Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Scottie

B eing in the thick of the Vasari clan again, and seeing the faces I grew up with, is both grounding and alienating at the same time. I've known many of them my entire life. I share memories with them—most of them wonderful—and yet, nothing seems the same.

First, I blame the years of absence.

But it's more than that. It's the cloying weight of death hanging in the air. It's the presence of betrayal in their eyes and the mistrust on their faces.

It speaks of worry and anger, of shock and sadness.

And even though I share the losses as deep or deeper than them, I'm still an outsider.

Francesco Vasari made growing up in the compound a safe place for me. He loved me and he loved Da. They loved and respected Da because of his dedication and commitment to keeping Francesco safe.

I haven't earned that respect.

Francesco was more than their king. He was a father by blood and by leadership. He was a friend, a guardian, and when needed, he was the one to dole out punishment and sentencing.

Now, that all falls on the shoulders of Zane.

It hurts my already aching heart.

This is my father's birthday—a day to celebrate a glorious life—and instead, I'm surrounded by death and betrayal. It's everything he fought each day from taking hold.

I sink into a chair in a shadowed corner, away from the bustle of the new arrivals. I'm not ready to face them. My lungs are locked so tight I may never breathe again.

And being near Zane makes it so much worse.

Why did he have to tell me he loves me? Why should it even matter? I close my eyes and curl forward, dropping my head into my hands. I'm not strong enough to spend time with him.

I convinced myself that after everything that happened and all the time that passed, I could handle being with him without being buried alive by the weight of my emotions.

I convinced myself that I hate him, that I could drive a wall of anger between us and keep him from affecting me.

It's a cruel slap to the face to realize that I love him as deeply now as I ever did. Time and distance have done nothing but steal the past seven years I could've been spending with my father.

His rejection branded my heart and broke me, but it was me who couldn't face the pain. It was me who turned down all the invitations to spend time with Da and Francesco over the years that followed.

And now there will be no more invitations.

"There you are. I thought I lost—Scotland?" Tucker kneels in front of me and drops his face into my line of vision. "How can I help you?"

"I don't have a father anymore. Everything around me is wrong and I can't call him for advice or even to hear his voice. His life was stolen. I don't think I'll survive this."

Tucker's muscular frame shifts before me and then he lifts me up as if I weigh nothing and settles me on his lap. The moment I'm in his arms, my heartache eases. I'm not sure what kind of preternatural DNA he has, but he soothes me.

Tilting his head, he rests his cheek on the top of my head. "I've been where you are and I'm sorry you're there. My mama was the sun in my universe and when she passed, I thought my heart would literally implode and darkness would swallow me whole."

That's how I feel. That's exactly it.

"I promise it won't last. Bran was a man of integrity and internal strength and you're his daughter. You'll survive because there is no other option. And in the moments when you falter, I'll be here to hold back the world for you until you feel up to doing it yourself."

I sit straight and twist to meet his gaze. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why will you be there for me? Why do you care? Why, on the worst day of my life, does being near you and hearing your voice make everything suck a little less? What are you?"

He glances around and shrugs. "How about you ask me that again when we're not sitting in a vampire compound where everyone has heightened hearing?"

Fair enough.

Zane told me he's Jack's son, and that Da thoroughly vetted him when he arrived to build a relationship with his father. Beyond that, his muscled hotness, and the way his voice carries a bit of a growl in its lower register, I know nothing about this man.

My instincts tell me he's a good guy—a great guy—and that he's got a magical vibe.

But he's right. This isn't the time or place.

Patting his strong, stubbled jaw, I rein in my emotions and hit reset. "Let me see if Zane needs help to get everyone settled. Then we'll take you back to the safe house. I want to keep Jack close until he's back on his feet. Also, I have so many questions about squire powers."

Tucker grips my hips and lifts me to my feet. "Sounds good to me. And I admit, the idea of sleeping under the same roof as you works for me. Any chance we could get adjoining rooms? It would save a lot of sneaking around."

