It was late in the evening when they got home. August didn’t have to look back to know Nicolette had followed him up the stairs. She wouldn’t so readily acquiesce if not for the threat of never seeing her husband again. All he wanted was a chance. If she could only see how easy he could make things if she’d just accept both men into her bed—not just one. He held the door open for her when they reached his bedroom. She sneaked a quick glance into his eyes and then darted past him. “No shoes, poppet. It’s expensive carpet.” He removed his own shoes and socks by the door. She slipped her sandals off, and August caught the brief bliss on her face as her feet sank into the thick, soft, red carpet. It was red because he’d once entertained the notion of bringing meals up to his room. The color would mask any spills. In the end, he couldn’t kill in the same room he slept in. Now it felt more natural to take blood in this place than anywhere else. Feeding below ground seemed bizarre and profane.
