8

Casimir

Ophelia's indignation shines sharp and bright as my words find their mark.

"Like hell we are."

She tries to brush past me, back down the alley to the busy street beyond, but I step into her path.

"If you'd just take a moment to listen to reason, I'm sure you'll agree that—"

"Listen to reason? Like what you did back there wasn't absolutely un reasonable?"

"What I did back there? As in, got us both the perfect cover to meet with the vampires who might have the answers we're looking for?"

Ophelia's lips press into a thin line, and I try not to let her silence feel like a small victory.

Even if, at the same time, I can't help but be impressed at how quickly she adapted to what I threw at her back in the cafe. Nothing more than a split-second's hesitation before she fell into the ruse, as convincing as I could have dared hope.

It wasn't a terribly well-thought-out plan, and the implication Ophelia and I have some sort of relationship was a stroke of last-moment inspiration. I'd seen the unwillingness in Cassandra's expression, the hint of fear over whatever secrets she's trying to keep for Philippe, and it seemed like the best way to convince her Ophelia and I are firmly on the same side. I needed her to believe that whatever influence I wield extends to Ophelia while she's here in the city, as does my protection.

"Fine," she allows after a few moments, and that victory is still as sweet at her begrudging concession. "I can give you that. Even if the way you went about it was absurd."

"Absurd? The word you're looking for is brilliant "

She rolls her eyes. "What made you so sure I'd go along with it?"

"You came highly recommended for this assignment, and if there's anyone's judgment I trust nearly as much as my own, it's Ewan Blair's. I made the assumption you'd be more than capable of keeping your cool in absurd situations."

Ophelia seems a bit taken aback at the compliment, but her guard's not going anywhere as she taps her foot idly on the ground and runs a restless hand through her hair.

"How the hell did you even find me here?"

It's a fair question, and though its honest answer is unlikely to win me any more points with her, I offer it anyway.

"I had an associate of mine help me track you down through Cassandra. I know the company she keeps and what kind of work she does for the coven. Blair mentioned the two of you used to be friendly and might be in touch while you were in the city, so the dots weren't all that difficult to connect."

She stews over that for a moment. "Fine. Alright. You had a lucky guess."

"An educated —" I bite my tongue at her dark scowl and change tactics. "Regardless, I meant what I said. If the coven is involved, I'm involved. I can't in good conscience let you get yourself entangled with them on your own."

Again, Ophelia falls silent.

As she considers her options, I study her face in the low light of the alley. Closed, guarded, I can't get a read on her or guess what she's going to say before she speaks back up.

"So… what now? What do we need to know for tomorrow?"

The world tilts slightly beneath my feet. "You'd like to accompany me to the Raven tomorrow?"

Another scowl, just as brooding as the last. "Uh, yeah? You think you're going to sideline me after all of that?"

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Despite that assurance, the world hasn't entirely righted itself as I try to reorient myself in a reality where Ophelia would have agreed so easily. One in which we're somehow, impossibly, about to embark on the next phase of this investigation together.

Her mouth is still set into that hard, defiant line, like she's just waiting for me to give her some more hell or wave my victory in her face.

But I have no intention to do so.

Not when I still stand by the fact that we'd be better served by partnering in this work, and not when a sliver of ice still lingers somewhere near the center of my chest—the same one that lodged itself there with Vincent's visit and only eased up in the slightest when I walked into the coffee shop and saw her sitting there unharmed.

It's a sliver that feels very much like fear.

For her. For Ophelia.

Philippe, Marcus, and I were all forged in the same fire. Though our paths have taken their own winding routes from the time of that forging, I know them and they know me. Because of it, I don't underestimate them. Not for a single moment.

The idea of Ophelia being unprotected in their crosshairs is unacceptable. And though I don't doubt her capability, or my capacity to handle whatever scheming they're up to, nor can I deny my deep sense of relief that I got to her before they did.

Whether or not she likes it, Ophelia's with me now.

"We'll go in with our cover story. Two lovers who've reconnected after so many years apart."

She huffs a humorless laugh. "Like anyone will believe that."

"Why wouldn't they? Cassandra was on the roof that night, was she not? And Marcus? The two of them no doubt remember what they walked into, and will draw their own assumptions about what it meant."

The words are a mistake.

As soon as they're spoken, Ophelia's expression shutters completely. She looks down, avoiding my gaze, and I'd reach out and grab back the memory of that night if I could.

"Ophelia, I—"

"No." Her voice is cool, clipped, all professionalism as she recovers quickly. "No, you're right. It's a good cover. It'll at least explain why the hell I'm there with you, when all I've been met with are closed doors and dead ends. I don't exactly have your kind of sway in this city."

The unease in my chest twists again.

She's not incorrect.

Though I've distanced myself from the coven Philippe and Marcus have built here in Boston, the tangled threads of our past still loom over the centuries of our shared existence. It was no accident I ended up here, too, when I finally settled somewhere, in this place with its rich tapestry of paranormal folk and some faint echoes of the lives we left on the other side of the Atlantic.

It was also no accident I did so partly to keep an eye on them, to remind them about the scales that balance the power between us, and whose favor they've always tipped in.

"Ophelia," I try again. "What happened back then wasn't—"

"It's fine." She shakes her head, and I try not to bristle at the interruption. "As long as we're getting the answers we need, it doesn't matter."

If she would only listen, give me a chance to explain that I've put what happened that night out of my mind, that I won't hold it against her or let it prevent us from—

"Ten o'clock tomorrow, then?" she presses on. "I'll meet you fifteen minutes early, in the alley down the street from the Raven. Between the book store and bakery. Brick wall. Ivy. You can't miss it."

I study her for a few moments before I answer.

The past and present meet in all the gentle angles of her beautiful face, changed with time but still as alluring now as they were then. In full lips twisted into a tight, mistrusting frown, in warm brown eyes still skeptical as she takes my measure just as intently as I take hers. In posture tight and defensive, rather than the loose, trusting way she once melted against me on a rooftop under the stars.

And in her scent.

As the silent seconds stretch between us, so do all the strands of that maddeningly unforgettable essence. Still enough to make my fangs tingle and my throat ache like I've gone centuries without a drop to drink. Still enough to make me imagine sinking my hand into that mass of lush curls and exposing the long graceful column of her neck, getting close enough to mark the pulse in her veins and to finally, finally indulge in the temptation that's never fully left me, not even all these years later.

But we're not here for that.

Cover story or not, we're here to serve the Bureau's interests, to make good on the promises we gave to Blair and Cleo.

For all I know, Ophelia may have another lover somewhere. Perhaps a vampire not so set against giving a human his bloodbond.

Swallowing the wave of prickling, unwarranted jealousy the thought evokes, I nod.

"I know the spot, and I will meet you there."

"Fine. See you then."

Ophelia turns and goes, our business concluded.

I watch her retreat from the alley and turn the corner. I watch the stream of people going about their days pass the mouth of the alley, my feet still rooted to the ground.

It's not until my cellphone chimes from my pocket that I'm drawn out of my stupor of memory and regret and consternation with the frustrating, delectable human who's left me there.

"Serra? Any progress to report?"

"Alexandrina was a bust. But she pointed us in the direction of a cousin. Or… a second cousin? Maybe one that's a couple of times removed. Anyway. We've got another lead."

After a few more details shot back and forth, I hang up and stride back out into the bustle of the city, off to a blessed distraction to occupy my mind before whatever awaits Ophelia and I tomorrow at the Raven.