Games Demons Play (Mystic Isle, Book 3) (3 page)

Pierre was under the mistaken impression that
he owed Shade for saving his life. But Shade enjoyed the old man’s
company.

The moment Shade exited the car, Pierre was
at his side. “A little more explanation would have been good, sir.
Mon Dieu
, you worry me.”

“Pierre, old buddy,” Shade said, cupping
Pierre’s shoulder, “I’m immortal, remember.”

“Yes, yes, you’ll live forever. But not if
you get yourself killed.”

The old man had a good point. Even Shade’s
pact with Luc didn’t mean he was invincible. Just an anomaly.

Shade circled the car and opened the other
door. “Hope you’re prepared for company.”

“Company?” Pierre followed like a mother duck
clucking over her ducklings, his hands folded together with
worry.

“Car accident.”

“I don’t understand, sir.”

Shade huffed out a laugh and opened the
passenger door. Izzy was still asleep but at least she’d stopped
bleeding. He picked her up, careful not to reopen any wounds that
hadn’t fully healed yet.

“I’ll go prepare a room,” Pierre said just
before he
flashed
away.

Shade would never get used to that little
party trick. He’d seen it hundreds of times. One second the vamp
was there, the next millisecond, he was gone. From what Shade knew,
it was a learned skill that only vampires possessed. He was jealous
as hell.

That was the kind of thing that a demon could
put to good use.

Cradling the sleeping beauty in his arms, he
took the stone stairs one at a time, rather than his normal two. He
didn’t want to jostle her awake. Knowing his luck, she’d deck him
in the nose. Again.

For such a tiny little thing, she sure did
pack a punch.

And as impressive as that punch was, he had
no desire to make her feel uneasy. There was something about her…
something he wanted to keep. Hold on to. Have in his life. Maybe it
was the feistiness she’d shown as she sat bleeding. Or perhaps it
was the utter loyalty to her friend. It was probably the fact that
she hadn’t been able to resist the pull of the gorgeous Bugatti
Veyron.

Shade wouldn’t have been able to resist,
either.

The pixie in his arms didn’t move as he
strode down the long corridor to the grand living hall. Nor did she
make a peep as he ascended the two stone staircases leading to the
hall of bedrooms on the third floor. He stared at her the whole
way, unable to help himself. He couldn’t come up with any reason
that made sense, but she was a novelty he could get used to.

Though he’d enjoyed his share of women since
he’d made his pact with Luc, he’d never met one quite like her. So
dainty, graceful like a willow and yet strong like an oak. Both
summer and winter. Vulnerable and fierce.

The second he stepped into the guest bedroom
Pierre was preparing, her eyelids snapped open. Icy aqua eyes
pegged him for a solid second. He wasn’t sure who was more
startled, but then she hissed and leapt from his arms. Her nails
sliced his jacket and down his arm as she shoved away from him.

He saw everything happen in slow motion. Her
graceful back handspring, the way Pierre spun around, leaning
across the bed to protect his creation. Eyes wide, the old vamp
stared at her as she crouched between the two chairs at the foot of
the bed. She moved like a well-trained assassin.

He inspected the tattered edges of his jacket
where her claws had entered. Pierre wouldn’t be pleased about Shade
ruining another custom coat.

“Glad to see you’re in good spirits, little
one.” Shade cocked his head and waited to see what she’d do next.
Her distrust didn’t surprise him, nor did it wound him. But the
wary look in her eyes solidified his resolve to earn her trust.

He didn’t know why. Normally, he didn’t care
what others thought about him. But something about her called to
him, made him want to soothe her. Protect her from whatever it was
that lurked behind those beautiful blue eyes.

Her gaze dropped, searching the floor as if
she’d find the answers there. Then she craned her neck and peered
over the end of the bed to look at Pierre.

“Where am I?” she asked, pegging Shade with a
glare.

“My house. It’s almost daylight.”

As if the thought had just occurred to him,
Pierre bolted into action. Spry for an old guy, Shade would give
him that. Vampires didn’t suffer from things like arthritis. Pierre
gave her a wide birth as he side-stepped his way around the
perimeter of the room.

