Page 25 of Eternal Surrender

I glanced down the tunnel hoping for another train to pass.

Marcus was perturbed. “You kind of remind me of him, which is. . . strange.”

He was mulling over whether we were distantly related.

I gave a bored sigh. “What are you going to do with Ingrid?”

Marcus shoved his hands into his pockets. “If I can’t find Orpheus, that decision rests with me.” He went to walk away and then paused as though he too sensed someone. “I’m going to turn her, probably.”

I hoped he missed my reaction.

Above, through a hole in the brick, two curious eyes stared back. In them I saw pain and then confusion tightening into recognition, as if something in me was known to them.

The thing launched straight up, vanishing into nothing.

Chapter Six

I could feel the pull of Ingrid’s thoughts—steady, centered, unmistakable. After going to her flat and not finding her here, this was the next place I searched. The certainty of it drained me, because it meant she truly was here.

As the elevator descended, I grasped the rail, hating the sensation.

Visiting King’s Cross had not been a total waste of time—meeting Marcus there had alerted me to his plan. Another dread came over me as I recalled how Belshazzar’s, Belgravia’s most exclusive club, had once been my most frequent haunt, and yet now all it brought was angst. The part of me that had once found pleasure here was changed irrecoverably and all the joy this place offered was now gone.

Marcus and I had parted ways within the hour, which was easily enough time for him to turn Ingrid.

The lift jolted to a stop.

Had it not been for Ingrid’s stubbornness getting her detained here in London’s premier vampire lair, I’d have caught that rat-like creature by now and ruled out he wasn’t Paradom. Denial was my friend tonight.

The doors slid open, and I realized I’d been holding my breath.

I stepped out warily and came face-to-face with our resident American, Zachary Harris, who was Marcus’s servant. He wore the leather collar of a fledging. Just last week Zachary had been transformed from a Gothica into a nightwalker. He was evidently still adjusting to his elevated status.

Zachary held up his hand. “That’s far enough,” he said with a soft Louisiana lilt.

Voices echoed from down the corridor, coming from one of the farthest chambers.

“I’m here to see Marcus,” I said, annoyed that I even had to say it, feeling like a stranger in the place I owned.

Zachary gestured back to the elevator. “Not without my permission.”

“Zachary. . .” I shoved him against the wall and held him there. “You disappoint me.”

He flinched, forming words but unable to speak them.

Whether he recognized my connection to Orpheus was impossible to know, his mind was sealed against me. Still, he sensed the resemblance, some echo, and a fugue settled over him, like a spell taking hold. When I pressed my forearm to his throat, tightening just enough to steal his breath, I felt his cock hardening against my thigh.

“Well hello again,” Marcus said calmly. “Now let him go.”

Zachary twisted out of my grip.

“You okay?” Marcus asked him.

Zachary straightened his shirt, blushing with embarrassment, clearly shaken.

“What are you doing here?” Marcus asked me, gesturing for Zachary to get out of my way.

“Official business,” I said.