Chapter Six

 

Ophelia monitored Bastian out of the corner of her eye. He’d been seducing Clarice until the female was hanging off him like last-century drapes, yet now he froze up around her?

She touched her tongue to a fang. That female was top-level shallow. And Nadair had loved coming home smelling like her. He had rarely bothered with an essential-oil cover-up.

She shot down her drink. The fizzy bubbles burned. Cranberry mineral water. Hard-core, but she couldn’t risk dulled senses around her own kind, no matter how brief the effects of alcohol lasted. She never drank the stuff.

She swirled her half-empty glass. Wasn’t he going to make the first move? Was it like her to wait? “If you stare any harder, I might get offended.”

He gave a start and glanced around. “Pardon?”

She didn’t swivel toward him but played her typical aloof self. “You’re new here. I don’t like to be watched. Take note.”

He chuckled. “Not necessary. I can aptly determine what a female likes.”

She swallowed her shock with another gulp of her sparkling water. Bastian was smooth, his voice ringing with confidence.

A tendril of disappointment curled through her. Another male who could talk his way through life, using his charm like a smokescreen. Nadair had been an expert in covert sexual warfare. He had covered up the worst of himself, only to bring it out when she let her guard down.

Her mind might be crestfallen, but her body responded to his promise by coming alive. Awareness sizzled down her spine, parts of her tingling that would remain dormant forever if she had her way—her body reminding her she hadn’t been well sexed in too long.

“I’m not just any female.” She took another drink.

Bastian swiveled around and leaned on the counter. He cupped his glass and took a slow sip. “Promises, promises.”

She almost snorted her drink out of her nose. A smile played over her lips. There was no way this could be…fun. But it was. Bastian’s teasing tone had chased away her anxiety.

She hated being here. Hated the memories that flashed around her. The familiar scents. Why had she needed this place? She’d been drawn back here like a floundering moth to a toxic flame.

“I don’t make promises I can’t keep.” She just didn’t make promises. It was easier that way.

“Should I guess then?”

She rolled her eyes toward him but didn’t reply.

Amusement twinkled in his eyes. She wanted to smile again. What was wrong with her?

He tipped his head to the far hallway. “Do you chase fantasies? I don’t see you wearing a French maid’s outfit. Nor do I see you demanding I feed you baby food while I spank you.”

Each of those was a hard pass. Maybe not the costume play, but she didn’t want to go there in her imagination with Bastian.

“You might be in a mood to be watched tonight”—the rumble of his deep voice sliced right through her—“but I’m not.”

She cocked her head. Was that a message? He’d pointed out the Segals and a male she hadn’t recognized. When she’d crossed the club to the bar, the odor of brimstone had been faint, but she’d detected it.

She pivoted on her stool and crossed her legs. His gaze dipped to her bare skin and heat flared.

That wasn’t a reaction for show. Neither was the flip of her belly. “I recall saying I don’t like to be watched.”

“Then the wrong males have been watching you.”

She eyed him, letting the hunger in her gaze have free rein. It wasn’t hard to pretend with the way he filled out a suit. His shoulders were broad and stiff. The clothing was tight, and he was afraid to slouch, but the overall effect was hard, domineering.

“And what have you watched?” She restrained herself from leaning forward, hanging on his answer.

He chuckled. The smile brightened his face and revealed a hint of fang. She nearly slid off the stool.

“I’ve seen plenty in my time. Enough to know that taking it slow and enjoying a partner’s pleasure is a lost art.” He gazed at her from under hooded lids.

Her hand tightened around her glass, but the rest of her went molten. This was supposed to be an act, but he spoke like it was the truth—his truth. She wanted to be the partner he savored.

Ridiculous. She had to get control of herself. She couldn’t afford to show weakness here, now, or it would bite her in the ass.

She feathered her fingers along her steep neckline. Getting bitten in the ass sounded like a solid plan.

He tracked her fingers, dragging his gaze up to meet hers. Her fangs ached, this time for a different reason. When was the last time she’d fed? When was the last time she’d wanted to feed?

Enough of this…whatever it was.

“I’d like a little privacy,” she announced. She slid off the stool and sauntered toward the BDSM rooms. Tonight, she’d show mercy on Bastian and take him to a soft-core one.

They were the most private, and while she wouldn’t put it past the club owners to tap a room, it should be secure.