Izzy watched every step he took. The moment
he drew the shades and pulled the curtains closed, her shoulders
dropped a fraction. The hard glare she’d pegged him with softened
and became curious.

What a fascinating creature she was.

Shade flipped a switch on a nearby lamp and
was rewarded with a quick jerk of her head that sent her beautiful
blonde hair flying.

“You’re safe here,” he assured her. For a
reason he didn’t want to examine, it was important to him that she
felt safe. Secure. That he made her feel that way. What the hell
was wrong with him?

Her eyes widened and her chin pulled back,
and then up. “I’m not safe anywhere.” Concern pinched her brows.
She pressed two fingers right above her nose and rubbed up and
down. Then she shook her head and stared at him. He couldn’t quite
figure out what it meant, but it was intense.

“Where’s Gorgeous?”

It was Shade’s turn to frown. “Who?” She
licked her lips. Oh damn. The added moisture made her crimson lips
shine. Now he wanted to taste them.

“The car. What happened to the car?”

“I had someone tow it to town. Don’t worry,
he’s top-notch.”

He could see the wheels turning. Reaching out
with his mind he heard a colorful variety of words racing through
hers.

Pierre skirted the edge of the room again and
paused in the doorway.

“If you need anything else,
mademoiselle
, please let me know.”

Shade crossed his arms over his chest and
felt like preening when her eyes followed the movement. In fact her
gaze swept over him like a paintbrush, narrowing as she studied his
face.

“If you’d like to take a shower, the
bathroom’s through there.” He nodded toward the door on the wall to
her left.

Her frown deepened. Absently, she ran her
fingers through her hair, twisting it into a single sheaf and
draped it over her left shoulder. Blood had matted the pale
strands, darkening the color, caking at her temple.

She didn’t take her eyes off him. And if he
wasn’t mistaken, she was shaking.

“I’m not going to hurt you, vamp. You’re
welcome to sleep as long as you like.”

“Why are you being so nice?”

Why indeed when she seemed hell-bent on
making him out to be the devil himself. Luc would get a kick out of
that.

The truth was he didn’t have an answer to
that. He rarely allowed anyone in his home. Not that he was a
hermit, but he liked his privacy. His space. He liked his things
just so and having people stomping through his house tended to
change the energy.

He’d partied hard in his youth. Now he liked
his peace and quiet. Unknowingly, she played havoc with his
sanctuary. The memory of her in the seat next to him, her lips on
his skin… and now. Seeing her here, in his home, he would never be
able to erase the memory of her scent.

Even now, less than an hour after meeting her
he was consumed by her. Obsessed. Not good for a demon.

Obsessed or not, he wasn’t mean by nature.
But that didn’t explain the surge of feeling overwhelming him now.
He needed a time-out. A long walk. Some fresh air to clear his head
and examine… everything.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He dropped his arms to
his sides and noted the way she sucked in a breath and tensed.
Verdammt
. The woman had trust issues.

He rubbed a hand over the scratch marks on
his arm. She glanced at the hallway, gauging if she could make it
past him. He raised an eyebrow.

Not likely.

“You dislike my company so much, my little
vamp?”

She blinked, obviously surprised she’d been
caught.

“That’s all right. No offense taken. Take
your time.”

He backed out of the room and pulled the door
shut behind him. One hour. That should give her time to clean up.
But then he’d check to make sure she was okay.

Since he’d watched, helpless, as her car went
flying end over end and his heart had almost failed him, he was
anything but all right.

Izzy tipped her head back beneath the warm
spray. She kept her eyes open, not trusting the man. He was too
good-looking. Too big. Too raw.

Though he’d saved her life by bringing her
here, protected her from the sun, and he seemed… nice, she knew to
keep her guard up. She didn’t like the way her body reacted to his
voice, as if he were an old friend and could be trusted
absolutely.

She soaped herself up and examined everything
she could remember about the morning. Everything up until the
crash. And then right after when she’d first heard his voice.

