True to his word, Bastian dropped me off at the house, then showed me how to work the keypad in front, warning me that I shouldn't be coming and going at this point, and to stay inside. Then he sped off in his car and I was left alone.
I checked Teddy's food, cleaned his litter box, then curled up with a book. A couple of hours passed before I was seeking out my phone. I had two missed calls from Vivi. I called her back.
"Jeez, Elle! Did you die?!" she asked, picking up on the first ring.
"Hey girl. Sorry. Been busy."
"With that hot goblin guy, huh?" she teased. I huffed. "Oh. My. God! You have been, haven't you?"
I groaned, scrubbing a hand over my forehead. "I'm in such deep shit, Vivi."
"All right, spill. I want all the details—wait, did you guys kiss?! Tell me you kissed."
"Ugh." I let a silence stretch out and then—"Yes, all right. We kissed, and...did some other stuff too."
There was a loud shriek on the other end, some hushed whispering, and then, "Okay, you owe me details. I want everything!"
So, I spent the next thirty minutes going into excruciating detail of exactly what Bastian and I had done, both after dancing at the club, and again last night in his pool. I included some of our conversations, and some of the mixed signals I'd received.
"Huh," she said at last. "It sounds like he's pretty conflicted."
"You think?!" I deadpanned. "One minute he's all over me, the next he's all, 'If you lay a finger on my cock, I'm going to fuck you,' and a bunch of other bullshit stuff. Actually...it was pretty hot, but still," I whined.
"Wait, he said that?"
I snorted. "I think it was more like, 'I'm going to bend you over the side of the pool and fuck your fucking brains out,' or something of that variety."
"Oh my god!" she breathed. "I don't think anyone has ever said anything that hot to me. Ever."
"Me either," I agreed. My muscles twitched, low in my abdomen at the memory of his words.
"Well, he clearly wants you."
"Tcha. That much is obvious."
"But he's afraid to have sex because he's afraid of getting too close and being all possessive and shit. But, Elle, I gotta say, that's pretty hot. I'm all about possessive dominant men—shit, I mean, the kinds that don't hurt you. The sexy dominance, not the..."
I winced. "Yes, yes, I know what you're trying to say. Honestly, I thought I would never be able to do a dominant possessive guy ever again, after Luke. But..." My grip tightened on the phone. "Bastian is different," I finished.
"From the little I've heard, he sounds completely different. Elle...I don't think he'd ever hurt you, not like that."
I swallowed, my throat going dry. "I don't think he would either," I admitted. I knew it in my gut, had known it the moment I laid eyes on him. "The only problem is, my conscience keeps telling me that my judgment is compromised and just because I feel like he won't hurt me, doesn't mean he won't."
"Well, maybe not in the same way," Vivi pointed out. And she was probably right. There were many ways to break a heart, and Bastian Croft probably excelled at most of them. Sure, he wouldn't lay a finger on me, would never physically harm or demean me, but that wouldn't stop the pain when it came. There was no way things wouldn't end badly between us, me being human, him being...what he was.
"I feel like a moth near flame," I groaned out. "I know he's capable of burning me. I know it deep in my bones, Vivi. And yet, I just don't fucking care. For once, I just don't."
"Then go for it, Elle. What if..." She fell silent for several beats. "What if you go your separate ways days, even weeks from now, and that's it, and you're left with regret? What if you do nothing and when the opportunity is gone, you regret not taking it. You don't want this to be something you look back on for the rest of your life and wonder, What if? You know?"
"You're right," I whispered.
We chatted for a few more minutes. She filled me in on her sister, and how she was doing post break-up. I warned her not to come home until I'd had a chance to fix the apartment and take care of the Luke situation, then we hung up.
The house was silent after our call—too silent. Too much of what we'd said spun through my mind. Sighing, I went to my room and changed into some workout gear, then took my phone downstairs and plugged it into the sound system.
***
When Bastian hadn't returned by dinner time, I took matters into my own hands. I wasn't an outstanding cook, by any means, but I could whip up fresh Alfredo sauce, which was by far my specialty. I mean, it was hard to screw up a cream and parmesan base. I prided myself in elevating it with red pepper flakes and fresh garlic. I also found several steamer bags of fresh veggies in the freezer. I selected the peas, then grilled up some frozen chicken breast.
