Chapter Twelve

 

Bastian finished whisking the eggs and slid the bowl to Ophelia. He enjoyed cooking, but he could watch her in the kitchen all day. Her body was fluid, her muscles relaxed as she puttered around. It was probably the most effective therapy she’d allowed herself.

She flipped the last batch of pancakes out of the pan. Without looking, she snagged the bowl and dumped its contents into a hot pan. The satisfying sizzle made her lips quirk.

His stomach rumbled. He looked as forward to dining with her as he did to cooking with her.

When she’d flung open his door and strode in, he’d been watching TV. Waiting. Hoping. Wondering how long a sunrise took. Her skin had been flushed and hot, but she hadn’t said anything and neither had he.

They’d spent hours in various positions, not really in each other’s arms. Which was fine with him. Something about the male-on-top version of sex still bothered her. But she’d stayed the day and that was a major development as far as he was concerned.

The food finished cooking and she worked on plating it while he loaded the dishwasher. He had questions, but once they sat and ate, his body demanded nourishment first.

They’d fed from each other. Another punch to his gut—in all the best ways.

The way she clenched around him when his fangs were inside of her—

“Stop it,” she said with a hint of a smile. “I won’t make it to work if you keep projecting your thoughts like that.”

He’d be okay with that. Of course, he didn’t know what there was to do. “Speaking of that, what’s going on today?”

She shrugged and pushed her plate to the side. “We’ll start searching the places where Master Gaston might be hiding. He could be hiding at Susanna Caron’s, but with her mate, it might be too big of a risk. We’ll try her servants’ place and any vacation homes the Carons might have. Quution and Creed and Melody are going to confront Spectre.”

“Will they kill him?”

“Maybe. Fighting a purebred has its own dangers. But it’s not like there’s any sanctions they can use to control his behavior. I don’t know. It’s weird down there. The purebreds on the Circle are stuck in the mindset of conquering our realm. If the second-tiers on the Circle are too heavy-handed with them, then the rest of the purebred population could revolt.”

“And the purebreds might win,” Bastian finished for her. “And you’d be back to where you started.”

“You got it. Demetrius is consulting with Quution and Melody, who are siphoning information and agendas and opinions from the rest of the Circle.”

Ah yes. Demetrius’s contacts on the Circle itself. He did not envy their position or the decisions they’d have to make. But he couldn’t help but wonder what the vampires in this realm would think of it all.

Hey, demons are trying to infiltrate this realm. They want to use your bodies as hosts. They want to bond with you and your children to give them free rein to wander our realm. But don’t worry, our government is working with them to control the influence.

Ophelia’s expression shuttered. “And there it is. Your thoughts are written all over your face.”

No, he didn’t think they were. They’d been drawn to each other since meeting. Already he knew Ophelia was special to him, in a very important way. They were connected, possibly true mates. The more he considered it, the more it made sense. But something told him that Ophelia wouldn’t admit that in the near future.

Yet she didn’t claim to read that in his expression.

“Demetrius said he took your concerns to the Synod,” she said. “It’s only been a few days.”

“What about the Synod being one short without Zohana?”

“We’ve tried to keep that on the down low.”

“It’s the worst-kept secret. We just don’t know why. Why wouldn’t you communicate that her position was vacated?”

She rolled her gaze toward him. Her standard rigidity had creeped back into her body. “Can you imagine how the primes would perceive it as a weakness and jump on it?”

“But from what you said, it doesn’t have to be. You could take her spot.”

“What? No.” Her expression brimmed with resolve. “Absolutely not.”

This was getting them nowhere. He shouldn’t push the subject and he knew it. But he couldn’t help himself.

“You can make a difference,” he said quietly. “You can secure the government and get it across to them how important it is to be transparent to its people.”

She gave him a hard stare for a heartbeat. “News flash. No government is transparent. Not the humans’. Not the underworld’s. Not ours.”

“There are levels of visibility. The people should at least know the government’s main goal. We only know that the Synod wanted to replace the vampire council and the nonhumans. Beyond that…” He spread his hands.

