J a c q u e s

Christie had fallen asleep on my chest, curled against me like some soft, delicate kitten. She was trembling earlier, but now... now she was still. Peaceful. Trusting.

I glanced down at her. One pale hand rested on my chest, her lips parted slightly as she breathed. My chest tightened with something fierce and unfamiliar. Protective. Possessive. A feeling no woman had ever drawn out of me before.

Damn it.

She was scared. And for good reason. I'd torn her from her polished townhouse, from her gowns and etiquette tutors, and now we were headed straight into the middle of nowhere with nothing but a stolen car and a half-baked plan.

And Nico.

She was right to fear him. That bastard would sweep the country like a storm if he thought Rudolph had been slighted. But I was betting that Nico wouldn't look too hard for us—he hated Rudolph more than I did.

Still. I wasn't taking chances.

I wasn't giving her up. Not for Nico. Not for Casper. Not for anyone.

A breath escaped her lips, warm and featherlight against my throat, and something sharp and raw twisted in my chest. How could her family throw her to Rudolph like that? They handed her over to a man with no soul and then acted surprised when she started having panic attacks.

Well, screw them.

She was mine now.

And I was going to take care of her—no matter what it cost me.

Behind us, headlights flickered. I glanced in the rearview mirror. A cop car.

Shit.

I stayed calm, easing off the gas. Maybe he'd pass. Maybe he wasn't even looking at us.

Then the lights flared blue.

Double shit.

"Christie," I said, nudging her gently. "Honey, we've got trouble."

She blinked awake, drowsy and confused. "What's wrong?"

"We're being pulled over."

Her eyes widened, panic flaring instantly. "Jacques, I haven't eaten since yesterday. If he gets too close—if I smell blood—I don't know what I'll do."

"I know." I bit into my wrist without hesitation and held it out to her. "Drink. Now."

She stared at the blood welling up, her pupils dilating. "I've never drunk straight from a vein before," she whispered. "I—I heard it's... intimate."

Yeah. I'd heard that too. Vampires didn't do this lightly. But I'd never let anyone feed from me before.

Only her.

"There's a cop behind us and no time to argue," I said, my voice low, firm. "Drink. Please."

She hesitated, trembling, her eyes flicking between my wrist and my face like she wasn't sure which was more dangerous.

Then slowly—so slowly it nearly killed me—she leaned in and pressed her lips to my skin.

My breath caught. Her mouth was soft and warm, the faintest tremor in her lips as they parted against the open wound. Her tongue flicked out, tentative, tasting me.

Then she started to drink.

Sweet Lord.

It wasn't supposed to feel like this. Like lightning under my skin, like pleasure coiled low in my gut, like every nerve ending was suddenly rewired to her mouth. Her suckling was slow at first, careful, but quickly grew more confident—more rhythmic—and I felt my entire body tighten in response.

A sound tore from my throat, something between a groan and a prayer, and I let my head fall back against the seat with a muted thud.

I shouldn't be enjoying this. Not with flashing lights in the rearview. Not with a cop approaching. But fuck me, it felt good.

She pulled back, breath hitching, her mouth slightly parted. Her tongue flicked across her bottom lip, chasing the last trace of blood, and I swear to God I almost lost it.

My eyes locked on hers—wide, startled, and just a little bit dazed.

"You okay?" I asked, voice hoarse.

She nodded, wiping her mouth with the back of her sleeve. The motion was shy, almost apologetic. Her lips were flushed, glossy with my blood.

I swallowed hard.

A sharp knock at the window shattered the moment.

Rolling down the window, I forced a calm smile.

"Well, well," he drawled, peering in. "Look at this. Prince Charming and Pretty in Pink."

"Evening, officer," I said smoothly. "Is there a problem?"

"That depends," he said, shining the beam in Christie's face, making her flinch. "Where's the costume party?"

Christie glanced down, hugging her arms around herself.

"We just got married," I said. "On our way to find a place to stay for the night."

He barked a laugh. "Sure you did." Then he pulled something from behind his back—a crumpled porno mag. Pensioners Gone Wild. "Picked this up off the road. Belong to you two?"

I didn't blink. "No idea where that came from, officer."

He smirked. "Right."

stayed silent, my hands white-knuckled on the wheel. Christie shrank further into the seat, trying to disappear into the shadows. She looked so small next to me, still dressed in that wrinkled pink gown. My chest tightened.

The cop's eyes drifted to her again. And stayed there.

"Bridal Barbie, huh?" he mused, licking his teeth. "Or maybe just working the late shift? Tell me, sweetheart, how much did he pay you?"

Christie's mouth parted, but nothing came out. Her whole body tensed. I felt her panic like it was my own.

"Hey," I said, my voice low and sharp.

But he just smiled, eyes still locked on her like she was meat. "I've seen girls like her before. Dressed up. That blank little stare. Quiet as a nun, but they all got a price. You selling something, or is he just your handler?"

I heard Christie inhale sharply.

The cop leaned down a little, resting his elbow on the edge of the door. "Tell you what, sweetheart. Why don't you ditch Romeo here? I'll take you back to town—treat you to a proper bed, proper dinner. I'll pay double what he's giving you. Hell, triple if you let me cuff you first."

Christie recoiled.

That was it.

I opened the door slowly and stepped out, careful and deliberate. The air outside felt colder, sharper, but it did nothing to cool my rage.

The cop straightened, amused. "Aw, c'mon. Don't tell me she's your girlfriend. You look more like the kind of guy who shares."

I shut the door behind me, the solid click of it sounding like a warning shot. I walked around the front of the car, slow and steady, keeping my eyes locked on his.

"What's wrong, Romeo?" he asked, taking a step back. "Did I bruise your pimp pride?"

My fist connected with his jaw before he got another word out.

The crunch was satisfying—deep and clean. He stumbled back and hit the ground hard, out cold. Gravel scraped under him as his head lolled to the side.

I stood over him, chest heaving, fists still clenched. Every muscle in my body wanted to hit him again. To keep going.

But then I looked back at the car.

Christie was staring at me through the windshield, her lips parted, eyes wide—not afraid of me, but stunned. Hurt. Ashamed.

My stomach turned.

I forced myself to breathe, unclenching my fists, shaking the burn out of my knuckles. Then I walked back to the driver's side, slid in, and shut the door behind me.

She was still staring.

"You okay?" I asked quietly.

She nodded, but barely. Her fingers gripped her seatbelt like it was a lifeline.

"I'm sorry you had to hear that," I muttered. "I should've shut him up sooner."

She looked down at her lap, voice barely audible. "He thought I was a—"

"He was a piece of shit," I snapped. "And he's lucky I only hit him once."

Silence settled in the cab.

"I'm not letting anyone talk to you like that," I added, softer this time. "Not him. Not Rudolph. Not anyone."

Christie's hand crept toward mine and gently wrapped around it. Her touch was cold, but steady.

"Thanks," she whispered.

I shifted the car into gear, gravel spitting under the tires as we pulled away, leaving the cop in the dust. I didn't know where we were going next. But I knew one thing for sure.

No one touches her.

No one talks to her like that.

And no one takes her from me.