While my sauce simmered, I rummaged around in the pantry, found some crusty sourdough, checked the date, and smiled. For a single guy who shopped twice a week, he seemed to keep a stocked kitchen. He'd had everything I needed, and more.
Except, where did he keep the wine—?
The purr of an engine followed by the rumble of the garage door made me freeze, halfway through the process of buttering bread. I glanced down at the two slices, then grabbed two more. I'd made enough pasta for leftovers, so no issues there. I popped them into the oven right as a door slammed.
"Damn, Sugar. Look at you. Did you cook me dinner?"
I spun around and smiled. My smile faltered. Bastian was spattered with mud and... "Is that...blood?!" My mouth opened and closed, eyes wide.
He strutted forward. "Not mine."
"Whose?!" I demanded, immediately thinking of Luke.
"Nothing you need to worry your pretty little face over." He inhaled, eyes widening. "You made me fresh Alfredo?"
"That depends..."
"On what?"
"Whether you answer my question."
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "It was...work stuff. No one you know or should worry about. In fact, someone you shouldn't spend an ounce of effort on."
"Work...as in, the WBI? Or work as in...your other thing?" His Enforcer, bounty hunter thing, or whatever it was that he did for the fae.
"My other thing," he said, like it was no big deal.
I swallowed. "But...you're okay?" My eyes darted over him, taking in his disheveled appearance, the rips I noticed in his jeans, like he'd gotten into a fight and someone had used a knife on him.
"Fine as ever, and even better once I eat."
I squared my shoulders. "You're not eating in that state," I scolded. "Go clean yourself up first, it will hold."
"Yes, ma'am." He gave me a two-finger salute, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth, then disappeared.
I resumed my search, looking for where he might keep his bottles of wine. I hadn't spotted any kind of wine rack in the house. I tried not to think about Bastian going head-to-head with some bad guy. Tried, and failed. My nipples tightened. It was freaking hot, who was I kidding?
"Whatcha doing in here, Sugar?" I jumped, swearing, as I turned.
"Was looking for the wine," I squeaked, my eyes going wide at the sight of him. He cleaned up quickly, in a black button down, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a pair of denim jeans, and his hair braided back.
"You won't find it in the liquor cabinet."
"Okay, well, I looked everywhere else!"
He huffed. "Come here, I'll show you. I keep my collection hidden, for obvious reasons."
"Let me guess, because of all the six-thousand-dollar bottles?"
"That's exactly why," he said, throwing me a grin. Then he led me to the hall and pressed his palm over a panel I hadn't noticed. The wall slid away and I was left gaping, mouth open, staring into darkness.
A moment later, the stairwell illuminated, soft yellow light. He disappeared and I chased after him, descending into an undercroft. "One of the selling points of the house," he said from the bottom of the stairs. "I made some modifications of my own, concealing the entrance and widening it into part of the basement."
I emerged into a wine cellar...but not like any wine cellar I'd ever seen. Not even in movies. The walls were lined with racks of wine, floor to ceiling. The shelves were broken up with ancient looking wall sconces that burned with gas flames. My mouth opened and closed as I turned in a wide circle. It was the size of my living room at home, and something akin to an old-fashioned setting. There was even a small dining set carved out of dark wood, brushed in a beautiful gloss.
"You like?" he growled.
I jumped. He'd come up beside me. My eyes darted to his. His gaze was assessing.
"I love it, I breathed. What's...with the table?"
"Ah, for tastings and such."
An idea came to me. "Do you think, maybe we could have dinner down here?"
Perhaps it was a bit too romantic a setting, but with our pasta, and a bottle of wine, this little slice of heaven would be transportive.
"I think that's a great idea. Why don't you explore, and I'll plate everything up?"
"Okay," I managed. "Don't forget the bread in the oven. I don't want it to burn."
"You got it, Sugar."
When I turned, he was already disappearing up the stairs.
I walked through the cellar, examining the bottles. There was a glass door at the end. I slipped through—right into a cold room. A shudder raced over my skin, welcome after the intensity of cooking in the kitchen. No, the intensity of being in Bastian's presence. The lights, sensor activated, clicked on and revealed another collection of chilled whites and dessert wines.