I laugh. "Pretty sure of yourself, are you?"

He grins. "We're going to happen, beautiful. The only question is the timing of when we get together. I vote sooner rather than later. Why deny ourselves?"

It doesn't sound like he's joking, but then again, I barely know him. "Time will tell. For right now, let's check on your dad and then I'll find Zane."

I shake off the sexual teasing of our moment in the shadows, and we step back into the buzz of the Vasari family.

It's disorienting that vampires live and love during the night hours, and my days and nights have to flip.

With everything that's happened in the past two days, I couldn't tell you if it was day or night right now. The only signal I have that it's still daylight is that most of the vampires here have taken to the bunk beds and are sleeping.

Not everyone, though.

Tucker and I seem to have caught the attention of two vampires I don't recognize. They are standing shoulder to shoulder, blatantly staring and speaking to one another under their breath. One is a black man with long dreads, and the other has a silly Fu Manchu mustache and a pathetic tuft of hair on his chin that is supposed to be a goatee.

"Friends of yours?" I ask.

"Nope. But they seem more interested in you than me."

I take another look and it's hard to say which of us they're more interested in. It's irrelevant either way. "Ah, yes. This is the ever famous ‘outsider stare down'. Welcome to Vampire Posturing 101. Today's lesson focuses on the welcoming committee, or, in this case, the un welcoming committee. Those who don't carry true-blood or even hybrid-blood are considered inferior and therefore less than."

Tucker chuckles. "It doesn't seem to bother you."

"Why would it?" I send the onlookers a wide smile and waggle my fingers at them. "Francesco loved me as a daughter, and I loved him as a second father. It had nothing to do with true-blood or vampire status. We were family."

The two vampires race at me in a blur of aggression and I don't even have time to react before Tucker lashes out and knocks them both flying backward.

If I hadn't grown up with possessive, dominant men my whole life, something like that might seem overbearing. But Tucker—whatever brand of supernatural he is—is obviously as alpha as the vampires I grew up with.

His protective instinct is more about him than me—and the fact that Jack told him to watch over me likely added responsibility to that as well.

Any other time, I might bristle at a man thinking he needs to take care of me, but today, it feels nice to have someone genuinely concerned about my wellbeing. Because I'm not feeling tough enough to fend off the world myself right now.

Today, I'm happy to let someone else take up the mantle.

The two vampires don't seem to get the message though and come at me again. I drop into a crouch and widen my stance. "You boys are new around here, so I'll forgive the aggression. For your information, I'm Scotland McCullough, Bran's daughter, and the Sacred Squire to your king."

"Oh, we know who you are," the goatee guy says.

"You're a little girl who will get Zane killed." Dreads is looking for a way past Tucker, so I tap his arm and signal for him to stand down.

"If these boys are stupid enough to think that Bran McCullough would put Zane at risk, or that he would raise his daughter in a world of vampires and not teach her how to fight, then they should be set straight. They think I'm the weakest link, so let them come."

Tucker frowns. "You can't be serious."

I grin. "I've got so much pent-up anger and emotion right now, it'll be good to vent it. This will be fun."

Tucker hesitates but dips his chin. "Well, who am I to deprive a lovely lady of a little fun?"

I blow him a kiss, then step over into an open area away from the couches and sleeping area. As I walk, I stretch my neck and shake out my arms. "All right, boys. If you think you're all that and I'm a detriment, have at it. This is your chance to prove your point."

Zane

The moment the canvas of the hockey bag moves, my reign of vengeance begins. I carry the oversized bag holding Benoit past the witch's warding into the old subway tunnel, unzipping it so fast the metal tab snaps free and embeds into the tile of the wall.

"Wakey, wakey, you fucking traitor!"

My father accepted this French fuck into our home, and Benoit repaid that trust by bringing death and chaos into our community.

As human as we appear, vampires have a beastly side that craves blood, carnage, and slaughter. It's overwhelming at first, but as long as we give into it now and then and set it free, the beast can coexist.

