Page 59 of Property of Crypt Keeper

Tapping my chin, I considered making him suffer longer. Briefly. Then decided I wanted to survive the evening.

“Fine,” I conceded as I smoothed my Chanel pantsuit. My hair was slicked back and fastened in a tight, low bun. Tiffany diamond earrings swung, brushing my neck delicately with each click of my Louboutin heels on the concrete floor. When I reached the entrance, I paused and glanced back over my shoulder at the man who looked like straight sin. “Well?”

His nostrils flared and he shrugged the jacket on like he’d done it a million times before, then stalked after me.

As I gracefully lowered myself into my Mercedes-Benz GT 63 Pro, my fingertips caressed the smooth leather of the steering wheel as I tried not to smile at the sexy beast folding himself into the passenger seat.

“Mmm, I’ve missed you, baby,” I crooned to the car.

A low growl rumbled from next to me.

In my peripheral vision, I could see him fuming. I wanted to laugh at his obvious jealousy of a car. Instead, I put it in gear and headed into the city.

The French Quarter practically pulsed with a life of its own around us.

Music drifted through the streets, mixing with laughter and cigarette smoke and spilled alcohol. Humans moved around us in waves beneath glowing streetlamps, completely unaware of what shared the sidewalks with them.

Or maybe they knew and chose not to look too closely.

Smart.

Black Hollow Curiosities sat near the end of a quieter street. Elegant black lettering curved across the front windows. No prices displayed. No advertisements. Just old brick, dark glass, and antique gold trim.

Expensive. Discreet. Dangerous.

Gideon looked up at the sign. “This is an antique shop?”

“Technically,” I shrugged.

He looked unconvinced. Good instincts.

We stepped inside. The bell above the door chimed softly.

Immediately—wrong. The entire place felt off. Not threatening. Not hostile. Just… unnatural. As if everything glitched and we were walking through a dimension one second behind or ahead of the rest of the world.

Artifacts lined shelves and glass displays. Old books. Strange objects. Paintings whose eyes seemed to follow our every movement.

Magic clung to the air like a rich perfume. And behind the counter stood a man in a dark vest with his sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms. Mid-forties in appearance. Dark hair streaked lightly at the temples. Sharp jaw. Perfect posture. Cold gray eyes.

He looked up slowly from the book in his hands. Those icy eyes landed on me. Held. Then a small smile curved his mouth.

“Katalina,” he purred.

Oh no.

No, no, no. I knew that smile.

“You’re alive.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Disappointed?”

“Not at all.” His eyes widened in mock innocence.

Liar.

Then his gaze shifted. Toward Gideon. Hesitated. Stayed. Long enough for me to feel Gideon tense beside me.

Dorian softly closed the book and set it on the counter like one would something delicate and precious. Then smiled wider.