Tension flitted across her shoulders as she passed through the salon and into the shadowed hallway beyond. Her shoes were silent on the plush burgundy carpet, and the wood-paneled walls soaked up the sound of her breathing. When were they going to update this place? It had looked the same for forty years.

Was Bastian going to follow her? He had something to tell her. It’d be a dumb move if she walked into a room and hung out alone, only to do Sharpe’s Point’s version of the walk of shame with no new information.

And it’d be embarrassing as fuck.

Confidence. She’d faked it her entire life; why not one more night?

Passing curtained windows and closed arched doors, she headed for the one farthest from the salon and nearest to the fire exit. One viewing window was uncovered. Inside, pale spread legs were strapped in a contraption that should’ve stayed in a gynecologist’s office. A dark-haired male was wedged between them, half undressed, and the female’s black-lacquered nails were scoring his back.

Ophelia’s brain superimposed her and Bastian’s images over the couple.

No. She wiped the vision from her mind, regretting her glance into the room, but a cloud of desire surrounded her.

The stench of sex thickened, like the management didn’t ventilate the rooms. Like the customers were animals to be driven wild by the pheromones released in passion.

And hell if they weren’t correct.

She used to embrace it, to let the passion and yearning for release carry her away. Once those binds snapped around her wrists, her give a shit drained to nothing.

The yearning had returned, eventually, and she’d lost the craving without the promise of release. As always, she wanted the physical ecstasy of sex, but she’d started wanting the emotional connection, too, even if it was a toxic one. No matter how many partners she’d been with, her emotions had remained dormant, with the exception of Nadair and her simmering resentment toward him.

How could she not be convinced by now that it was an empty tease?

A presence blocked the door.

He came! Keeping her expression placid, which was a struggle, she spun around.

For the first time tonight, his prime facade faltered. His gaze swept the room. After the outdated club, this room shocked the senses. Black and shiny, it was the ten-by-ten equivalent of a pair of skintight latex pants. Silver flecks in the tile floor broke up the monotony of the color palette and gave the room a modern and trendy feel. This was what the rest of the club should look like, but that was primes, clinging to Old World style in public while hiding their true desires in private.

Bastian’s gaze stuck on the wall of tools—the padded cuffs, the cat-o’-nine-tails, the velvet ties, and other common items used in pleasure. In his eyes were intrigue, curiosity, and…distaste.

She tugged him in and slammed the door behind him. “Not everyone can stomach it.”

His brows lifted, and he blinked. “I’m trying to understand why one would care to.” His expression softened. “I’m a bit more…plain, I guess.”

Why had she thought he’d understand? Did she need him to understand? She crossed her arms, knowing exactly how it affected her cleavage. Bastian’s gaze didn’t stray from her face.

“What did you find out?” she demanded.

“Susanna is the mate of the male getting a hand job in the parlor. The couple in room four was talking to a male that had the underworld smell clinging to him. I watched the reaction of the female I was talking to, but she didn’t seem to recognize him. And she noticed my attention on you and huffed away, so I didn’t get any dirt on the couple.”

“Susanna is Madame Caron? Huh, I never heard her first name before. But the way she plows her staff, the male you couldn’t identify in the Gastons’ library might come from her household. As for the sulfur-smelling male, I didn’t recognize him either. Are you sure you didn’t?”

The stranger might run in Bastian’s circles more than hers, but Bastian shook his head.

“The Segals put on a good show while they’re here, but I think they had dealings with Nadair. Perhaps now that he’s gone, another manipulator has to keep tabs on the drug and demon-host trade.”

“The female I was talking to—”

“Clarice.”

“Was that her name?” Bastian’s lips quirked, but not out of fondness. “She loves to dish about everyone, but I didn’t get any good leads from her. A few suspects, maybe, but weak.”

“I’m sure she had plenty to say about me.” That bitch. And why did it matter what Bastian heard about her?

“She tried, but I didn’t take the bait.”

“Why not?” She should stick to the mission, but she had to know.

He twitched like he wanted to move toward her, then clasped his hands behind his back instead. “You’ll tell me if you want me know. The rest is none of my business.”

That’s…so not how their kind thought. Knowledge was power, and insight into people and their business was the ultimate power.

