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The possessive feeling in my chest rears back in alarm. “You will stay here,” I tell her.

Her eyes widen, anger and hurt in her expression. “I signed your stupid contract! You said you’d let me go!”

“I will, but not back to that shabby dungeon you call an apartment,” I tell her calmly.

Her eyes narrow warily. “You’re one to talk about dungeons. And you said Madame Pearl’s was one of the safest places in the city I could be staying. That Colton can’t find me there.”

“Yes, but can you be happy there? Healthy? Without sunshine or fresh air? A real bed? Besides, Madame Pearl’s is one of the safest places in the city. My home is, undoubtedly, the safest.”

Andi’s eyes stay narrowed, unimpressed with my argument. “This feels like a trap. You said that I would be free to go.”

“You will be. To rehearsal. Tomorrow. But for tonight, stay here, as my guest.”

She still doesn't look convinced. I’ll have to appeal to her softer nature. “Please, ma souris,” I say, reverting back to her other, softer nickname, “For tonight. Your blood has a grip on me. The idea that you could be unsafe, in a place where I cannot get to you right away, pains me. Deeply.”

There it is. The softening of her features. She doesn’t like the idea of giving anyone pain.

“Fine,” she breathes out, her previous suspicion gentling. “But only because I'm tired and really want to sleep.”

I get a mental image of her, free from her dress, tangled in the sheets. Would she be in her underwear or deliciously naked? I get the urge to lie with her, holding her in my arms. My cock hardens further. Ridiculous. I don’t cuddle. It must just be because of her blood.

“Gaspard will show you to your room,” I say, picking up my phone to call him.

Andi twists her lips. “I’d rather someone else. Gaspard wants to kill me, after all.”

“But he won’t,” I say, “because I do not want him to.”

“Small comfort,” she mutters.

Gaspard picks up on the first ring. “Yes, my Commandant?”

“Take Miss Smith to the purple guest room. No, better do the green. She’s going to be our guest for a while.”

“For tonight,” corrects Andi. I ignore her.

“Yes, Commandant.” The line ends, and I put down my phone. Andi stares at me, looking weary. I want to say something, anything, to make her brighten and smile like she did yesterday, but I can’t think of anything. The trust in our relationship is broken on both sides. In a moment, Gaspard is here.

“This way, Miss Smith,” Gaspard says.

Andi gives me one final, unreadable look, then steps out of the room, following Gaspard. As soon as the door shuts, I have my cock out and in my hand, in a punishing grip. I am utilitarian in my motions, merely wanting to relieve the ache. I spill into my handkerchief, but still feel unsatisfied to my core. Only one person can satisfy me now, and it would be unwise to entangle myself further than I already have with her.

I should stay away from her.

But I won’t.

Chapter 17

Andi

I wake in bed way too comfortable to be my own. I swim slowly to consciousness, hugging a squishy pillow to my stomach. My alarm is going off, and I open my eyes to see the glowing brick next to me on a huge mattress.

Right, I’m at Julian’s house still. In a luxurious room filled with tasteful antique furniture. I reach out and turn off my phone. Sunlight streams through the windows, telling me it is time to get ready to go to rehearsal. I stretch out, starfishing on the mattress and working out the kinks in my back. After everything that happened last night and the day before, it’s almost surreal to be so comfortable. To feel safe. The feeling is an illusion cast by the cushy mattress and dark green wallpaper, but I’ll take even an illusion right now. It’s better than a cell, at any rate.

I sit up, looking at my opulent accommodations. Everything is green and gold, with dark wood and black trim. Antique, but with a modern sensibility. A deft, professional hand built this room into a bastion of comfort and elegance. It’s almost like being in a palace. I’d almost be happy to be here, amazed, if I didn't know that it was actually a gilded cage. Is this what Beauty felt like with the Beast, I wonder? Not the movie, but the real de Villeneuve version that I read as a teen. Where, to save her father, she gives up her life and is spirited off to a magic castle that gives her everything she wants, except her freedom. Was this what she felt? Almost grateful, but with a hint of resentment and fear? Surrounded by luxury, but unsure how long that would last before being snatched away again? I shake my head, clearing it of the fanciful notions. I’m a foster kid, I remind myself. I’ve been in unstable situations before. The key is to be practical and focus on what’s in front of me. Things should be relatively stable for now. I signed that damn century-long contract. That affords me certain protections. And Julian is apparently enthralled to me, or whatever, and unable to hurt or displease me. Mostly. That’ll have to do for reassurances for now.

I roll out of bed and find my duffel bag. Gaspard brought it here last night. He was tense and silent. I didn’t try to talk to him. If he wants to kill me, he’s no friend of mine. I dig in the duffle and find the exercise clothes that I wore to the theater on Tuesday. Pulling on the clothes over my underwear that I slept in, I quickly go through my usual morning Pilates routine. It’s important for my career to stay in shape. I focus mostly on my core, as that’s where the power in singing comes from. Building up a sweat, I feel the grime of the past day on my skin, and it’s gross. I finish my workout and want to take a shower. The wall across from the bed strangely has three doors on it, but I don’t know what’s inside. The wall to the right of the bed has just one door, but that’s where the windows are, so I guess that it leads to a balcony of some kind. I was way too tired when Gaspard dropped me off here last night to explore. Wandering to one of the doors across the room and hoping it’s a bathroom, I open the first one. Nope. It’s a walk-in closet, full of women’s clothing in a variety of sizes. Okay . . . weird. The second door is another closet, but with men’s clothing. The third door finally reveals a private guest bathroom, with a separate bath and shower, and a marble slab floor. Perfect. I enter and lock the door behind me. A futile gesture. If any of the vampires in this place wanted to invade my space, it’d be easy for them to break in. But the action makes me feel safer, so I do it.

It takes me a bit to figure out all the knobs in the shower. It’s one of those fancy Japanese things with talking controls and side jets, but eventually I get it to just do a simple warm shower from above. There are soaps inside from brands that I assume are too expensive for me to recognize, but they smell good as I use them to wash my skin and hair. I sigh. It’s definitely nicer than showering in Madame Pearl’s basement with the kitchen/bathroom combo. The air there is always overly humid and sticky when I finish. When I turn off this shower, a fan automatically starts, clearing the steam. A plush robe hangs outside of the shower, and I wrap myself in it before exiting. The floors are obviously heated, feeling lavish against my wet feet. Not that I’m being seduced by all the luxury, but I’ve always been good at finding silver linings. As far as cages go, I could do worse. I think of the cramped holding cell and shiver. A lot worse.