Chapter Nine

CHAPTER NINE

A s Apex stepped into the big house, he wasn’t completely sure where he was. Glancing around at the animal heads, he wondered for a moment if he hadn’t entered some kind of new prison, one where they’d taxidermied the decapitated inmates, and everybody was wearing weird hats and needed a shave.

But then he focused through his stupid on Mahrci. The female was sprawled on the couch, a bloody towel around her hand, one of her boots on the floor.

With Mayhem sitting at her feet like a dog.

And after Apex asked her if she was okay, he became aware the female was looking at him with the kind of intensity that meant a message was trying to be communicated: It was like the pair of them were in an optical round of charades, where the first word rhymed with “putt,” the last with “s’up,” and there was an f-bomb in the middle somewhere.

What , he mouthed to her.

“Your friend wants to know how we know each other,” she said awkwardly.

“Oh.” He opened his mouth. Closed it. “Through work.”

As Mahrci exhaled slowly, he abruptly wondered if this assignment up here hadn’t been a ruse, after all. Except then he thought of the equipment in the back of the Suburban. No one, not even a male as wealthy as Whestmorel, would waste that kind of money just to monitor his daughter’s temper tantrum—

As his cell phone vibrated in his leather jacket, he frowned and took the thing out.

Speak of the devil.

He looked at her. Glanced at Mayhem.

“’Scuse me.”

Apex had never been to Camp Ghreylke before, but he’d studied the architectural plans to prepare for the job, so he knew where to go to find one of the five bathrooms on the first floor. Closing himself in, he accepted the call while he checked out the dark green, pinecone’d wallpaper and the rustic copper sink. There were two stalls with dark green doors, and lights that were set with copper shades.

Goddamn , he thought. This whole place was like if Paul Bunyan had decided to take up interior design.

“Hello?” came the demand over the connection. “Are you there or not?”

Well, wasn’t that the question of the hour.

Apex turned and looked at himself in a mirror that was framed with birch branches. A stranger was staring back at him.

Rubbing his eyes with his free hand, he heard himself say, “Yeah, I’m at your camp.”

“Is my daughter—”

“She’s here.” No reason to bring up the coyote attack. And he had to wonder if the guy knew his groundskeeper was a wolven. “Is that why I’m wiring up this place?”

“Put her on the phone,” Whestmorel demanded. “She’s not answering my calls.”

Apex checked himself out again in the mirror. Nope. Still recognized the features and knew nothing about the male behind the black eyes.

“Sorry,” he said, “I’m not a family therapist. If she doesn’t want to talk to you, that’s between the two of you.”

“She lied about her whereabouts. She told me she was at—”

“Annnnd we’re still talking about your kid problems. Why?”

“Because I pay you,” Whestmorel snapped, “and I am ordering you to put her on the phone.”

Apex watched in the mirror as his upper lip peeled off his fangs. “You know what one of my biggest pet peeves is?”

“Not in the slightest—”

“Authority. I fucking hate authority. So if you’re trying to muscle me, how ’bout you get somebody else to wire your house. I’ll leave the equipment here since you paid for it all—”

“Wait.” There was some rustling, like the male was switching ears because he was frustrated, but too classy to curse. “Surely you can understand the concern a father has for a daughter who—”

“Nope, can’t say as I do—and I’m never having children so I have no intention of learning. Now, what are we doing here? Am I completing the work you’re paying me for, or are you going to keep throwing around the word ‘order.’ ”

The exhale that came over the connection had a begging quality to it. “The mating ceremony is in less than a month.”

“Again, not my business.”

In the quiet that followed, he imagined his “boss” was weeding through various avenues of coercion and manipulation. But here was the thing. The whole subordinate label required a two-sided arrangement, and Apex was a part of that handshake deal in name only. So the aristocrat was playing with himself.

“She must come back to Caldwell,” Whestmorel announced.

“That and a bowl of soup is your lunch, not mine.”

Another pause. Then, “All right, fine. But you are not an easy male to deal with.”