“What if I were to tell you that I’ve been in this room many times before? Sometimes with someone I was seeing, often with someone I’d just met.” How old-fashioned was he? And why was she trying to shock him again?

“I would say the same as I said to Clarice.” The female’s name was a splash of cold water. “That I wouldn’t disparage your ways. I’m confident you have your reasons.”

She moved closer. He was correct. Reasons. As simple as that.

This male defied her assumptions of him at each turn. He’d walked into this room like it was a bewildering foreign world he didn’t care to understand. But the desire that snuck past his restraint said that maybe this world could satisfy him, too.

Males were all alike.

She fisted his lapels. His big hands covered hers like he was going to pull them away, but he didn’t.

“What are you doing?” His voice had dropped to a low rumble.

“We have to make this believable.” She slipped her hands under his jacket.

He draped his on her shoulders. His warmth sunk in, more relaxing than any release she’d found in this room.

“We don’t have to do this. The Segals are a few doors away. We can question them.”

“How?” Ophelia pushed his jacket past his shoulders. It dropped to the floor. Bastian hadn’t moved, his expression a mixture of emotions. He wanted to run, but he wanted so badly to stay. Ophelia continued. “They are in the middle of fucking. I doubt they’ll open the door. If we bust it open, then Marcus will signal management to escort us out. I don’t care to explain what we’re doing here.”

She brushed his stubble-roughened jaw. The sensation delighted her fingertips. She traced the hard planes of his face. The line between business and pleasure was blurring. No matter her reason for being here with him, she wouldn’t need much other than because I wanted to in order to have sex with him.

His whole body jerked, and he caught her wrists. “Is there any management here besides Marcus?”

“Of course.” Had she ever seen any? She’d never cared who owned the place. “Marcus holds his own.”

“You can pretend you’re pissed at me and storm out. I’m new here, no one will know. The Segals’ address would be simple to find with your resources.”

She blinked. He didn’t…didn’t want her? Not even for the sake of show? All her years spent proving she was worthy of being a prime, and a servant didn’t want her.

And there she went with the class thinking again.

She yanked her hands away. “Yeah. No problem.” She spun for the door.

He clamped down on her again, his grip immobilizing her. Her heart rate kicked up—out of excitement, not fear.

His body shadowed hers. She could take comfort in it, but her mental walls wouldn’t allow it—or they’d allow it too easily. “I’ve insulted you. How?”

He’d noticed he’d cut her, but had no clue how? He didn’t want to use her, or he wasn’t interested in her? The questions stoked a fury within her. “Nope, not at all. Your distaste for my status and my preferences isn’t clear at all. But hey, your plan’s a solid one. I’ll leave pissed. No problem there.”

He pivoted with her. Her stupid heels offered no resistance against the flooring.

“Were you serious about— Did you really want to…”

“I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t want to.”

“But we just met.”

As if that was ever a stumbling block. “You’re a good-looking guy. I get it. I’m the trash you’ve had to cater to your whole life, and you don’t want to fornicate with someone like me.”

His brows fell, and his lips flattened. They were full and expressive when he dropped his servant persona. How would they feel pressed against her mouth? Wrapped around her nipple? What would it feel like if he— She ripped her gaze off his mouth.

“Ophelia, trust me when I say that you’re the strongest, loveliest female I’ve ever met. It’d be my honor to lie with you. But not like this. I don’t work that way.”

Was he for real? So what did that make her? “You’re better than that. Is that what you’re saying?”

“No, you are.” He crowded her and dammit, she liked it. “We have options and I’d like to use them—for both of our benefits. When I choose to sleep with a female, I woo her. I prove my worthiness because she’s the most important one in the relationship. Loneliness has won out a few times; otherwise I would wait for my true mate.”

Those words made her heart thud. “And if your true mate didn’t wait for you?” She clenched her teeth together. His answer was too damn important. Why?

“It’s once we meet each other that matters. All this”—he swept an arm from one side of the room to the other, past the wall of tools and the massage table in the middle of the room, his gaze following—“doesn’t bother me.” He dropped his arm, but not before a blush graced his cheeks at the array of dildos lined up on the counter that resembled a bar in a swanky club. “If it was what my mate wanted, I would learn how to use each one. I’d become a master. But.”

She swallowed hard. Had he gotten closer? He was so much taller than her, but their faces were only separated by inches.