"My God," I whispered. He was a fucking wine collector. I should have caught the hint when he'd opened a bottle of two-freaking-thousand-dollar wine last night, but somehow I'd overlooked it, too distracted by the naked goblin swimming around in the pool.
"This looks delicious," a voice called from the other side of the cellar. I turned and left the chiller in time to see Bastian depositing plates piled high with Alfredo, peas mixed in. There was a basket covered by a cloth—our bread. He moved over to the side of the room and plucked a couple of wine glasses for us. "Any preference on wine?"
I made a sound between a nervous chuckle and a gurgle. "Considering you're an expert, no. Something that pairs well with Alfredo. That's all."
He barked a laugh. "I'll try not to disappoint."
There was no way that was possible.
I took a seat, watching as he walked along some of his collection, fingers stroking the bottles the way mine had done in the library earlier, the lightest of caresses. He slipped into the cold room and emerged seconds later with a bottle.
Over at the counter, he made quick work of the cork, then poured us each a generous amount. A few moments later, my wine was deposited. The sound of ice slushing and then a metal bucket appeared in front of me too, the bottle propped inside to stay cold.
A cloth napkin appeared in his hand. "Allow me," he said, leaning forward and spreading it over my lap before I could stop him. Like a waiter at a fancy restaurant. God!
My heart fluttered wildly. He'd thought of everything. I squeezed my thighs together, watching as he took a seat opposite.
He hesitated, brows drawing low, then flourished his hand. Music started from somewhere above, the sounds drifting down to us. Classical, this time. "Ah, that's better."
Now he really had thought of everything.
He inhaled. "Damn, this smells amazing. I'll have you know, I'm a bit of an Alfredo connoisseur."
"Fuck," I muttered under my breath. Great. Just great. "Knowing how you cook, I'd have cooked something else then."
"Why? Afraid I'll be a harsh critic?"
I snorted. "I'd rather you be harsh then tell me lies."
"Noted. Let's see then."
He lifted his fork and twirled it, spiraling fettuccini around and around. I watched, unblinking. My heart kicked up a notch as he lifted and took a bite. I held my breath, watching him chew. His face gave nothing away—absolutely nothing.
He swallowed, then his eyes lifted to mine and a smile spread across his face. "It's perfect."
My stomach bottomed out. He took another bite and I managed to find my voice. "I...you're just saying that."
"I told you I wouldn't lie to you."
Instead of answering, I picked up my fork and speared a piece of chicken, dragging it through the sauce and plopping it into my mouth. I chewed, swallowed, then smiled. "Okay, in your defense," I said, "this might be the best Alfredo I've ever made."
"See? And I know my Alfredo. It happens to be one of my favorite comfort dishes, I'll have you know."
"It...is?"
"Yes, which is why I am so pleased you made it today. Thank you. That means a lot. Things got...a little out of hand earlier and I got home later than expected." Something flashed across his expression, there and gone.
I wanted to ask about it but didn't want to pry. Instead, I picked up my glass of wine, now frosty from the cold liquid. I swirled it a couple of times then took a sip. Crisp, light, buttery flavor spread through my mouth, cleansing my palate.
"I love Chardonnay," I murmured, taking another sip. "This is good. Really good."
We ate in silence for several minutes. I devoured half my plate before slowing down. Bastian inhaled most of his. If I'd doubted him initially, the vigor with which he ate changed my mind. There was something indescribably satisfying, seeing him eat the food I'd prepared. And not just eat it but enjoy it.
"Mmm...just the right amount of spice," he said, leaning back, stretching.
"The red pepper flakes."
"Right, I noticed that. Nice addition. I like adding them to mine, too."
I grinned, butterflies bursting through my stomach. He finished off his glass and refilled it, then topped mine off. Like the wine last night, this one went down so smooth, it was deceptively dangerous.
"So...what did you do today, while I was out."
"Oh...not much." I gave him the abridged version of what I'd done, taking sips of wine between my words. He nodded, listening patiently. His eyes glittered with curiosity when I told him I'd talked with Vivi, but he didn't ask about the conversation. Maybe he didn't need to. He could probably tell just by my voice, what we'd discussed.