There's no restraining that side of me now.

It would be like tethering a rabid hell hound with a tissue paper chain.

The moment he climbs out of the bag, I launch into the air and come down on him like a meteor crashing to the earth. No human throat can make the sound that tears from my vocal cords.

It is that of a vampire possessed by the urge to kill and it's terrifyingly unmistakable.

It is a snarling threat that rattles inside the mind of our prey and speaks of the horrors to come.

And there will be many.

I grab the man who let the enemy into my home and slam him against the wall of the subway tunnel. "I hope it was worth it."

His eyes widen, but he doesn't have time to plead. I grip his throat with one hand, pinning him against the wall, reach into his mouth, and yank. Blood spray hits my face, and it's warm and sweet. I hold his tongue up for him to see and lean in. "Talk to any new friends lately, Benoit?"

Blood gushes out of his mouth as he chokes and tries to speak. I don't give him the opportunity. When a man is in fear of his life, he'll say anything.

It's rarely the truth, and it's nothing I want to hear.

"You are responsible for the death of men far greater than you have ever been or will be. You will die a disgrace to our kind, and we will piss on your remains."

I throw his tongue against the wall with such force that it explodes into a fleshy splat. Then, I flex both hands at my sides and release my claws to their full extent.

The sting of the dagger-sharp claws breaking through the nail beds of my fingers is raw and painful, but in my current state, I feel nothing but the lust for blood and vengeance.

"Hold him in place." My command comes out partly in words and partly in a compulsion to do my bidding. Not that I intend to compel Huntley, but my control has snapped.

He rushes behind Benoit to grab his arms, lifting them to the side, leaving me with full access to the man's body. With my talons fully extended, I slice off his clothes in a series of frenetic swipes and then stare at him.

My breath fills my lungs in heaving breaths as I imagine all the ways I'm going to flay this man.

"You mentioned wanting a public spectacle?" Huntley's reminder drifts into my mind as if from a great distance. "Is that still your plan?"

"No. His body parts will have to stand as my statement. There's no stopping now."

And with that, I let my vampire side take over completely.

Tucker

I hate everything about this. Everyone is on edge after the coup attempt, but despite Scottie's insistence that she's up for this, I'm not so sure.

She's grieving the loss of her father and Francesco.

Hell, I held her in my lap while she sobbed moments ago.

But the challenge has been made and accepted. Unlike Scottie, I'm not Vasari family and don't have a place here.

Still, it goes against everything in me to step back and let two vampires attack the female. Especially because something magical is weaving our futures together.

It's there when we touch—the spark of magic that arcs between us—but she doesn't understand its significance.

I'm not even sure what's at play.

All I know is that from the first moment I set eyes upon her, my world exploded into sensual overload. The colors I see are more vibrant. The surrounding scents are heightened. And when our bodies touch, there is a pull within me, more visceral than anything I've ever felt before.

Scotland McCullough is mine.

So, stepping back while two vampires ready to pounce and make her look bad, goes against every instinct screaming inside of me.

The one with the long, thick dreads openly challenged Scottie's ability to defend Zane. I understand their concern, but I saw her tearing it up in the alley with Jack.

The girl has serious moves.

Respecting that she knows what she's doing, I watch, heart pounding, as the confrontation escalates.

Scotland sinks into a fighting stance, her gaze alight with a promise to make them suffer. I'm not sure how the magic of her squire powers works, but she only got them yesterday. Jack mentioned she would need training to hone them, so that's a worry.

Having lost a parent to the senseless cruelty of murder, I recognize the fury fueling her and understand her need to lash out and make someone bleed.

The vampire with dreads steps forward first. He peels off his shirt and his muscles ripple and flex as he sizes her up. "I don't want to hurt you, little girl, but you have no business taking Huntley's place. Everyone knows he was meant to watch over Zane."

Scottie doesn't flinch. "Things change. And don't worry about hurting me. I've been putting men like you down for decades. All vamp bluster and bravado. You're all the same."