“I will admit that my ego would first have to prove that I am enough.” His voice fluttered over her.

Their lips were a breath apart. She wanted to know how he tasted, how he kissed. Hard? Soft? A mix of both to keep her breathless and guessing?

Did it matter? Even if her true mate appeared, the pool of men she’d dated didn’t give her hope that he’d know how to prove he was enough.

Besides, she’d heard smooth talk like this before. I’m all you need, baby. Bastian was no different and she’d prove it.

Snaking her arms around his neck, she pulled him down for a kiss. He didn’t resist.

She didn’t linger with a soft kiss but demanded entrance into his mouth. He opened for her, his groan resonating between them.

She held hers in to prove she was the stronger party. But it was hard. His taste was divine. Uniquely Bastian. Strong, refined, and easily addicting.

He embraced her until she was cocooned in his heat and surrounded by his scent. Her body burned for him. If he let up, she’d be naked in less than a second. Two more seconds, and she’d have him stripped down.

But he didn’t. He dominated the kiss. She’d been so lost in his flavor that she was following his lead.

No. That’s not how it worked.

She tightened her hold on him and tilted her head in renewed demand. But he pushed forward until her back hit the door. He straightened, lifting her feet off the ground.

Out of reflex and an unwillingness to let him go, she wrapped her legs around his waist. His mouth claimed hers, wiped from her mind what they were supposed to be doing and why they were here.

His hard length surged through his clothing and pressed against her sex. A moan escaped her and she rocked her hips.

Yes. The friction only teased where she needed him the most. She burned for him. They couldn’t be physically closer, but it wasn’t enough. Yet…she could stay like this forever. Bound by only him, giving and receiving only pleasure, no pain—it was exquisite. Her core throbbed and they were smashed together so tightly, her slickness probably coated the front of his fly.

And she was nearing climax.

This never happened. She required a lot of stimulation to get off. She needed to be transported out of her mind before she could hit her peak. She’d never had this before.

Her blood hunger roared to life. One drop of his blood and she’d be gone, careening over the edge without penetration.

She deliberately nicked her tongue on one of his fangs.

He jerked and ground into her harder.

Yesss. So close.

As if sensing her need, he wrenched his mouth off hers and used an arm to cradle her head against his neck.

“Drink.” His sex-roughened voice was all the persuasion she needed.

She struck. Her fangs sunk into the supple flesh over his vein. Rich blood flooded her mouth.

Another moan. There was no taint of chemicals, just pure, rich blood. He wasn’t prime, and she could tell, but not because of its potency. Raw strength poured down her throat. Before Bastian, she didn’t yen for blood beyond the stimulation of the bite and the nourishment.

But this was like tasting the world’s finest liquor for the first time and realizing she’d need it to survive ever after.

Pressure built, his blood flowed, and they rocked against each other. She swiped her tongue across the puncture marks with a gasp as her orgasm hit.

Lights bloomed behind her closed eyelids. She cried out incoherent words.

Bastian grunted, his hips spasming in quick thrusts.

Her mouth fell open as she dragged in lungfuls of air. What just happened?

She beat at his chest until he swayed back, giving her enough room to slide down.

Her gaze caught on the wet marks she’d left next to his stain of release. How mortifying.

Patting her hair with one hand and arranging her dress with the other, she gathered her wits. So much for taking his time and going slow to build a relationship. She swallowed her pride that she was the one to make him lose control. Disappointment at his empty claims replaced it.

“Well, that should do the trick.” She forced herself to look him in the eye but couldn’t hold his gaze. Hunger swirled there, like he’d had a taste and wanted to sate himself. In her state of mind, she’d offer herself on a platter and he unsettled her enough as it was. She looked away. “I’ll leave first and go back to the compound. I need to update Demetrius before we interrogate the Segals.”

Bastian touched a knuckle under her chin until she met his gaze again. “Aren’t we going to talk about what just happened?”

She kept her tone flat. “We both got off. Now we smell like sex and can leave without suspicion. Any guilty parties in the club shouldn’t feel threatened and run into hiding.” She dabbed at the corners of her mouth. His taste filled her.

It was a hard act to pretend she was unaffected.

“This wasn’t an act for me,” he said tightly.

