The King (Games We Play Book 2) Read online

  “To see you, of course.”

  She gave a humorless laugh. “Right.”

  “I’m quite serious.” They moved forward after a frazzled guy in a disheveled business suit grabbed a box loaded with to-go coffees and napkins. “Delia, I’ve wanted to, well, check up on you for some time now.”

  “Again, why?”

  “You know why.”

  She bit the inside of her cheek and looked away, inadvertently exposing her neck marks to him. Seconds later, his fingertips brushed along her skin. She slapped his hand away as hard as she could, not caring that it made a few people look their way—and stubbornly ignoring the flutter of longing his fingers elicited with the slightest of touches.

  “Delia—”

  “Don’t say my name like you know me,” she hissed, cheeks flushed. “Don’t.”

  They studied one another, the world around them fading to background noise. In that moment, all she saw was him, and her body tingled at the memory of his mouth on her inner thigh.

  “I’m sorry,” he offered. Her jaw clenched as his eyes wandered down to her lips, remaining there. “I didn’t mean to be so familiar. What shall I call you instead?”

  “Delia?” a barista called, the sharp sound cutting through the fog and forcing her back to reality. The sounds of conversations and music from nearby speakers hit her full-force, and she found herself temporarily thrown off-balance, moving toward the counter on autopilot. Claude followed, his hand still wrapped tight around her wrist, and she found their order waiting for them. After she shoved her muffin in her purse, they grabbed their drinks and drifted away from the gathering crowd.

  “Look,” Claude said, raising the hand he clasped up between them, “I’ll let you go if you promise not to run.” She arched an eyebrow as he added, “I’m here alone. All I want to do is talk.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “I won’t hurt you.” How many times had vamps said the exact same words to their victims? Delia swallowed thickly, condensation from her ice coffee dripping down the plastic cup and coating her fingers. His head ducked down, as if to catch her stare, and he loosened his grip somewhat. “Have I ever actually hurt you?”

  Scoffing, Delia pointed to her neck, eyes narrowed. Rather than glare back, Claude grinned again, giving a little laugh.

  “That was unintentional, I promise.”

  “Am I supposed to believe you?” she snapped, hating the way that they were huddled together by one of her favourite chairs. The situation was worlds colliding on overdrive. “It seemed pretty intentional at the time.”

  “Well, it wasn’t. Accidental, if anything, and I think—”

  “Oh my god. I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with you.”

  She couldn’t believe she was having a conversation with him, let alone this one. Whenever she imagined their future confrontation, at a time when she didn’t run or swoon or whatever, she’d thought she’d handle herself like a professional hunter. Her aim had improved since then—maybe she actually stood a chance.

  “Please.” Something in his tone took a bit of the sting out of her glare. Sincerity? She didn’t know him well enough to tell whether he was being genuine or not, but his voice brought her back to that night, when they’d kissed at the door of his hotel room. No games, no taunts, no threats. He’d felt real then, like he cared.

  “Fine,” she whispered, rolling her eyes again for good measure. Beneath the snarky demeanor, she mentally took note of all her exits, assuming there was one in the kitchen if she needed it. “Fine. I won’t run.”

  “I don’t want to sound like I’m threatening you,” Claude said as he finally released her, “but I can catch you if you do.”

  She gave him one last hard look before grabbing a straw from the condiments stand, noticing the slight tremor in her fingers as she peeled off and tossed its wrapper, then shoved it in her drink.

  “Do you want to find a seat, or would you rather walk and talk?” His breath tickled her ear, and she flinched away.

  “Walk,” she said stiffly.

  “Excellent.” Claude’s lips morphed into a curiously pleasant smile, one that softened her protective armor a little—Delia looked away as fast as she could, hoping the chink wouldn’t turn into a full-blown hole. She’d beaten herself up plenty for her behaviour at the masquerade. She’d let a ridiculously charismatic man pull her in and trick her, and it wasn’t going to happen again.

