Read Online Chevalier (Ondine Quartet #2.2) by Emma Raveling - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Emma Raveling
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combining with dark purple and black furnishings to create a carefully cultivated look of hellish hedonism.
It was my kind of place.
A brunette danced in my line of sight. Tight, glittery mini-skirt rode up her thigh, showing off long legs wrapped in dark tights and knee-high boots.
A little drunk. Maybe on something else, too.
She gazed at me with half-closed lids, invitation clearly written across her pouty face.
Her position on the center of the floor was convenient.
I sauntered over. She smiled, the way women did when they knew how much power they had over a man.
I indulged her with the frankly appreciative look she wanted. Placed hands on her hips, pulled her close.
Eyes swept the club's darkened corners as she enthusiastically rubbed against me.
She was tracking his location. But I wished I could keep a visual on them.
Brunette shoved herself against my chest, demanding my attention. This close, the amount of make-up she'd caked on seemed like a hardened mask in palettes of red and smoke.
Boredom returned.
I pulled away, giving a small smile to ease the rejection. Disappointment cut across her face and her mouth fell.
She was hurt. Nothing I could do about it.
Restless, I made my way to the bar on the far east wall. "Absolut. On the rocks."
I turned back to the main floor, elbows propped on the countertop.
Preliminary background info came in as we waited outside the Aquidae's building. Our target went by the innocuous name of Barry Lewison. On paper, he was a respectable citizen who'd lived in that apartment for ten years and owned an art consulting company in downtown Manhattan.
Aquidae cells had their hands in a wide variety of illegal activities to sustain their immortality. Barry and his dummy corporation were likely involved in art smuggling.
Bartender handed over my drink. I took a long sip, hoping the alcohol would warm my insides.
It was too much waiting.
Waiting meant being aware of what was lacking.
I knew there should be something more. Some fundamental spark normal people had that made them appreciate their mortality, value their connection to others.
But for me, there was nothing else.
Only an icy ball of boredom and mock amusement constantly driving me to the next adrenaline rush.
To her.
A few other things helped. Reading. Art. Uncomplicated human women. Temporary things that distracted, made me feel, gave me something to hold on to.
But what eased it the most was the company of an intriguing ondine whose destiny bound her to everything I despised.
So I trained her. Spent time with her. Came to this city with her.
It wasn't enough. I needed to get closer.
I didn't even know where she was in the club because I couldn't see her aura like the gardinels.
Irritated, I swallowed the rest of my drink. The vodka blazed a fiery trail down my tight throat.
Mr. Fucking Perfect Warrior Prince.
The person I'd always fail in comparison to, even if he couldn't give her a future.
Ultimately, it didn't matter whether I was a Redavi or a chevalier. Who the hell could measure up to a prince?
Phone buzzed and her text popped up on the screen.
He's coming your way .
About time.
I turned back to the bar and moved so the only open space was beside me. He arrived just as I ordered another drink.
"Scotch and soda." His voice was rough, stained with violence. The sheen of his Origin mark winked under the bar lights.
"You working?"
His head whipped toward me in an inhumanly fast movement. I lifted both hands in submission and tilted my head. He examined the "X" discoloration located on my carotid.
A perfect match to his.
When we arrived at the club, I altered our glamour to suit the new location. Everything was calculated down to the last detail.
Gone was the chunky, disheveled student. I was now in my mid-twenties. Medium height, solid build. Dark, Mediterranean coloring.
The key was to do just enough without becoming a threat. I was old enough to be taken seriously, but young enough I
It was my kind of place.
A brunette danced in my line of sight. Tight, glittery mini-skirt rode up her thigh, showing off long legs wrapped in dark tights and knee-high boots.
A little drunk. Maybe on something else, too.
She gazed at me with half-closed lids, invitation clearly written across her pouty face.
Her position on the center of the floor was convenient.
I sauntered over. She smiled, the way women did when they knew how much power they had over a man.
I indulged her with the frankly appreciative look she wanted. Placed hands on her hips, pulled her close.
Eyes swept the club's darkened corners as she enthusiastically rubbed against me.
She was tracking his location. But I wished I could keep a visual on them.
Brunette shoved herself against my chest, demanding my attention. This close, the amount of make-up she'd caked on seemed like a hardened mask in palettes of red and smoke.
Boredom returned.
I pulled away, giving a small smile to ease the rejection. Disappointment cut across her face and her mouth fell.
She was hurt. Nothing I could do about it.
Restless, I made my way to the bar on the far east wall. "Absolut. On the rocks."
I turned back to the main floor, elbows propped on the countertop.
Preliminary background info came in as we waited outside the Aquidae's building. Our target went by the innocuous name of Barry Lewison. On paper, he was a respectable citizen who'd lived in that apartment for ten years and owned an art consulting company in downtown Manhattan.
Aquidae cells had their hands in a wide variety of illegal activities to sustain their immortality. Barry and his dummy corporation were likely involved in art smuggling.
Bartender handed over my drink. I took a long sip, hoping the alcohol would warm my insides.
It was too much waiting.
Waiting meant being aware of what was lacking.
I knew there should be something more. Some fundamental spark normal people had that made them appreciate their mortality, value their connection to others.
But for me, there was nothing else.
Only an icy ball of boredom and mock amusement constantly driving me to the next adrenaline rush.
To her.
A few other things helped. Reading. Art. Uncomplicated human women. Temporary things that distracted, made me feel, gave me something to hold on to.
But what eased it the most was the company of an intriguing ondine whose destiny bound her to everything I despised.
So I trained her. Spent time with her. Came to this city with her.
It wasn't enough. I needed to get closer.
I didn't even know where she was in the club because I couldn't see her aura like the gardinels.
Irritated, I swallowed the rest of my drink. The vodka blazed a fiery trail down my tight throat.
Mr. Fucking Perfect Warrior Prince.
The person I'd always fail in comparison to, even if he couldn't give her a future.
Ultimately, it didn't matter whether I was a Redavi or a chevalier. Who the hell could measure up to a prince?
Phone buzzed and her text popped up on the screen.
He's coming your way .
About time.
I turned back to the bar and moved so the only open space was beside me. He arrived just as I ordered another drink.
"Scotch and soda." His voice was rough, stained with violence. The sheen of his Origin mark winked under the bar lights.
"You working?"
His head whipped toward me in an inhumanly fast movement. I lifted both hands in submission and tilted my head. He examined the "X" discoloration located on my carotid.
A perfect match to his.
When we arrived at the club, I altered our glamour to suit the new location. Everything was calculated down to the last detail.
Gone was the chunky, disheveled student. I was now in my mid-twenties. Medium height, solid build. Dark, Mediterranean coloring.
The key was to do just enough without becoming a threat. I was old enough to be taken seriously, but young enough I
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