She cocked her head. “Then you should’ve stayed behind. We’re from different worlds, Bastian. We’ll go our separate ways when this is over, but for now, you and I have one common goal: Find out who’s threatening that young girl. Or did you forget?”

Before he could respond, she elbowed her way past him and out the door. She was such a chickenshit.

The hallway was empty. Muted pleas of ecstasy came from behind closed doors. Ophelia raised her hand to feather her fingers over her hair again. Her arm trembled. She fisted her hands and released them over and over again, all the way down the hall.

She wanted to run out the door and go back to her room to huddle in a corner, but by the time she’d reached the salon, she’d collected herself. She strode out of the club like she was a fucking boss. An act she’d perfected over many, many years.

 

***

 

Bastian stabbed a hand through his hair. He drew in a shaky breath.

He’d orgasmed, fully clothed. A grown male, coming in his shorts like a whelp who hadn’t seen the far side of puberty yet. Worse, even. He’d never lost control like that when he was younger.

Then Ophelia had exited like a regal queen who had no more use for him.

We’re from different worlds, Bastian.

Was it because he worked for families like hers? She came from a bloodline that commanded respect. It was how their kind functioned, and while that way of thinking was changing, he continued to treat everyone with dignity and respect. His parents had worked hard to instill manners in him; he wouldn’t let their efforts go to waste.

And Ophelia. Treating her like nobility wouldn’t be enough. She called to him in the most primal way, but also prompted the refined parts of him to dote on her. His queen.

But to her, it was all in a day’s work.

He patted his shirt back into place. His pants were shot, but his jacket might cover it. Snatching it from the ground, he shook it out.

She’d had him losing his sense in less time than it took to screw in a lightbulb.

He shook his head. She probably thought he’d been all bluster when he’d explained how he’d treat his female, and he’d reacted exactly like the males he’d warned Antonia about.

Shrugging into his suit jacket, he cursed himself the entire time.

He’d let her down. They had a tenuous lead on Antonia’s attacker, but he remained below Ophelia’s expectations.

Why was he worrying about his love life when a young girl was still in danger?

With a snap of his cuffs, he left the room, striding down the hallway and out the door. He probably looked like he felt: irritated, stressed, and unsatisfied.

He drove Nadair’s car back to the dead male’s empty home, then flashed to the compound. The exterior door clicked open for him. He went straight for the room they’d prepared for him.

His first priority was checking on Antonia, but he couldn’t in his state. He ran through the shower, concentrating heavily on each task to keep his mind off those few minutes with Ophelia.

Soap. Rinse. Dry. Dress. He donned the tactical clothing he’d worn earlier.

He was frowning at the row of weapons when his phone chimed.

Meet in the conference room in twenty.

Twenty minutes. That left enough time to check on Antonia.

He abandoned his suite and went to hers next door. His raised fist hovered over the door, but laughter from inside made him pause.

For that sound, he was indebted to those who ran this place. He didn’t agree with their cover-ups or their failure to spread information to the common class. But they were helping Antonia and, even more, giving her a reason to laugh after she’d lost one parent and would probably lose the other.

She wasn’t close to her parents, not like he’d been with his. But she was young and might not understand.

He hated to disrupt the giggles, but he knocked. Fyra called him in.

Brimstone laced with a warm, sugary scent filled the room. The fire demon was sitting at the bar that separated the kitchen from the main area. One curvy leg was crossed over the other and a plate half filled with brownies rested between her and Antonia.

The teenager waved at him but switched her attention back to Fyra. “And then what?”

“I limped the rig out to the country and it blew up.” Fyra sparked a ball of fire between her fingers. “You should’ve seen the look on the sheriff’s face!” She guffawed and slapped her hands together to extinguish the flame.

Bastian smiled. Antonia had been loaned clothing and looked more relaxed than he’d seen her…ever. Chalk it up to the sweatpants, linen shirt, and cardigan thrown over it. She’d be horrified if peers witnessed her in this fashionless state, but for now, she looked like a kid enjoying her visit.

Fyra glanced at him. “Are all vampire kids so cute? I just want to eat Toni up.” She winked at Antonia as the girl broke down in more giggles.

“She swears she hasn’t eaten anyone,” Antonia said between gasps.

Fyra held a finger up. “Ah. No vampires. Let’s be clear.”