Another silence fell before he said, "I think Luke is behind Professor Miller's death."
I faltered, my breath stalling in my chest, before I recovered and took a gulp of wine. Then another. It did little to calm my racing heart. "I...had the same hunch," I managed.
He nodded. "Tell me your theories and I'll see if they align with mine."
Taking a deep breath, I said, "Luke was always overly curious about artifacts. That's my first red flag—given what we've discovered. He shouldn't have had trouble tracking down Professor Miller. He knew we worked together—probably still held a grudge from that night, when she interfered."
Bastian listened patiently, taking a moment to refill our glasses again while I spoke. The bottle was emptied. I watched him set it back in the bucket as I continued. "I wouldn't have suspected him, except that he found me not long after Jane's death, that night at Vortex. But then, with my apartment getting trashed, and Peter's body." I shook my head. "That was too coincidental. I wasn't positive until that happened—like a gut feeling—that it was him," I explained. "But the missing badge? The artifacts in the library. It's...too suspicious."
Bastian nodded, his fingers drumming on the table. He took a deep sip of wine before speaking. "So, you think Luke could be behind the sleepers too?"
Sleepers. It was a fitting name, given the name of the harp.
"I mean, I wouldn't have thought him capable of so much, but he always showed a hunger for power, which didn't become apparent until we'd been together for a while. He must be. He has to be," I finished, feeling the dread that formed in my gut. I clutched my arms tight to my chest, like I could ward off the emotion.
"I hadn't believed the two intertwined," Bastian mused, "but now that they appear to be..." He sighed. "I received more intel this afternoon, from the vampires. A number of their people have suffered the same sleeping episodes."
Chills raced down my spine.
"How is he doing it?" I whispered. "I never learned how the harp worked. Does he have to play it in the vicinity of the person he wants to affect? Or what?"
"I was hoping you'd know."
I shook my head, mad at myself. Mad that I hadn't pushed Jane harder into telling me its secrets. Had Luke? That night when he'd invaded her home? Had he hurt her, forced the information from her? He must have.
My stomach roiled. The pasta and wine turned into a hard ball. I took a deep breath, calming myself.
"Hmm," Bastian mused. "That's unfortunate, I admit. If we don't know how it's used, we are at risk."
"You think he'd use it against us?"
A low growl rose in Bastian's chest. "He could have used it against you in the alley that night."
An ache formed in the back of my throat. "Thank you," I whispered. "For coming for me, I mean." I frowned. Had I thanked him that night? Or had I been too pissed off at him. I'd thanked him for my wrist, surely. But...I couldn't quite remember. It had all been a mess of emotions.
"You're welcome, Sugar," he purred. "I told you I'd keep you safe, and I intend to."
A ball of warmth dropped into my chest. Suddenly, the threat of Luke faded into the distance. He'd always had a way of making things feel lighter.
Bastian rocked back on his chair legs, rubbing his neck. "We need to form a plan to catch him, but I think for now, we table it."
"We?"
"You heard me correctly," he said. My eyes narrowed. "I have a feeling you'll be instrumental in catching this asshole. Hey, pun intended." He grunted, as if pleased with himself. "And anyway, if I could leave you out of it, Sugar, I would. I want nothing more than to flay the skin from his bones, and there's no guarantee I won't. My contractor never required me to keep him alive. So...no promises there." I made a choking sound, something tightening between my legs at the menace in his voice. It shouldn't have sounded so fucking hot—shouldn't have turned me on. "But if he wants you bad enough, then I'll need you."
"You're going to use me as...bait?" My eyes widened, the realization sinking in.
"Possibly. Like I said, let me think on it. I've had a hell of a day. I need some sleep. We can discuss it in the morning."
With that, he slid from his chair and drained the remainder of his wine. My eyes roved over his upright body. He set the glass on the table, waved a hand, and our plates disappeared.
"Thanks for dinner, Eleanor. That was a treat." I opened my mouth, then nodded. "Good night, sleep tight, and close the door on your way out," he added, winking. Then he turned and found the stairs, ascending, leaving me sitting alone surrounded by thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of dollars of wine.