  Even if he did look just as striking as he had that night—more so, if she was being honest.

  Ugh. Delia headed for the door, not bothering to wait and see if he’d follow. He did, of course, and pressed his hand to the small of her back when she had to stop and let people pass by the door. Delia stiffened, her breath catching again as heat seeped through her thin shirt. If he felt a damp patch from her sweaty trek through the city, Claude gave no indication, and kept his hand there, as if to guide her, until they were outside.

  As soon as her feet hit the sidewalk, Delia took two long strides away from him, and when he’d caught up, he walked beside her rather than behind. Wrestling her cheap sunglasses out of her purse, Delia shoved them, another barrier between his beautiful eyes and hers, and took a sip of her drink. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted the way his large hand all but engulfed his tea, which he’d yet to try.

  “Why did you order anything?” she blurted. When he glanced at her, she straightened out, her gaze fixed dead ahead. “It’s not like you eat muffins or drink…tea.”

  “No, that’s true,” he said as they skirted a couple of teens taking pictures of themselves on their phones. “But I thought it’d be odd if I didn’t get something. After all, I waited in line.”

  Logical. While she was beyond annoyed to be held hostage by a vampire in broad daylight, what irked her more was the casual air Claude adopted when he spoke to her. His tone suggested they were friends—at least—but they hadn’t spoken since that night. Delia had seen to that.

  “So what’s the real reason you were in the café then?”

  “I was in the neighbourhood?”

  She forced another hollow laugh as they rounded a corner, headed into the fashion district. Blinking hard, she tried to bring herself into the present; griping about Claude in her head had only made her flustered and distracted, totally unaware of her surroundings. Focus. Pay attention. He could be taking her anywhere. Despite the leisurely way he walked, two of her short angry strides matching one of his long ones, Delia couldn’t exactly tell who was leading who.

  “I’ve told you why I was here,” he continued in the silence that followed. “I’ve wanted to speak with you for some time, but you’ve been quite adamant about avoiding me. I didn’t want to ambush you in broad daylight, but you’ve forced my hand.”

  “Sorry I had no interest in speaking to the vamp who tricked me into going up to his room, then bit me,” she said heatedly, voice low and expression forcibly neutral. He let out a little scoff and her eyes narrowed behind her dark shades, hand tightening around her perspiring drink. “You know, by League standards I’d have a reason to arrest you, no questions asked.”

  “Not quite, huntress. I am a clan leader, after all.” Claude smirked, slowing as they neared an intersection. The pair hung back from the group of pedestrians waiting to cross. “Anyway, your lovely League is no more than the brute force for local law enforcement, is it not?” She pressed her lips together tightly, refusing to answer, when he cocked his head to the side. “Yes, that’s what I thought. The League might have frightened the general vampire populace once, but I’m afraid they’ve lost a bit of their edge. So many rules these days.”

  “We’re still killing vamps.”

  “But not all vamps,” he mused. “Only those who break the law. It’s not against the law to feed, you know, to bite. I don’t personally partake in the practice, but many of my brethren have signed treaties allowing them a certain number of humans a month.”

  “Two,” she said tersely, aware of the Gr
imm clan’s deal with an out-of-town blood bank. She’d done her research. And definitely hadn’t ogled his on-file pictures. “One for larger clans of thirty or more. Generally, they can’t be local to the city the vamp resides in. I know the laws.”

  “Good—”

  “And technically,” Delia continued, her mind weaving through the law texts she was forced to peruse about once a month in preparation for the League’s online quizzes, “you weren’t biting to feed, but to intimidate.”

  Claude came to a stop so suddenly that she didn’t realize he wasn’t by her side until she looked to him for a response. He stood about five feet behind her, staring, one arm hanging limply by his side.

  “You think I did it to intimidate you?” For a few seconds, she thought he actually sounded a little hurt. Delia placed a hand on her hip in an effort to look unaffected.

  “Why else?”