Antonia continued laughing, but Bastian didn’t think Fyra was joking.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

Antonia’s smile faltered. “I’m all right. Fyra’s been keeping me from thinking about Mother and Father.”

“I’ve also been telling her that our parentage doesn’t dictate our identity. They made their decisions, and she’ll make hers.”

It was a talk he had wanted to have with her, but perhaps it was better coming from a…maternal figure? The description didn’t fit Fyra—but it did. Sisterly?

“You’re okay here?” He gave her the knowing look he used before she went out with friends.

“I’m not going to do anything drastic, Bastian. I don’t want to go home. I don’t trust Father. I feel like I should mourn Mother more than I do, and I don’t know if I can trust any of my friends.” Her lips trembled. “What if they helped set me up?”

Fyra picked at a nail. “Then I might have to sample some vampire.”

Antonia shot her a grateful smile.

“Your friends may also be in the same danger,” he said. “That’s why I have to go out again.”

Antonia slid off her stool and threw her arms around him. Their first real hug. “Be careful, Bastian. You’re a cleaner, not a fighter.”

Fyra guffawed and slapped the table. “Good one, Toni.”

But Antonia was right.

“There are many ways to care for someone.” He hugged her back. They’d both sensed it was too risky while at the manor. His heart might explode. “I have to put down the silver serving platter and my rag and use other means to wipe out a tougher stain.”

“You two have a way with words,” Fyra said. “But seriously, dude. You’re going to be late. Know how to get to the conference room?”

She rattled off directions while he dared to drop a single kiss on Antonia’s head. Toni. The nickname suited her, but she’d always be Antonia to him.

He passed no one on his way to the conference room. The door opened to a table full of people staring at him.

He nodded and circled around to find an open seat. Calli was by an imposing male who wore authority like a second skin. Bastian had met the Devereuxes years ago. This male had to be Demetrius. Bastian certainly fit into this group, but only because he was wearing Demetrius’s clothes.

Ophelia was planted between Demetrius and a raven-haired male who looked like he’d rather kill something, quietly, without being disturbed.

A blond goliath sat by a female in a severe bun. Bastian chose the chair next to the female.

Brimstone tainted her scent. Was she the one bonded to a demon?

Why didn’t that question worry him?

Because the competence and dedication of this group was apparent. So why all the secrets? They’d won Bastian over within minutes; they’d have no trouble earning the trust of the common vampire population.

Or did they keep their silence because they were all primes and tended to cater to primes? Or because the primes were causing the immediate danger?

Too many questions, and as far as the threat to Antonia, the answers weren’t critical.

He glanced at Ophelia, but she was scrolling through her phone, ignoring him. That stung. The others clocked his movements. If he twitched wrong, he might find a stake within an inch of his heart. That was one weapon they hadn’t loaned him, and he’d left the rest behind.

Truth was, he didn’t want to put the silver platter down. It was his comfort zone. Not a nine mil.

Demetrius broke the silence. “Bastian Dean. You’ve worked for the Gastons for thirty-two years?”

Bastian nodded. “I started in the kitchen, but as everyone quit, I worked my way to butler. Eventually, it was just me doing everything.”

“What prompted you to turn on them?”

After the events of the last forty-eight hours, they questioned his loyalty? It was logical, but his pride burned. “Antonia was in danger and her parents were the reason for it.”

“Why are you two so close?” Demetrius’s gaze didn’t waver. It was like he’d come late to the game and was making up for lost time. As if there was a reason to doubt Ophelia’s opinion. Did they smell him on her?

Bastian looked at each one of them. Even Ophelia. She’d finally set her phone down to pay attention to the meeting. Or was it an interrogation?

He folded his hands on the table. He wasn’t going to participate, not like this. “Have I done something to cast suspicion upon myself?”

Ophelia mimicked his move. “You’ve adapted surprisingly well. You and Antonia arrived, bloodied and frantic. You claim to have been a servant for decades, yet you don our gear and investigate like a pro. And the club? You blended so well among the rich and influential that I had a hard time distinguishing between you and any other in there myself.”

Ouch. “And that means what?”

The others didn’t twitch as Demetrius explained. “It means that we’ve talked to Antonia. Her story corroborates yours, but that’s as far as we’re going with a teenager. You have us looking for an unknown male who may work in a prime household and is collaborating with the underworld, presumably through his employers, because demons need the strength of prime blood.”

