Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 171450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 857(@200wpm)___ 686(@250wpm)___ 572(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 171450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 857(@200wpm)___ 686(@250wpm)___ 572(@300wpm)
“Unfortunately, we have a meeting.”
“Hair up,” he teased, trailing a finger down her neck again. “Vampires like that sort of thing.”
“Vampires? But you hate them.”
“Ah, did I not tell you? We’re meeting Lyra’s parents.”
Kierse choked on the words. “What?”
He smirked. “Maybe I did want to mark my territory.”
He laughed and helped her to her feet with no other explanation. Classic Graves. So she had to hastily do her hair and makeup all while stressing meeting the king and queen of the vampire Upper East Side. Casual. Just a random Tuesday.
In the end, Isolde had to fix her French twist. Somehow, she did it with one pin and then blew out her bangs to frame her face. She applied a smoky eye and red lip. The dress Graves had bought was fuck-me-red that hit at the top of her thighs with off the shoulder straps and a square neckline. She could barely walk in it paired with thigh-high, suede black boots.
Her hand went to her throat where her missing wren necklace should have been. It would have gone perfectly with the outfit. She swallowed down the grief and descended the stairs.
Graves waited at the foot. He’d straightened up his tuxedo and was looking a little devil-may-care. His midnight hair was styled forward into those smoky eyes. She wanted to get red lipstick on every available inch of skin.
“Shall we?” he asked, offering her his hand.
Edgar was waiting at the entrance to the garage. “I’ll accompany you with George tonight,” he said, pressing the button for the elevator.
They took it to the underground garage and found George leaning against the side of the limo. He popped open the door for them. “Good evening.”
“George,” Graves said as he got into the back.
“Did you like the shirt that Gen made you?” Kierse asked.
George peeked a glance at Graves and then unbuttoned one of his shirts to show that he was wearing an Anne Boleyn T-shirt underneath his uniform, as promised. “It’s my favorite.”
Kierse laughed. “Priceless.”
He zipped his lips, and she winked before stepping inside.
“What was that about?” Graves asked.
Kierse barely suppressed her grin. “Nothing.”
George slid into the driver’s seat while Edgar took the passenger seat. Backup just in case.
“Are we going to need Edgar’s help tonight?” she asked him.
“Let’s hope not.”
“I hate going into a vampire lair without a weapon,” she grumbled. The dress didn’t exactly leave room for a gun as so many of the dresses she wore around Graves.
“You are the weapon,” he reminded her.
Her heart beat furiously as they crossed the darkened park where goblin fruit passed hands on the corner to the Upper East Side. She only ventured to this side of town for baked delicacies, the MET, or easy pickpockets. The wealth nauseated her. She still wasn’t used to it even being around Graves all the time. There would always be a part of her that was the thief that placed a value on everything around her.
The limo stopped on 5th Avenue before a towering building overlooking Central Park. One benefit to the Upper East Side at least was that there were no underground monster deals or Men of Valor logos graffitied on the side of buildings or fights in the streets. No, all of that was hidden behind their money, as it had been during the Monster War.
Edgar escorted them out of the vehicle. She slid her hand into the crook of Graves’s arm, lifting her chin and walking like she was on a runway.
A white-gloved doorman opened the door for them with a tilt of his chin. They entered the expansive luxury as if they belonged, only to find Lyra Anderson standing at the foot of a bank of elevators, tapping her foot impatiently.
“There you are!” she gasped as they approached her.
She was in a micro mini black dress that hugged her lithe features. Long, drapey necklaces hung from her neck and bracelets bracketed her wrists. Her hair was down and pin straight.
“I can’t believe you asked me to call two unfortunate meetings in the same week,” Lyra said. She pressed the button for the penthouse. “I’ll have you know that the vampire syndicate sent Quint here to deal with my parents after I met with them. That’s a huge bust.”
“Is Quint your mysterious enemy?”
Lyra frowned. “Yes. Well, that’s not his real name, but he’s the fifth. So I call him Quint. Whatever. That’s not important. He’s here. And he’s a royal pain in my ass.”
“Noted,” Graves said. “You did us a favor, Lyra. I owe you.”
“Well, I guess it’s worth it, then. Come on,” she said with a smirk. “Let’s ascend to hell.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
For all the marbled and gilded and heavy, red-curtained luxury of the entranceway, the Anderson residence was practically austere. Not from lack of wealth, but a minimalist aesthetic that said they didn’t need to showcase things when they had floor-to-ceiling windows on one side of the enormous two-story penthouse suite that overlooked the park. The sort of wealth that needed no explanation.