She rose, bringing her dishes with her. She stomped to the sink and dumped her items on the counter with a clatter. “And the lack of pushback told us we were on the right track. They need to trust us to have their best interests and safety in mind.”

“Honestly, I don’t see it.”

She whipped around. “What do you mean you don’t see it? You’re here. Safe. Antonia is alive down the hall. Quentin is recovering in the infirmary.”

He kept his tone neutral. It was the best way to address her. “Antonia and I are here because we’d heard rumors and you took us in. But you haven’t warned the many other Freemont families that there’s danger—to them, to their children, even to their employers. And why don’t they know? The only answer I’ve gotten is that the Synod worries for itself. They worry others will interfere with them. They worry about opposition.”

Ophelia’s jaw was tense. She planted her fists on her hips. “They worry that the primes cavorting with demons will see us coming and have the upper hand.”

“And what if those primes couldn’t because too many others knew about it? It’d limit their hiding places.”

“It’d get innocent people killed. It’d spill over to the humans and our secret would be harder to keep.”

“Perhaps not. We’ve gone centuries living under their noses. We’re still nothing but a myth even in the age of social media.”

“Do you have any idea how seedy and demented some of our kind can be, Bastian? No, you don’t. What you witnessed with Antonia was water compared to the moonshine I lived through. And there’s still worse out there. Don’t let your bright, shiny childhood and your stable, well-adjusted adulthood make assumptions where they don’t belong.”

So that was how she felt? “You’ve lived and seen more, therefore my opinion is invalid? I’m too ignorant?”

“Of course not. But Bastian, leave the decisions to the people who know this stuff.”

“Ophelia. Don’t you think I would’ve changed my mind after the last few nights? I haven’t. I believe in what I’m saying even more now.”

“Three nights doesn’t give you insight into my life any more than three nights of me cleaning house would give me into yours.”

He shook his head and struggled for words. She couldn’t see beyond her own experiences and he had little footing for his argument. They were at an impasse.

“I’ve gotta get ready for work.” As she left the room, he wondered if this was a disagreement they would ever get past.

 

***

 

Bastian wandered around his apartment. Ophelia had been gone for a few hours. He checked the time. It was well after sunset. Antonia might be up.

They could hang together for the night…since no one had called on him for anything else.

He glanced at the loaner gun and knives hanging in the weapons belt by his door. He wasn’t going to wear them around the girl for a day of lounging.

Wandering down the hall, no sound greeted him. He glanced at the cameras aimed on his door and Antonia’s entrance.

Apprehension danced up his spine. Was something wrong?

He knocked on her door.

Nothing.

He knocked again. “Antonia?”

Again, nothing.

“Fyra?”

They’d been giving Antonia more space. Fyra had commented on what an incredibly well-adjusted girl she was. She’s not a runner, she’d said.

Could she have… Could Antonia have left?

He opened the door. Being unlocked wasn’t itself odd, but paired with the ominous cloud hanging over the place, his pulse hammered.

“Antonia?”

The faint odor of sulfur clung to the air.

It was just Fyra.

He frowned. Fyra’s demon smell always reminded him of an overcooked dessert—it wasn’t unpleasant when laced with sweetness.

“Antonia!” He ran through the rooms.

Her bedroom. Empty.

The bathroom. Empty.

Everywhere. Fucking empty.

His chest heaved as he looked around the place. Her loaner phone was sitting on the kitchen counter. She would’ve taken it with her. He almost rushed out, shouting for Demetrius, but the image of Quentin came to mind.

Could she just be visiting her friend? Had Demetrius had a change of heart? It’d make sense she wouldn’t take the phone if she was still in the compound.

He took off down the corridor to the infirmary. He almost collided with Calli.

“Hey, where’s the fire?” she joked, but her expression was full of concern.

He didn’t pause but kept trotting down the hall. “Antonia. Is she with Quentin?”

“She’s not supposed to be.”

He had another thought that slowed his panicked gait. “Is Fyra around?”