What had she been thinking? She hadn’t been
thinking. It was as simple as that. She would have to tell Valencia
what she had done.

Her stomach ached at the thought. She would
own her mistake, take responsibility. Once Valencia got home. There
was no reason to ruin V’s trip. And there was nothing V could do
anyway.

Massaging shampoo into her hair, she stared
at the door that joined the bedroom and the bathroom. Maybe the
man’s mechanic would have good news. Then again, how good could it
be? She could not remember the accident. But the car was upside
down and she’d been on the ground several yards away.

Had the man rescued her? Pulled her to
safety? She really should thank him. Later.

And if the car could be fixed, how much would
it cost? The vehicle itself was outrageously expensive. She nibbled
on her fingernail as she made a mental calculation.

No. She definitely did not have that kind of
money lying around for repairs, much less replacement. But perhaps
she could get it. She was good enough at the cards.

Yes. That was brilliant. That could work.

Having money for the repairs would soften the
blow when she told Valencia. She rinsed her hair, shut off the
water, then reached for a towel.

The handsome man with the beautiful gray eyes
knew how to live. His towels were just as thick and fluffy as the
ones at the mansion. Nothing but the best for Valencia Fabelle.
Fancy towels. Palatial French chateau. World-class car.

Izzy frowned at her reflection. This was not
one of her finer moments. And it was no time to be feeling
lightheaded. She rubbed a finger between her eyebrows to soothe the
ache.
Forward, Isadora. Always forward.

After toweling off, she wrapped it around
herself. As usual, the fluffy cotton dwarfed her. She was sick of
being so small. So short that she needed nine-inch heels to look
Valencia in the eye.

She moved into the bedroom and looked through
the armoire for a robe. She’d rinsed the blood from her shirt and
jeans before getting into the shower. Who knew when they’d be dry
enough to wear? How had she managed to get herself stuck at some
stranger’s house during daylight?

Intensity aside, he was nice enough. Said all
the right things. Tried to put her at ease. And gracious, was he
good-looking. She ran her tongue over her fangs. She’d bet her
favorite boots that he tasted as good as he looked. Rich.
Masculine. Savory.

She still was not used to drinking the blood.
It helped if she tried to think of it as wine, and figure out what
characteristics, what flavors the blood would have.

The armoire was empty, except for sheets and
blankets and pillows. It did not matter what he would taste like.
She needed to keep her distance. Not fall for the handsome face.
She needed to figure out a way out of here. And come up with a
plan.

There was no time, no need, to discover if he
was as trustworthy as he appeared, no matter how much her body
urged her to.

A knock at the door had her whirling
around.

“Izzy?”

She held a hand over her racing heart and
clutched the towel with the other. “Yes?”

“You have a phone call.”

Her gaze darted around the room. A phone
call? No one knew she was here. He was trying to trick her. She
turned toward the bathroom.

“Your phone was in my car,” he said through
the door.

Her phone? Oh. Yes. It hadn’t been in her
pocket when she’d set about cleaning her jeans. Her pulse slowed a
fraction.

“Izzy?”

She glanced back at the bathroom door. Would
it be silly to put on her wet clothes just to answer the door?
Surely he wasn’t going to—no. He’d had plenty of opportunity.

“Shall I tell them you’ll call them
back?”

“Them?”

“Are you decent?”

Barely.
“Come in,” she called, edging
closer to the bathroom. She could make it to safety and lock the
door before he could make it across the room. She hoped.

He pushed open the door, her phone in his
hand against his massive chest. She rubbed her palms against the
towel.

“You look much better. Your color has
returned.”

Not that she had much color to begin with.
Not only was she a miniscule five feet tall, her skin was the color
of cream. Year around. Before… she’d been turned, she would burn to
a crisp in the summertime. Being a vampire wasn’t that different.
Except for the whole blood drinking thing. And
flashing
. She
really wanted to master that.

She licked her lips.

He made a sound, low in his throat.

Her heartbeat quickened and she leaned closer
to the bathroom door, despite her urge to find out what else made
him groan.