“Seems to describe you,” the one with the bun murmured. “And it got you into the compound. It got you sharing our knowledge and resources, things members of the underworld would do more than kill for.”

They thought he’d used Antonia to worm his way onto Demetrius’s team? No, he would not let them test his temper. He hadn’t been raised to fly off the handle. If he were prone to tantrums, he wouldn’t have lasted five minutes working for the Gastons.

“I turned fifty last spring,” he said. “Are any of you younger than me?”

They stared at him. Ophelia dropped her gaze. Was this making her uncomfortable, when she was likely the instigator? Had their encounter only roused her suspicion?

“Well,” he continued, “if you’re younger than me, then perhaps what I say will make sense. If not, try to keep up.” That comment raised a few brows.

You can take the boy out of the sticks, but you can’t take the redneck out of the boy.

“I was raised in a two-bedroom cabin. Sizeable for your day and age—assuming you’re older, but then all of you were probably raised in mansions. My home isn’t far from here, actually. If you don’t believe me, I can take you there.”

He waited. They all faced him, their hands folded on the table or their arms crossed. None of them spoke.

“Why does that matter, you ask? Because my parents weren’t born during the days when they raised the next generation of servants. My great-grandparents worked for a house, but my grandparents chose a different path. In those days, work in houses was hard to come by. In my parents’ day, there were more opportunities.

“Because my formative years were during the 1970s and 80s, I grew up…freer than others of my kind. We hunted and fished. My father ran a primitive campground, where he rarely had to be present. It was a rustic setup, no RVs, tent camping only. Campers registered by dropping an envelope in a box and called if they needed further assistance. He could do his paperwork in the evening, and he hired out if the campers had an urgent matter.” Bastian’s lips quirked. “Lucrative, it was not.”

He fell quiet. The story waited while he wrestled with his nostalgia. How many years had passed? And yet he missed that life terribly. Missed his parents with a gut-wrenching sorrow. Demetrius’s team thought his adaptability was honed to deceive them, but it was really to keep his mind from visiting the past and all it’d taken from him.

“I was a little older than Antonia when one night, lightning hit within the campground. It’d been a dry summer. Nothing but tinder surrounded tents and campers. My parents rushed to the rescue and…” His throat constricted. He couldn’t get the words out. They’d figure out the rest. Vampires and fire always ended in tragedy.

The silence of earlier was surpassed by the tomb-like quality of the room now.

“The lawyers arrived shortly after. I cleared out of the cabin and it was like my family never existed. So when you say I’m adaptable, yes. Life has thrown a few changes my way.”

“How did you end up with the Gastons?” Demetrius asked.

“I roamed the streets for a solid year before I tried to gain employment with a house. I lived in the shadows and watched others. I did what they did, listened to their speech. Getting hired by the Gastons wasn’t difficult. Truthfully, neither was staying. I had no other life but serving them and they preferred it that way.”

“I can’t envision the Gastons tolerating your interference with their daughter.” Demetrius spoke plainly. He was prime. A nanny was acceptable, expected even, but a male servant who took out the garbage, rocking their child to sleep? Not acceptable.

“They ran off all their nannies. When I stepped in and saved them the trouble of dealing with more help, they didn’t flinch. Since they parented by absentia, I don’t think they realized how much influence I had in Antonia’s life.”

“Which only made her expendable to them,” Ophelia pointed out. “You took care of her and they never knew they had to.”

Again, ouch. He thought about it for a minute. “Perhaps. I meant to save her from the poor example of her parentage, but I couldn’t spare her from their greed.” Once the Gastons had found a use for her, had they even paused before agreeing to it?

He dragged in a heavy breath. Could he have done more?

Demetrius snorted. “If you hadn’t, she would’ve been plotting to turn over one of her friends or willing to bond on her own. I haven’t dealt with her for decades, but Madame Gaston was a vain and insecure female. My own parents banned her and the master from house parties years ago.”

Bastian chuckled. “It did not go unnoticed, I assure you.”

“All right.” Demetrius glanced around the table. The tension had eased greatly. “We’ll have to verify your story, of course. But you’re welcome to continue staying here with Antonia until we find the demon targeting her, and until you find a new place to stay.”

“I’m not…” He couldn’t sit by and do nothing.