A crease marred Calli’s forehead. “No. She was with Bishop on guard duty, but then she went to the underworld to help Quution.”

He broke into a run and Calli stayed with him. She didn’t ask him inane questions like whether he’d looked around her apartment. For that he was grateful. The gentleman in him was loath to bite her head off, but he was too fraught not to. Thankfully, she was intelligent enough to know that he wouldn’t be sprinting through the compound if Antonia had been in the obvious places.

Calli started talking, but it wasn’t to him. He glanced over his shoulder. She was on the phone, probably with her mate.

“Hold on,” she told whoever she was talking to.

They spun into the infirmary. He should’ve slowed and approached carefully, but part of him couldn’t believe Quentin was a danger to Antonia.

He skidded in. Bishop was sitting on a metal chair that looked fragile compared to him. He was staring at an empty cot with a wrinkled sheet. Not one single muscle twitched when they entered.

Where was Quentin?

Calli sidestepped around him, her gaze searching the otherwise empty room. “Bishop?”

He didn’t blink. His hands rested on his thighs, his back ramrod straight.

“Bishop.” She waved a hand in front of his face. “Hey.” She poked his thick shoulder.

Finally, he blinked and inhaled like he was coming awake from a long nap. He saw her and scowled at Bastian. “When did you two get here?”

Calli’s gaze turned anxious. “Where’s Quentin?”

Bishop jumped up and groaned, putting a hand on his back. “I swear all I did was blink and now he’s gone.”

“How long were you sitting like that?” Calli asked Bishop. She didn’t wait for his answer but pulled the phone back to her ear. “Quentin’s not here. Bishop was tranced and Quentin’s gone.” She nodded and clicked off the phone. “Demetrius is on his way.”

The blond shook his head like he was clearing a mental fog. He searched the corners of the room, but they all knew it was useless. The stench of brimstone had faded to almost nothing.

Chagrined, Bishop rubbed his temples. Demetrius had been right to remain cautious. “I sat down right after Quentin went to sleep. That was like a minute ago.”

“Do you remember the time?” Calli asked.

“It took him a while to relax, but it was before noon,” Bishop rumbled.

Bastian didn’t have to check the time. “It’s after nine p.m.”

“Fuck.” The giant stabbed his hands through his hair. “How the hell could he pull this off?”

Demetrius flew in. “I have an idea.”

“Me, too,” Calli said. Her lips thinned. “He was already possessed.”

No. That wasn’t right. He’d rescued Tiny. The kid couldn’t have had a demon inside of him. Something like Shankre? No. “How could that be?” he asked.

Demetrius prowled the room. “Demons can ride along like bottom-feeding scum. You only know when they’ve taken over when the eyes of the host turn black.”

Calli nodded. “Quentin is a prime. He could even have one of the Circle inside him.”

“Who?” Like it’d help Bastian to know, but he had to ask something. “And how could he abscond with Antonia? Was it a trap? Did we give them exactly what they wanted by bringing Quentin here?”

“She might have left willingly,” Demetrius suggested and shoved an electronic bud in his ear.

Bastian shook his head. “I don’t believe it. She’s been too levelheaded up to this point to throw it all away and leave. Her father’s still out there.”

They looked at him like that would be the exact reason she would leave.

“No,” he said firmly. “She’s been coming to terms with him being dead to her.”

“I don’t think it was a trap,” Demetrius said. “They wanted him possessed and bound, but they made the most of the interruption. Spectre knows about us and he would’ve figured out she was being kept here because you were with Ophelia.”

“Regardless,” Bishop said, “they’re gone. We need to know how, and we need places to look.”

Damn the beast that abducted an innocent girl.

Where was Ophelia? Did she know yet? How hard would she take it? She might feel like she had failed both kids and close in on herself even worse. Her methods might get them back, but would the cost get to her in the end? One more sunrise where she lingered too long.

Calli paced. Her concentration was on the floor. “Lora said it was her bonded’s boss, Spectre, who was after Quentin. Spectre’s powers aren’t fully understood, but from what I’ve recorded from our demon allies, he can act like his name. While his powers might be stifled in a host, he could still use them but I’m not sure about the illusions.”