“This is such a newsflash, you have no idea,” Apex said dryly. “And I’ll take care of the project here as long as whatever is going on with your daughter stays between the pair of you. Good talk, great. I’m out.”

He ended the call, and then he braced himself on the lip of the pretentiously woodsy-casual sink.

Hanging his head, he breathed through his mouth. All he could see was the wolven on that floor up in his quarters above the garage, bleeding, naked . . . a blast from the past that knocked Apex on his ass, and sent him tumbling into his memories.

None of them good.

Like it was just yesterday, he remembered waiting by that bedding platform in the prison, the minutes creeping by, the prayers leaving his lips, his eyes burning because he didn’t even want to blink in case he missed something.

God, I can’t breathe , Apex thought as he unzipped his jacket with a yank.

How could something that was so long ago feel as recent as last night?

Pulling himself together, he left the bathroom and went out into a hallway that had honey-colored pine wainscoting, an evergreen carpet, and crimson drapes on diamond-paned windows. Painted landscapes framed by raw birch bark and old black-and-white photographs of people in Victorian garb stretched out in all directions.

Given that Whestmorel had bought this place and everything that was in it two years ago, those were men and women, not vampires.

Someone else’s family, not the male’s own. But the images were right for the decor.

And hey, the guy was always more worried about looks than his own bloodline.

Apex walked back out into the great room with the animal heads, and found Mahrci alone on the couch by the hearth. The female was staring off listlessly into the flames, and he knew how that felt.

“Was it him,” she asked in a dull voice.

“Your father?” He measured the height of the ceiling and hoped there were ladders tall enough to reach it somewhere on the estate. “Yeah.”

“Is he coming up?”

“Not that he said. But if you don’t want to deal with him in person, I suggest you call him.”

“I can’t . . .” She covered her face with her hands. Then looked through her fingers with eyes that gleamed with unshed tears. “I can’t see him right now. Can’t you put him off?”

How in the hell had he become some kind of family counselor? he wondered.

At least he liked Mahrci. Or felt sorry for her, was more apt. Although he’d never much thought about—or bought much into—the whole “poor little rich girl” routine, he did not envy her life in the slightest. Like all daughters in the aristocracy, she was a status symbol to be bartered with. Not a person who’d ever be allowed to live her own life.

And the male who had been chosen for her? Apex had never cared for Remis, son of Penbroke. So he didn’t blame Mahrci for going AWOL from the upcoming ceremony.

“Again,” he said, “my advice is for you to get on the phone with him. That’s your deal, though. You got to decide for yourself.”

As the female continue to stare up at him helplessly, he was not about to get involved with her love life drama.

“You’ve got to understand.” Her voice cracked. “I cannot get mated to Remis, and neither you nor my father—”

He put his hand up. “Let me set your mind at ease, in case you’re wondering. I’m not here for you.”

“Good. That’s . . . good.” Except then she frowned. “Why are you here, then?”

When Mahrci had seen her father’s head of security out in the woods, her first thought, even above the fact that he and his friend had come to rescue her from coyotes—and a white-and-gray wolf the size of a linebacker—was that he’d been sent to bring her back to Caldwell. She’d been convinced, after she was put in the rear of that black SUV, that she was going to be returned to her father like a package that had been mislaid in the mail system.

And even now she wasn’t sure whether she believed Apex. She was, however, still on this couch.

God knew he could have easily carried her out.

Yet she couldn’t trust him—and not because he always looked so scary, with his hard dark eyes and his ice-cold demeanor.

No, she’d learned in the most heartbreaking way not to trust anybody.

“So what are you doing here?” she repeated.

Apex shrugged, his heavy shoulders shifting under his leather jacket. “Just my job.” Before she could press him, he nodded at the front door. “Listen . . . about the groundskeeper.”

She frowned. “Yes?”

“What’s his deal? How long has he been working here?”

Confused by the change of subject, she rubbed over her eyebrow. “Did he do something wrong?”

“No, I’m just curious. His truck was parked out on the lane. It’s the reason why we stopped, actually.”

