proved too unruly-an unkempt black sea on his head. His freshly shaved face was smooth and shadowed, and he wore a tailor-made black three-piece suit with a Hermès tie to match. Giving his shoes a once over, he peeked at his watch. What was taking so long?

Nathalie opened the door, acknowledging him with a formal curtsy. "Your Grace." Her black evening gown swept the floor as she glided toward him, its brooches and stones gleaming under the chandelier. Gaspard's lips parted as he took her in. She was stunning with minimal makeup, only deep burgundy lipstick and eyeliner. Her hips switched as she moved, her cleavage taunted him.

"Before you ask, I haven't gotten a call back yet, so-what?" She was confused by his unreadable expression.

Gaspard cleared his throat. Say something!

"You just...ahem...nice...You look nice," he muttered, holding out his arm, and descended the stairs without another word.

With synchronized steps, they entered the den, greeted by the familiar sight of people milling about in their finery. The boisterous roar whittled down to hushed whispers as they entered the room-par for the course these days. Nathalie didn't bat an eye, keeping in step with Gaspard as he made his way to the bar.

She turned to Gaspard, who stared at the counter in front of him while sipping his drink. After what happened on the plane, she'd made the decision to steer clear of absinthe for the remainder of their time together. The smell of the whiskey from his glass took her back to that night of inebriated passion. Though he was long without practice, he hadn't lost his touch. His big hands caressed her with the utmost care, and he stoked her fire to a fever pitch with the way he pinned her thighs to the mattress as he tasted her. Goosebumps rose on her arms as she thought of how his lips felt on her skin.

Then there was the other night, the night the heat of his body melted away her defenses. The way he was flush with her one moment and recoiled in disgust the next gave her whiplash. What kind of mess did she find herself in? She was so lost in thought she didn't even pay attention to the man strolling up to the bar on the other side of her.

A heavyset man in his forties-liver spots dotted his hands, and his scalp held tight to wisps of silver hair. His ruddy complexion let her know he'd had a few before, during, and after breakfast as he shook his glass at the barkeep. It's 5 o'clock somewhere, she supposed. A deep scowl formed on his face as he finally noticed her.

"Humph," the man grumbled as he fixed his tie. "You must have a death wish, chitchka." He picked up his now full glass to take a swig, giving her a once over. "Let me know when you're ready and I'll take you for a lovely afternoon stroll...I'll even bring a broom."

Gaspard stared the inebriate down, his eyes brightening as the beast rose quickly beneath the surface. His arm tightened around the vampire as he stepped closer to the man, leaning down so he could whisper.