Demetrius held up a finger and his gaze turned into a thousand-yard stare. He must be getting updated in his earbud. “Creed said he can’t see anything on the footage but at some time points parts of the hallway gets blurred.”

Bastian shook his head. None of that should be possible. With their innately wicked nature and those types of powers, they could trash this realm.

Demetrius’s head snapped up. “Creed talked to Melody. The only illusion Spectre might be able to summon is a form of camouflage. Quentin turned himself and Antonia into a chameleon.”

“He tranced Antonia,” Bastian announced. It might not matter to them how she left, just that she was gone, but it mattered to him. He needed to know how far to trust her future decisions.

If she had a future.

 

***

 

Ophelia stashed her gear in her car and straightened. She’d gone to Nadair’s to change. Master Gaston was likely still in the area and still in hiding. And she was going to track him like a starving fox after a demon-bitten rabbit.

Leaving her phone and her weapons behind, she shut the door and locked it. She’d driven to Nadair’s, using the extra time to stew over her argument with Bastian. Her fancy clothing was still stored at his place.

She adjusted the spaghetti straps of her slinky gown. The skirt billowed when it looked like material that should’ve hugged her legs. That type of style suggested easy access, and while increased mobility was what Ophelia was after, it wasn’t to spread her legs wide enough for a man. It was to spread them wide enough to kick someone in the face if she had to—or if she wanted to.

She flashed to the exterior of Sharpe’s Point. Only four other cars dotted the parking lot. Most patrons flashed here, preferring to stay until the sun’s early rays threatened the safety of darkness. Nothing had changed. Nothing ever did at this place.

She sauntered into the club, her hips swinging in a way she knew enticed males to imagine what she looked like naked.

Many of those in here she already knew. Some she didn’t, but they were probably the happily mated ones who wanted nothing more than a sexually and socially stimulating night out with their mate, or to sample the pleasures others offered until they settled down with a true mate.

In other words, not the ones she was interested in talking to.

She’d been attracted to seedy, more deceptive males. Those were her targets tonight.

She settled in on a barstool and coolly scanned the place. When she sensed Marcus’s presence, she didn’t look at him.

A glass of bubbly water was poured for her without question. She’d been coming here for years. Marcus was technically in the same social circles as Bastian, but he was probably more respected—and knew more secrets—than anyone in their society.

“How’s it going tonight, Mistress LeFevre?” Marcus had propped himself across from her against the bar. He toweled off a shot glass, much like a saloon bartender from a hundred and fifty years ago. Which he’d probably been at one time.

“Shitty as always.” It was her standard reply.

He usually chuckled and walked away, but tonight he lingered. “I haven’t seen the gentleman you were with the other night in here again.”

She smirked, but her heart fluttered as she remembered the orgasm that couldn’t be forgotten. Not that she’d tried. “If he got scared off by our little foray, then he doesn’t deserve to be here.”

Marcus chuckled good-naturedly. “As long as his credit stays black, he deserves to be here.”

She blinked. That was an unusual comment for an establishment that catered to the wealthy. Old money flowed through here, along with new money like the Segals. But the Segals were still prime.

Marcus was awfully chatty tonight. Before she could inquire about money troubles, he said, “What are you after tonight?”

“A male,” she answered easily. He’d be able to detect no lie from her.

His tone dropped an octave. “Any male in particular?”

She paused on her inhale. Was Marcus…hitting on her? In all the years she’d been frequenting the place, he’d been nothing but courteous and professional. To be anything else in this place with his “lowly” bloodlines would get him fired.

She kept her voice casual, yet mysterious. “Yes, actually.” She settled with her back against the counter, hoping he took that as a normal part of the conversation and not an outright rejection.

The truth was, even without a frustrating Bastian and his I speak for the little people opinions that made her want to scream, she wouldn’t have entertained Marcus. He was neutral ground in this club. She hadn’t had many requirements when it came to sex with others, but Marcus had always been more…brotherly.

