Casino Royale Vesper Lynd Novels & Stories

Wynn nodded slightly, glanced at Celeste, and smiled, "Out for lunch with your partners?" "Yes," one of them said. "This is Ms. Rodriguez from YodaVision. I believe you've met before." Wynn nodded again, only giving Celeste a perfunctory glance before looking away. Celeste could feel the eyes of the Lockets and the Shaws lingering on her, but she acted as if she hadn't noticed. Wynn soon said, "I won't keep you all, then. Enjoy your lunch." "Ms. Locket, you're too kind."

Ronan’s mother, the former Luna, Lydia, rushed in. She wore a long black robe, her silver hair pulled back flawlessly. Even now, she carried herself with aristocratic grace. "Ronan, let her go!" Lydia ordered. "No," Ronan said without turning. "She has to die." "Do you have any idea what you're doing?" Lydia moved to his side. "Vesper is the daughter of the Silver Valley Alpha. If you kill her, you declare war!"

He stood in front of the Alpha and Luna, looking nothing short of majestic. "Prince Kyrell is as handsome as sin." Someone whispered behind me. Prince Kyrell? The infamous Lycan Prince? I inched closer. Vesper, who I hadn't noticed earlier, started walking towards him. Her nine-hour preparations paid off, and as much as I hate to admit it, she looked stunning. Her burgundy-red gown and red lipstick gave her a bold appearance. The floor was cleared again. Vesper and the Lycan Prince stood facing each other. A sudden rush of unease surged through me. Every single cell in my body screamed at me. Screamed for something I felt was wrong but couldn't tell what it was.

Oh goddess. He stops directly in front of us. Up close, he's worse. Far worse. Tall enough to dwarf Valtor slightly. Broad shoulders. Dark hair framing a face so exquisite it physically hurts to look at him. But it's his eyes that destroy me. They're violet, locked entirely onto mine. Valtor smiles, oblivious to the tension snapping through the air. "Rhain," he greets warmly. "Meet Vespera." The Lycan King says nothing at first. Then, very slowly, his gaze falls on our intertwined hands.

It was the look of someone reassessing, recalculating, deciding the situation was more interesting than he'd expected. "Sorry," he said. "Didn't know you had company." His eyes stayed on Lydia a beat past appropriate. "You must be the heir." "This is Cal," Salvador said. "Former colleague. He's consulting on the estate security upgrade." He said it evenly, but Lydia noticed that his hand had tightened slightly on her knee. "Nice to meet you," she said. Cal smiled at her — slow and confident, the smile of a man who assumed he had an effect. "Likewise." He looked at Salvador. "I'll come back."

“No. I’m staying. I want this.” “Good.” He leaned down, his teeth grazing the sensitive cord of my neck where a mark should have been. The night became a blur of silver moonlight and raw, overwhelming sensation. “Is the gold in the bag?” Vespera Crowe didn't even look up from the shadows of the Crimson Fang Lodge lobby. She kicked a heavy black satchel toward my feet as I stumbled out of the elevator, my legs shaking and my scent heavy with another man's musk. “Every coin is there, Lyra,” she rasped. “You did your part.”

Too bad she was the wrong person saying them. I smacked her hand away and stepped past her. "Don't try so hard Camille. Like I said, Vesper owns my body. I'll never give it to another." I stepped out of the room. "Silvane says you can't touch Cyran." I paused, then turned around to face her, my body tensing. "What do you mean I can't touch Cyran?" "Cyran is the son of Kaelros Lysanth, the leader of the Lysanth syndicate."

A headache immediately began forming behind her eyes. "Mom! Dad! Come down here!" "Vivienne," Lyra's voice, laced with a desperate plea, reached out to her. "Oh, no. You don't get to run away from this," Vivienne shot back as footsteps sounded from upstairs. Several seconds later, Luna Lydia Ashbourne appeared at the top of the staircase wearing her morning robe. Alpha Roland appeared behind her, his expression already irritated from being disturbed so early. "What is all this shouting about?" Lydia asked.

He didn't look at anyone until he reached the center of the floor. "Where is Lyra Ashford?" he demanded, his voice a low growl that vibrated in the floorboards. Jordyn Vazquez, who had been pretending to review a hockey blade schematic, practically leaped from her chair. I saw the way her eyes lit up—the desperate hunger of a beta trying to climb. She thought Kyla Wade—Selene Voss—was her ticket, but Tristan was the ultimate prize. She smoothed down her blush-pink dress, a garment far too delicate for a mafia-run pack house, and swayed toward him with a forced, submissive tilt of her head.

I finally stammered, even as my face burned. He looked at me, utterly unbothered. “Lorraine, I’ve bribed a sitting senator in slippers. You think decorum is something I hold sacred?” I sputtered. “That’s not—Jesus.” But he was grinning now, just barely. The first real grin I’d seen from Vincent Vescari, the leader of one of the biggest syndicates in the country. It didn’t make things better. But it cut through the heaviness for a moment. And I realized, maybe that was the point.