  “One might assume it was a part of the sexual act itself,” he said bluntly, and her cheeks flamed as a passerby glanced their way. Not wanting him to see her embarrassment, she started walking again, and this time he kept up. Clearing her throat at the feel of his gaze roving across her features, Delia took another sip of her drink, which had all but melted in the mid-afternoon sunshine. Fat beads of condensation built up on the plastic cup, and she found herself wanting to wipe it on her shirt, but caught sight of Claude’s cheeky grin and stopped.

  “Okay, cut the crap,” she said, darting in front of him. He stopped, though not as clumsily as she might have if he’d randomly jumped in front of her. Mere inches of space lingered between them, and she swallowed hard, feeling the sweat settling on the nape of her neck as she glowered up at him, her reflection in his sunglasses a little off-putting. “What do you want with me?”

  “So suspicious.” His grin lingered, but slowly faded when it became apparent he was the only one playing his game, lips setting into a thin line. “Delia, I merely wanted to see you again. Check up on you after… Well, after everything. Can’t a man inquire after the woman he took to bed? Especially if she’s as fetching as yourself.”

  She flinched back when he brought a hand up, perhaps to sweep her hair out of her face. Sighing, he let his hand fall back by his side, the other still holding his tea.

  “I don’t believe you,” she told him. Regular guys might call after a one-night stand. It wasn’t out of the ordinary by any means—but Claude wasn’t a regular guy.

  “I don’t blame you,” he said, the softness of his words willing her knees to buckle. “I haven’t exactly gone about it the proper way. But I want to know you, little huntress.”

  “Why?”

  “Why not?”

  She swallowed again, unable to come up with an answer aside from, “Because you’re a vamp.”

  “True,” he agreed without missing a beat, “but that doesn’t mean we can’t talk or get to know one another. I have serious doubts that I, or anyone in my clan, is high on your priority list at good ol’ HQ.” The way he said the word made it sound foreign, unfamiliar on his tongue. “It isn’t a conflict of interest to have a conversation with me. After all,” he paused, and even through his sunglasses she could see him studying her, “there must have been something you liked about me.”

  A soft breath slipped out, and Delia opened and closed her mouth a few times, words failing her. Of course she’d liked something about him. He was handsome—that much was obvious. At the masquerade, he’d been charming and had kept her from being taken by one of the Donovan daughters. When her whole plan had crumbled to bits, the Fool made her feel like she wasn’t a complete failure. At the time, she’d felt desired. Now she only felt confused—and more than a little stupid.

  “That’s neither here nor there,” she finally managed to get out, huffing. “Why are you even remotely interested in pursuing me? I’m a hunter. I’ve killed vamps before and I plan to do it again.”

  “Yes, I’m familiar with your attempts,” Claude said, and an image of her staking him in the back and totally missing his heart flashed across her mind. Delia looked away, annoyed. “Let me be perfectly frank.” She jumped when his finger pressed to the side of her chin, turning her face back toward him. He looked down, a flicker of those bright blue eyes appearing over the rims of his sunglasses. “Your chosen profession matters very little to me. Perhaps in the past, when League hunters and vampires were mortal enemies, it would have troubled me; but I care very little that you try to kill drug dealers and smugglers and mindless killers.”

  They stayed like that, still and staring at one another, until he slowly slid his finger along her jaw, but Delia stepped back when it moved down her neck. It was too much to process—too many feelings and thoughts and emotions to categorize and make sense of. Instead, Delia steeled herself against him, knowing that, for now, deflection was the best defence.

  “You want to talk?” she asked, her eyebrow twitching up as her hand tightened around her drink. “You want to have a conversation? Fine. You heard anything about the vamp who was supposedly killed by a member of another clan? As far as I know, there’s a peace treaty between all the big name local clans, but rumor has it that—”

  “I find it distasteful to get involved with rumors,” Claude said sharply, which made her press her lips together, heart pounding. “I try my best not to engage in other clans’ business unless I absolutely must. The leaders are all adults. I don’t need to hold anyone’s hand and walk them through their quarrels.”