Either that, or it was the delusion of an only child wanting a sibling. She hadn’t even considered her teammates brotherly role models until they’d started settling down.

Feeling the sting of rejection from them, she’d turned to Nadair.

But Marcus?

Why would he suddenly be showing interest? Wouldn’t it threaten his employment? Or had he developed the same opinion as the rest, that she shouldn’t be worthy enough to be considered a prime?

She brushed the topic away. Finding Master Gaston took priority. Ensuring Antonia’s safety without subjecting her to the details took priority.

Then Antonia and Bastian could go home, or find a new one.

Ophelia tapped her fingers against the polished wood. She noted all the patrons. No one new or unusual. The Segals, of course, weren’t here tonight.

Ophelia’s lips twisted, but she covered her reaction by taking a sip of her drink. Two parents who were distraught over their son who was safe in the compound, but they couldn’t see him yet.

Had Bastian been right? Had the level of discretion the Synod maintained, and especially those who worked with Demetrius, been a miscalculation? Had they put innocent lives in danger?

No. She refused to entertain the notion. The times they were living in were unlike any their kind had experienced before, and the decisions they’d made were the best options at the time.

When the demon situation had blown up with the arrival of Calli, it’d just been five of them working for Demetrius. Flash forward to now and they had demon mates, demon allies, and ties to the underworld all aiding in protecting this realm. The transparency Bastian demanded would be easier than it would’ve been only months ago.

The faint smell of lavender tickled her nose. She was getting sick of that smell. Did everyone visit the scent scrubbers? Couldn’t they just try something radical like faithfulness? She inhaled the effervescence of her cranberry mineral water but slowed her swallow.

What brand had Marcus poured? The crisp sweetness was offset by an almost sickly sweet flavor, like it was flavored with syrup instead of juice. She set the glass down. She’d have to tell him to cross that one off the list.

Now, who was wearing eau de demon tonight?

She draped one leg over another, making sure the slit in her gown hit just right to show the most skin. With a practiced air of aloofness, she scanned the club, looking for the demon bait. Who was the vampire attempting to be the big shark in town?

A perfect specimen of prime male strode by. Master Finneus Roberts.

They used to hook up. Memories surfaced of forgettable sex. All different positions except for missionary. At the time, her preferences hadn’t been as glaring.

Yet, she couldn’t do missionary with Bastian. Or…did she feel safe doing only what was comfortable with him? Bastian wouldn’t press her to go where she wasn’t comfortable.

Ugh. How could she not have seen what she’d been doing all these years? Trying to prove to herself nothing was wrong when it so totally was.

Finneus caught her eye and tipped his head. She rewarded him with a half smile meant to suggest interest that she absolutely did not feel.

Would he be lured in after she’d ditched him for Bastian the other night? It helped they had a past. Then it didn’t look so pointed that she’d picked the one guy who smelled like brimstone after hanging out for a half hour ruminating about another male who could rock her world by showing nothing but kindness.

That thing they did in the cabin. Whoa.

Just. Whoa.

With Bastian, a simple kiss was on another level.

But ultimately, his approval rating of who she worked for was low. She’d never been the type to adjust her goals for a male. She owed it to herself after her parents had run her life with little to no regard for her as a living being. Her younger years had been reduced to being a broodmare.

She couldn’t worry about Bastian and his opinions. Ruling wasn’t for her; she killed demons and the vampires who helped them. She didn’t get second thoughts about dusting a bad guy.

Enough dwelling on her love life—or lack thereof, after the way she’d left Bastian. Master Gaston needed to be found.

She grasped her glass and rose, wobbling slightly.

Frowning, she looked down, like the reason she’d faltered was at her feet. It hadn’t been that long since she’d been in heels this high. The other night with Bastian, but her mind hadn’t been on perfecting her balance.

She swayed her way across the room. Instead of sweeping by Finneus, she cast a sultry look his way, hoped he took the bait, and aimed for the BDSM hallway.