As we both drink—Serpaint demands that we empty the tumblers—I can see in Isolde’s eyes that she fears what will happen next. Will she fall in love with her despicable husband? Or will she fall in love with me? This has gone very wrong from her perspective.
But I know from Magda that the potion only works on those it had been destined for, or those who touched it. But even if it could affect me, I come from the order of assassins. We were trained to control and annihilate our emotions. There’s no potion that can make an emotional cripple like me feel love. I can feel loyalty, dedication, duty, even camaraderie, but those are all concepts the assassins fostered and nourished. Love was the sign of the weakling.
Finally, Isolde and I set our empty tumblers on the table. We stare into each other’s eyes, and I try to convey to her all the calm that I can. Everything in my demeanor says ‘I got this’, and I hope she picks up on that.
Serpaint circles us, giving the drinks the time necessary to kick in.
“Maybe it takes a while,” he eventually says, the grin returning to his lecherous face. “But we have all the time in the world.”
He slaps a hand on my shoulder. “I have a proposition for you, Tristan, one that you might actually like. Lord Dracula now knows about our presence here, so he sent you to find out what we’re all about, right?”
My jaw tightens, but I nod.
“Well, then, here’s what I suggest. Provided that you survive the next twenty-four hours—some poisons take that long to kick in—I invite you to stay.” He pauses for the effect. He stares me hard in the face for any signs of discomfort, but I got them all in check.
“Sounds like a good plan to me,” I say. “But I need to know how long that will be. As much as I’d like to keep my nose in your business indefinitely, I can’t be away from Lord Dracula’s operations forever.”
Mark keeps his hands behind his back, but I can see that twinkle in his eye again. Evil schemes are swirling around in his head.
“Don’t worry, we serpents didn’t come here to stay, Tristan. If my little wife here had given up the man she protected when I first approached her—” He glances at Isolde, whose eyes are fixed on me, and her face white as alabaster, “we would have left a long time ago. But she chose to help him escape, and so we were forced to stay until we get what we want.”
I look from Isolde to Serpaint. “Is that why you married her? As punishment for helping your target escape?”
“Oh no, how can you even say that?” Mark replies sarcastically, brushing his terrified wife’s cheek with the back of his finger. “I married her because I fell in love with her on first sight, of course. We serpent shifters need only a minute to know who we want to have for a mate. The moment a woman strikes us as the most attractive thing we’ve ever seen, we take her to our bed, and imprint on her.”
A tear of hopelessness rolls down Isolde’s pretty cheek. She belongs to this monster, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it. Mark takes in the sight of her crying like it gives him a fucking orgasm, and my teeth crunch—I could kill him for it.
“Do not be deceived by appearances, Tristan. I assure you Isolde is enjoying a lavish lifestyle.”
“I know. It’s what happens behind closed doors that worries me.”
Murmur and tremor goes through the gathered serpents. I guess touching the subject of the boss’s wife is a no no. A glint of temper crosses Mark’s face, too.
“Tread carefully, Tristan, because you’re treading a mined field.”
“Isolde is a member of the vampire royal family, and I’m the Vampire King’s second in command. I will sure as hell meddle, if I notice the lady is in distress.”
Hope lights up in Isolde’s sparkling blue eyes. Hell, the woman’s irises are like jewels, they distract me.
“But she is not a vampire,” Mark protests.
“She isn’t a serpent either.”
“She’s not a serpent, but she took my blood. For as long as she takes it, she stays young, immortal, and mine.” He says that last word with so much greed that Isolde grimaces as if she’s just sucked lemon.
“I haven’t taken your blood in months,” she blurts. All heads turn to her. Serpaint grabs her waist roughly, pulling her close. Her body slams into his.
“You don’t talk to me like that in front of my men,” he grunts between his teeth.
I take a step forward.
“I’ll stay and help you find the man who escaped,” I offer. “But you will not touch Isolde against her will again as long as I’m here.” My eyes dart from him to her. She stares at me with those big sparkling eyes like I’m the sun.
The serpents all around hiss. I can hear their inner beasts coiling and wheezing inside of them. They’re ready to shift any moment, all it would take would be their leader’s signal.
But after moments of staring at me like he could chain me in silver and then pour some down my throat, Serpaint releases Isolde, and opens his arms.
“Well, then, welcome to my personal retinue of bodyguards Tristan DeKnight, Prince of Spades and son of the assassins’ order. It’s an honor to have a fighter of your caliber on my side.” His face darkens. “Even if it’s just for this one mission. Maybe we can become friends after all.”
CHAPTER III – Lady and the Knight
Tristan
SERPAINT WANTS TO HAVE me monitored at all times, of course. He gave me a spacious chamber on the ground floor of his villa, right behind the grand stairs, and by the alligator’s room. A serpent walks down the hallway outside my door every ten minutes or so, because the boss wants to make sure I don’t roam the place given the chance.
I talked to Lord Dracula a few days ago, persuaded him to give me a month to deal with this alone. It would be a mistake to have the vampires openly involved. I asked him to trust me and let me avoid a possibly unnecessary bloodbath. Wisdom won over his warlord impulses, and he agreed.
A shift by the door stirs my senses. I keep my face to the open window and my back to the door, letting the intruder think I haven’t sensed them. But what serpent would be so clumsy? Sneaking is natural to them, they do it even better than vampires, why does this one stomp in the dark like a big baby?
The creature stills for a moment, gauging my reactions. I cross my arms, seemingly relaxed in front of the window. What I’m actually doing is reaching for my blades under my sleeves.
My nostrils flare as I take in the scent—the same scent that Isolde had at The Wreck, a scent that she shares with her husband. I despise everything about Mark Serpaint, but I must say I would love to sink my teeth into his rich veins. Some of the most violent scenarios I played in my head over the years about how I was going to kill him involved torture, and me drinking his blood while he squealed like a pig.
The intruder approaches on tiptoes, but then steps swoosh outside the door, and he lunges at me fast. I whip out the blades and flash around, ready to stab him under his chin.
I grab and slam him against the wall, my blade at his throat. To my astonishment though, it isn’t a serpent. It’s Isolde.
Isolde
TRISTAN DEKNIGHT HAS me pushed up against the wall, holding a blade at my throat, and even though I’ve almost pissed myself, I gasp at his beauty. His perfect face with sharp, masculine features is growing on me. Or maybe it’s just the way he stood up for me a few days ago. Or maybe it’s the fucking love potion.