Dark Debt (Chicagoland Vampires 11)

As he pulled me toward the bed, a new kind of panic set in. Not fear for my life, but for my body, and the sanctity of it. For what he meant to do, and who he meant to hurt by it.

“You can’t use me to get to him.”

Balthasar’s smile was wide and feline. “We would both disagree with you.”

“I won’t let you. I’ll leave him first.”

Balthasar clucked his tongue. “No, that is not the truth. I have seen how you look at each other.”

Magic moved in a whirlwind around him, a cyclone that transmuted body, hair, clothes. Light flashed, and when the light and magic dissipated, Ethan stood before me.

My body bucked with shock.

No, I told myself. No. This is not Ethan.

But he looked so much like Ethan. Tall, rangy, his body honed and sculpted, his eyes sharply green. If they’d stood side by side, I’m not sure I could have told them apart.

Balthasar pulled me tighter against the line of his body. Of Ethan’s body. He looked like Ethan, smelled like Ethan, and the touch of his hand carried the same strength and warmth. Thought and need warred, made enemies by love and magic.

It’s an illusion, I reminded myself, digging my fingers into my palms until bright pain radiated, hoping the sensation would wake me up, send me home, or break whatever spell Balthasar had worked on me. So break it.

I used mental blocks to keep my keen vampire instincts—and the sights, smells, and sounds they revealed—from overwhelming me. Maybe that’s what I need, I thought, and closed my eyes, blocking out the sight of him, then the sensation of his arms around me, then the magic that flowed around the room as easily as water.

o;That’s not my name,” I said as Balthasar took a step forward. I scanned the room for an exit, but there was no doorway, only the window across the room, which was covered by slatted shutters that locked in place with metal braces.

If there wasn’t an exit, I’d have to find a weapon. I slid across the bed to the other side, hopped onto the floor, putting the bed between me and him. I walked across rough floorboards toward the desk, hoping to find a letter opener, a dagger. Or if I was really lucky, a sharpened aspen stake.

“I’m not going to hurt you, chérie,” Balthasar said, closing the book and kicking off from the wall. He walked toward me, putting the book on a side table as he passed.

“Then let me go.”

His smile was slow. “You are not here because you are trapped, Merit. You are here because you want to be. Because you are intrigued by me. Because you understand le désir.”

“I’m not intrigued by you.”

He shook his head, smiling softly as if talking to a child. “You were so wonderfully sensitive to me yesterday. I was surprised by the depth of your . . . passion.”

“It wasn’t passion. It was magic.”

“Are you certain of that?” And yet the tendrils of his magic stretched across the room, reached for me.

“I love Ethan.” I said the words with force, like they were a talisman, a charm against Balthasar’s appetite.

“You can love more than one thing, chérie. I am sure Ethan shared his past with you, told you of the women in which we took pleasure. There was always room for more.”

Focus, I told myself. Find a way out. There is always a way out.

I reached the small desk, trailed my fingers across it as if I were just exploring the room. The candelabra was stuck to the surface, and the drawer pulls were decorative. The desktop held only an open notebook, slanted writing across its yellowing surface.

“I don’t want to love more,” I said.

“That is unfortunate, poppet. Because I am owed much by your Master.”

I moved closer to the window, glanced at the shutters. I might be able to pry off one of the braces, but I’d need time for that. “Why would he owe you anything?”

“Because I made him what he is.” The words were heavy, and they fell in the room like thunderclaps.

I glanced back at Balthasar, and the silver in his eyes made my heart hammer against my ribs.