“Oh.” She flushed. “You know, I haven’t thanked you yet for saving my life—”

“It’s fine.” Apex waved away the comment. “I just wasn’t told there was anybody else up here. What do you know about him?”

“Not a lot. I mean, he’s been fine with me. When I arrived a couple of nights ago, he told me he was hired in September to watch everything over the off season. I think he said he planned to leave in the spring when the regular summer help comes.”

“So until May.”

“I guess?”

“What name did he give you?”

“Callum. But I don’t know his bloodline at all, if that’s what you’re wondering. Why do you ask? Are you worried about something with him?”

“Like I said, I just need to know who’s on the estate. It’s not a big deal.”

Bullshit , she thought. There was nothing casual about the male, not from how he was standing like he was ready to pounce, to that simmering calculation on his face. Her father had always hired well because he had enough money to pay for the best in any position—and as the head of security for all the properties, Apex, with his aggression and intelligence, was exactly what was required.

He was always watching—and seeing too much.

But two could play at that game.

Mahrci sat up with a groan. “You know him, don’t you.”

The ever-so-slight recoil sealed the deal on her own suspicion, but she wasn’t surprised she was right. She had developed a sixth sense for those who kept secrets lately.

“Why are you pretending to ask me what his name is,” she murmured.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. I didn’t know what he was going by now.”

“So I’m right—”

“Tell your father I said hello, why dontcha.”

Well. There you go , she thought.

“Um . . . Hemmy’s in the kitchen getting something to eat.” She nodded toward the back of the house. “You just go straight through there if you want to join him.”

“Hemmy?”

“That’s not his name?”

“Guess he’s claimed a nick, then.”

As Apex looked away, she studied his grim profile. “Can I ask you one question about the groundskeeper? Are you worried he’s dangerous?”

“Not to you,” came the tense response. Then the male focused on her. “You’re fine.”

Am I , she wondered listlessly.

From the far corner, Hemmy emerged with a tray of—

“Did you have to bring the entire kitchen?” Apex muttered.

Although he did have a point. Hemmy had clearly rooted around and brought out anything you could put a piece of cheese on, drag through a dip, or layer with a couple of slices of hard salami. But hey, at least he’d balanced all those carbs with a bag of M&M’s.

“There’s no food in there,” the male said as he came over and put things on the low table in front of her. “Did you just get here or something?”

For a second, she assumed he was talking to Apex. But no, those eyes were on her.

“Oh, me?” She tried to remember when the last time she’d had food was . . . and couldn’t recall. “I haven’t been thinking—I mean, I need to go to the store.”

“No one’s going anywhere.” Apex went to a window and stared out at the storm. “Not right now.”

Besides, what would be open this late this far upstate, she mused.

“Well, I raided the pantry.” Hemmy swept a hand over his display. “This is what we got.”

“You know, I think I am hungry.” She sat forward and forced a smile at the male. “And this looks terrific.”

Old saltines and oyster crackers. Fritos that had expired in November. Boxes of Triscuits and Wheat Thins. But she was suddenly starved, so it was a feast.

Breaking open the saltines, she looked back and forth between her two new roommates. Hemmy had gone over to the hearth and was throwing some more hardwood on the fire, his brows down low like log placement and BTU production was something he was going to be graded on. Apex was still staring out that window.

That looked across the circular pebbled drive to the garages. And the expression on his face was as if he’d seen a ghost.

Maybe she was just applying her own unrest to him.

She glanced at Hemmy. And then tilted her head to the side. “You have a mullet.”

The male looked over his broad shoulder. His smile was slow, and you know, suddenly the temperature in the grand hall seemed much, much warmer.

“It brings out the color in my eyes, don’t you think.”

Mahrci didn’t mean to laugh, and it was like the food. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d gotten her giggle on.

But it had been a long, long time since she’d had anything to even smile about.

It felt . . . magical to laugh. Especially with the bright-eyed, blond-mulleted male who was staring over at her as if he really, truly saw her.