Claire du Lothgard sipped champagne and watched the earth pass by underneath her from her first-class seat. Not as nice as a private plane, but she needed to keep a low profile for a while, let Yongjai and the other seer-controlling sects think Northwalk was no more, before rebuilding the empire. What should the new name be? Felyne Enterprises. She chuckled. Amusing, but too obvious.
Absently, she rubbed the spot where Sten had shot her. Though Cassandra had told her it would happen, she hadn’t expected it to hurt so much. Despite a life dancing with danger, she’d never been seriously injured before. If she hadn’t hidden an autoinjector with a dose of Lucien’s miracle drug in the back of her pants, she would have bled out in less than two minutes.
Too bad about Cassandra. They would’ve made a great team, if the Alpha could have endured her never-ending visions. But like every Alpha before her, Cassandra’s mind had been disintegrating for years, and she couldn’t take it anymore. Instead of outright stealing Lucien’s cure from Sten and using it on herself, her odd altruistic streak compelled her to create an elaborate scenario where Sten gave the cure to Val, and Max re-created enough of it to give to any other seer who wanted it. A cure for everyone except Cassandra, how noble. The Alpha preferred to die, and Claire wanted to be rid of her family. Egging on the Omega had been a win-win for them both.
In fact, it surprised Claire just how well their intricate plan had worked out in the end, though she should’ve known any plan hatched by the Alpha would be foolproof. Even so, the wildcard of Valentine Shepherd seeded in her doubt she couldn’t ignore. Now that everyone had played their parts to perfection, all the pieces had fallen into place, and both she and Cassandra were free of Northwalk, she could finally relax and enjoy her victory…Well, mostly enjoy it.
From beneath the seat in front of her, she pulled out Max’s laptop and turned it on. When she logged in, the screen went black. After a moment, a simple prompt came up and a word appeared on the screen:
Ask.
She typed, Will I ever see Stacey again?
No.
Claire swallowed back a knot in her throat. She wished she hadn’t needed to lie to Stacey, but it was the only way the plan would work. That was the price she paid for her freedom. Some futures weren’t compatible with love. But maybe there was more the computer couldn’t relay. When added to certain future technologies, Max’s program would be the keystone she needed to create her own digital Alpha. In its current state and even with some tweaks Cassandra made before she’d died, it wasn’t much more than a very fancy Magic 8 Ball—the only one in the world that actually worked, but still frustratingly short on details.
Ask, the computer prompted.
Will I see Valentine Shepherd again?
Yes.
Claire laughed. Of course. Some things were inevitable.
* * *
Savoring the fluffiest croissant he’d ever had in his life, Sten admired the Eiffel Tower, framed by a big bay window, from inside the swankiest hotel room he’d ever been in. He’d never been to Paris before, or Europe, or anywhere, really, that wasn’t a shithole. Slaves didn’t get vacations. Now that he was free, he figured he should take one. But where to go first?
He’d decided to follow his heart. Yeah, it was a fucking cliché. But everyone else was doing it, so why not him? His first day in Paris, he’d spent an entire day at the Louvre, loving every second. The day after that, he’d toured the Notre Dame Cathedral before hitting the Arc de Triomphe. He’d even bought a beret and sat at an outdoor café while sipping espresso, living the dream of every American-in-Paris stereotype.
And now here he was, in this beautiful room, picking from an exquisite selection of pastries, cheese, and fruit, laid out literally on a silver platter in the lounging area. If he wasn’t careful, he’d get used to these luxuries.
He heard the master bathroom’s shower turn off. Shoving the rest of the croissant in his mouth, he walked to the half-open door separating the bedroom from the lounge and pressed his back against the wall about a foot from the threshold. A moment later, he heard footsteps on carpet and the rustling of a towel, then a voice.
“I’m here now,” she said. On the phone. “Thanks for the accommodations. If I’d known Yongjai was this generous to prospective employees, I would’ve contacted you a long time ago…Yes, yes, thank you…No…I understand, but you must understand I can’t just tell you where they are. We’re talking about two Alphas here.” After a pause, she laughed. “If you thought I was lying, I wouldn’t be here right now.”
The door to the bedroom opened all the way. Wrapped in a white robe and using a towel to rub her red hair dry, Danielle Shepherd walked out. She kept her head down as she clutched the phone to her ear, breezing right past Sten as he pulled a silenced gun from his pocket.
Oops for her.
She walked to the table next to the bay window. Tapping a pack of menthols sitting next to the silver tray, she pulled out a cigarette and put it to her lips. “Listen, I can take you to them myself, but I’m not telling you anything until we meet face-to-face. It’s too dangerous over the phone—”
Turning, she finally caught sight of him and gasped, the cigarette falling from her mouth. Her gray eyes—Val’s eyes—popped to the size of saucers, half a second before he put a bullet between them. With the heel of his boot, he crushed the phone where it’d fallen to the floor, until only tiny, useless bits of it remained.
Sten pocketed his gun, brushed croissant crumbs off his gloves, put his beret on with the bill tilted over his face, and slipped out the way he’d come in. Yeah, it was cheesy, traveling halfway around the globe to do the girl you loved a favor, especially when she’d probably never know, but he figured he’d earned the right to be a silly romantic. Maybe he’d travel the earth solving problems with his fists, or his guns, or both, keeping the world safe from evil people who profited off the misery of others.
Eh, that sounded hard. Maybe he’d just settle down in Mexico, drink Coronas on the beach every day, and Google “Valentine Shepherd” on occasion, ready to drop everything and travel north if it seemed she might need his particular set of skills again.
Ah, the things people did for love.