  Delia ducked her head, feeling as though she’d just been disciplined by a superior.

  It wasn’t a good feeling.

  “Well then.” She squared her shoulders after a moment of silence. “I guess we don’t have anything to talk about.”

  When she turned away, she did so with some difficulty; it was like her feet wanted to stay planted in front of him. But she managed to put some distance between them before Claude said, “Let me take you out sometime. I promise we’ll find more interesting conversation topics.”

  “No.” Keeping a steady pace, Delia looked over her shoulder as she said it. This time, Claude didn’t follow. Maybe he’d sensed that he wouldn’t get anywhere else with her today—and a part of her was relieved. Her head was starting to hurt.

  “I’ll try again later, then.”

  Unable to stop herself, Delia smiled, her steps slowing as she called back, “Good luck with that.”

  She was halfway down the block, passing a bridal boutique, when she stopped and stole one last look back at him. Claude hadn’t followed her. In fact, he was right where she’d left him, looking down at his tea. Delia paused and watched him toss the white to-go cup in a nearby trashcan before drifting away in the opposite direction, hands shoved in his pockets.

  Only then did her smile fall, and Delia headed home with her head down, totally unaware that she was being watched—and not by a gorgeous vampire.

  CHAPTER 2: Boys

  Delia wheezed, one leg flailing back in an attempt to knock her attacker’s feet out from under him. When that failed, she went for the delicate skin on the underside of his bicep, grabbing hold and pinching as hard as she could. He grunted, but that only made his chokehold tighten around her throat—basically unbreakable.

  “Okay, o-okay,” she gasped, smacking his arm when her vision started to darken. In an instant the pressure was gone, and the HQ training room came back into sharp focus. Gulping down air, Delia plopped onto the blue exercise mat she and Devin had been training on, and her friend crouched in front of her.

  “You okay?” he asked, eyebrows rising in concern. She nodded, rubbing her throat. Even though he’d basically wiped the floor with her, Devin’s gorgeous deep baritone had a calming effect—not just on her, but on everyone else in the vicinity. It wasn’t a surprise that he was often asked to speak to victims’ families or explain the “vamp situation” to unsuspecting humans who were unwittingly dragged into their world. Hell, the Vampire Victims Unit and the regular hunter directors were in a bidding war over where
he should specialize.

  “You only damaged my pride,” Delia told him lightly. Devin grinned at her slight eye roll, then flopped back on the mat himself and grabbed his water bottle. They’d been training for the better part of an hour, though it was pretty clear that he’d surpassed her in hand-to-hand combat skills long ago. Delia suspected that he continued to train with her because he was the kind of guy who refused to leave his friends in the dust, no matter how far he outpaced them.

  Devin had joined the League the same year she had, at roughly the same time. He’d been nineteen, she twenty-one, and while Delia came with a hint of prestige because of her relatively well-known hunter aunt, Devin had been referred to as “that skinny black kid from Georgia” for at least a year. Then he went through a growth spurt, suddenly towering over her and the general populous, and his biceps had since outclassed every guy at HQ.

  While she knew plenty of hunters who had bulked up physically and steadily ascended the ranks, none of them were quite like Devin. Beneath that muscular exterior, behind the charming smile and deep voice, he was still the sweet southern guy who held doors for people, said please and thank you way too much, and would drop everything to help a friend out—even if it was to go on a 4 AM pizza run after a boring patrol shift because Delia was craving pepperoni. They’d had many early morning meals at twenty-four-hour diners over the years, chatting about anything not related to work and watching as the rest of the world came alive again, safe from vamps for another night.

  Kain liked to tease Delia about having no friends, and, well, she was a bit standoffish when it came to people piercing her personal bubble. But Devin and a select few others had an all-access pass, mostly because she knew they wouldn’t abuse it.