Page 70 of Fall into Place

Octavia stared into Joni’s eyes for a fleeting moment, her gaze full of fire, and then they were kissing, so fast Joni couldn’t have stopped it, but she’d never wanted anything more. Octavia’s lips were soft, but her bite was sharp, their hands were grasping at each other, all those people were staring—

“What now?” Joni broke away and gasped for air.

Octavia ran her tongue along the spot where Joni’s jaw met her neck, then grinned like she was the best, most wicked thing in the world.

“Come on, Joni. Haven’t you always wanted to know what it’s like to fuck a vampire?”

Chapter 17

“Come on, Callum. We’ve got too much to do for you to sleep all night.”

Callum’s eyes creaked open. He had a vile hangover, a splitting headache that felt like an ice pick jabbed somewhere through his brain. He needed blood—and he needed someone to bring it to him.

“Tess?” he croaked, his voice still scratchy from sleep.

“Is that who you fucked all day? She left hours ago, and we should have too. Let’s go.”

Octavia snatched the blankets off of him, and he looked up in shock—his vision was cloudy, but there she was, wearing wide-slung trousers, a silk shirt, slouchy overcoat, and a soft cloche hat. How did she get here? Or did he get back to New York somehow?

“Did the blue light come again?” he asked, confused.

“Oh God, don’t tell me you took absinthe.” She sighed and put her hands on her hips. “Do you know what year it is?”

He shook his head; he really didn’t. Where was he? The bedroom looked familiar—he could make out the burgundy jacquard of the bed curtains, a series of clumsy charcoal drawings tacked to the wall.

“Are we in Paris?” he asked.

“Oui, bien.” She rolled her eyes. “We’re meant to return to London tomorrow with a package for Konstantin. I can’t get it on my own, and you’re utterly useless.”

Now he remembered—he’d kept this place for a while in the ’20s, up near Montmartre, where it was dark and easy and the streets overflowed with women and wine. He relaxed at the realization, happy to be able to place himself, but something was still bothering him.

“What’s in the package?” Callum asked, suddenly desperate to know what object was so important to Konstantin he’d send his two most trusted lieutenants across the English Channel to retrieve it.

“Ugh, who cares?” Octavia flopped on the bed. “A long-lost vial of the blood of Cleopatra, stored for centuries in a golden box.”

“That’s not it.” Callum bit his lip.

“Of course that’s not it, I just made that up!” Octavia’s exasperation only grew with each passing moment.

“That’s the package we need,” Callum told her. “We have to steal it, and then we have to run. We can go live in Seoul, like we always wanted.”

“My sweet, stupid brother.” Octavia leaned down beside him. “He found us in Seoul, remember? He can always find us.”

Callum closed his eyes, and it was dark again. His head was still pounding—no, that was the music. The nightclub in Prague, eleven years ago. It was dark and hot and stank of cigarettes.

“Callum.” Konstantin looked pleased. “I’m glad you came.”

Konstantin wore all black, like he always did, like an absolute cliché. Callum stood six feet tall, but his sire still towered over him, his expression set firm, his eyes glittering with anticipation.

“Couldn’t miss this, could I?” Callum laughed uncomfortably.

“I know how much you’ve struggled to control your true nature.” Konstantin put a hand on Callum’s shoulder. “After tonight, you won’t have to anymore.”

Callum nodded tightly. Ever since Callum was a boy, Konstantin had always told him that they were just alike: powerful, unapologetic, brutally violent. That’s why I chose you, Konstantin told him. Because I saw myself in you.

Callum knew how much he owed to his sire—his wealth, his immortality, his salvation from an impoverished childhood he might not have survived. But he didn’t want to be like Konstantin. And even more—he felt a compulsion to protect Konstantin from his own darkest desires. That was why Callum had to do this—had to stop Konstantin from setting in motion a course of events that could never be undone. It was one thing for Konstantin to be the most powerful vampire alive, but entirely another for him to murder humans en masse with no attempt to hide his identity and no fear of repercussion.

Callum had a plan. He separated from Konstantin and the others and made his way down a back hall toward the club’s storage room, away from the humans mindlessly dancing with no idea of what was about to happen.