“No,” Demetrius said firmly. “It’s the duty of my team.”

“But the rest of the vampire population is unaware of you or your team.” Well, they were plenty aware that Demetrius had overturned their former government and sat on the new Synod. What wasn’t general knowledge was the “team” and their “duty.”

“It’s best that way,” Demetrius replied.

“Keep telling yourself that.”

A couple of sharp inhales echoed around the room, but Bastian wasn’t going to back down.

The dark-haired one by Ophelia spoke. “We’re not all primes on this team.”

“Just you then?” Bastian asked, and a muscle twitched under the male’s right eye. “Demons, I suppose, don’t have prime classifications?” He hated calling on the arrogance he’d worked around every day for so many years, but it matched the tone of the others in this room.

“They have something like it,” Demetrius said. “And they are experiencing the same growing pains we are, trying to enfranchise the populations.”

“Ah, but does the entire underworld know of this? Or is it only the ones losing the power and lashing out about it that are aware?”

Demetrius’s mouth formed a hard line. “It’s clear you don’t agree with how we operate—”

“I don’t agree with the secrecy behind your operations. It didn’t work out so well for us when the vampire council ruled. You say you’re for equal rights, that you fight against a powerful few monopolizing our resources. But you also ask us to stand back and trust that it is so. All the while, normal guys like me don’t know what the hell’s going on when a demon’s standing right in front of us.”

Demetrius’s focus didn’t waver. The energy between them crackled with hostility. Suddenly, the air lightened. “Noted. I’ll pass your feelings on to the Synod.”

He examined the other man’s face for acrimony, or deception, but detected none. His respect for the male rose another notch. “You have my appreciation. But I also want to be a part of this search. I refuse to be sequestered and oblivious.”

He couldn’t believe himself. Ophelia had said they were from different worlds and this was certainly hers. But he’d spoken true. He couldn’t twiddle his thumbs and eat brownies with Antonia all day.

Demetrius looked to Ophelia. “That decision is yours. He’d be shadowing you.”

Bastian bristled at the description, but he was smart enough not to let it show.

“If he went with you to the Segals,” the giant rumbled, “Rourke and I could comb the streets for the man you described at the club.”

“I work alone,” Ophelia said as if that put an end to the discussion.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t.” The big guy with the cold breeze wafting off him must be Fyra’s mate. Had she put in a good word? “For now,” he amended, but Bastian doubted that made his comment easier for Ophelia to swallow.

“Why shouldn’t I?” she said.

“For our peace of mind,” the male returned. “They went after you once. They’ll take advantage of you working alone again.”

“They can’t do anything without my acquiescence. I wouldn’t agree to be a host, and I wouldn’t agree to a bond.”

“They have their ways and they have help,” Demetrius said quietly. “The strong foothold they have in our realm isn’t by accident.”

Ophelia’s disgruntled expression didn’t make her any less attractive. Bastian liked her in her tactical gear. She was swamped on each side by two large males, but her presence was just as big.

“Fine,” she bit out, her gaze flicking to him. “You can come with me to the Segals. We don’t have much on them. They have a son close to Antonia’s age.”

“Quentin?”

“Wait,” Demetrius said. “You know them?”

“His parents didn’t socialize with my employers,” he answered. “But I can talk to Antonia about the family before we leave.”

Demetrius pulled out his phone. “I’ll call her down here.”

Questioning her in front of everyone would only ensure her silence. Sitting in this room under their scrutiny was making him perspire. Imagine a sixteen-year-old in his place. “Perhaps it’s best if Ophelia and I stop by before we head out.”

“It’s close to dawn. That won’t be until nightfall.”

Bastian smiled. “Even better. Antonia is a good kid, but if she feels like I’m prying into her personal life…” He spread his hands. “She’s usually honest, but she’s still sixteen.”

Demetrius glanced around the room. “We’ll have to default to your knowledge of anyone under twenty. None of us have kids yet.”

A visible line of tension ran across Ophelia’s shoulders before it was gone.

What was that about?

Bastian tipped his head in thanks. Demetrius relaxed in his chair. Was this meeting not over? “Go over everything that happened that brought you here, and I want all the dirt on the Gastons.”

He settled in and recounted his tale. It was a small price to pay to remain included in the task—and to do it with Ophelia.