He lunges at her, his speed impressive, but not enough to catch her off guard. She sidesteps smoothly, her movements fluid and precise. She grabs his outstretched arm, using his momentum to flip him over her shoulder.

He hits the ground hard but is back on his feet in an instant. His friend with the ridiculous stache sees his opening and charges in.

Scotland spins to face him, her fists up and ready. The second vamp swings at her, but she ducks, delivering a sharp jab to his ribs. The guy grunts but catches her outstretched arm and attempts to twist it behind her back.

Scotland isn't having it. She pivots, using her other arm to deliver a powerful elbow strike to the second vamp's face.

Vamp two stumbles back, blood dripping from his nose.

She moves like a warrior—every action calculated, every strike intentional. She's a work of art in motion, fierce and unyielding. And with her blonde hair fanning out behind her as she spins and strikes, she looks like an angel.

An avenging angel—but an angel just the same.

The vamp with dreadlocks comes at her again, this time with more force and a bit more caution. He throws a series of punches, each one faster and more aggressive than the last.

Scotland blocks and counters, her reflexes sharp.

The second one moves in and tries to flank her, but she senses him coming. She jumps straight up, kicking out with both feet and catching both of them in the chest.

Her opponents are knocked backward, one crashing over a wooden table and splintering it to pieces, the other being caught by the bystanders coming to watch the fight.

The arrival of a dozen vampires is concerning and vamp two takes advantage of the momentary distraction. He lands a punch to her side that makes her gasp.

I growl and fight the urge to intervene, but she recovers without pause.

She spins, looping her legs around his waist from the back and her arms around his neck. The satisfying crunch has the vamp dropping to the floor like a sack of rotten potatoes.

The crowd practically pulses with disapproval, so I hold up my hand and make myself seen. "They challenged her abilities, boys. She's the king's squire and has the right to defend her honor."

That seems to send a ripple of shock through several of them. Apparently not everyone in the seethe got the memo that Huntley isn't the man of the hour.

They seem to accept that, though, so I return my attention to the fight. I've missed quite a bit. Somehow Scotland has ended up in a floor scramble, grappling with her opponent. She's forced him to the ground from behind, her knee pressed into his back.

When her arms lock around his head, the vamp looks not only surprised, but a bit confused. "Yield, or your neck is about to snap."

The vampire struggles under her grip, his dreads flailing around like limp snakes, but it's obvious he's beaten. "Fine. I yield. Get the fuck off me."

Scotland releases him and stands, her chest heaving with exertion. I try not to stare, but damn, the woman fights like a warrior and has the rounded curves of a goddess.

I can't help but want to worship her.

She's magnificent.

She's bloody but has kicked their asses and is glaring at the gathered crowd as if inviting any of the newcomers to take their shot.

Not smart, beautiful.

There are too many of them and now that they've seen what she did to their friends, they will be vicious not to suffer the same humiliation.

She casts another glance over the crowd and then relaxes her stance and dips her chin. "I didn't come here looking for a fight. I was challenged. Tensions are high. Just take that hostility and shove it in someone else's face."

She waits to gauge if there will be any other conflict and then shakes her shoulders out and drops her guard. The moment she turns her back to the crowd, a blond brute comes at her from behind, his braids swinging. The attack is cowardly, and Scotland doesn't see it coming.

"Scotland!" I launch forward, wrap my arms around her, and twist her out of harm's way.

Before I can set her on her feet and go back for justice, the air blurs, and the Thor wannabe explodes into a plasma bomb as two fists come flying through his chest cavity.

Scotland's attacker drops to the floor, and the crowd takes a step back. Zane is standing there, his Armani caked in blood and entrails, his gaze glowing scarlet, his fangs and claws extended more dramatically than I've ever seen on any vampire. "Touch her and die."

He squeezes the blond vampire's heart in his bloody grip and glares at the crowd. "Scotland McCullough is mine . You move on her, consider yourself dead."

The warning is meant for the vampires of his seethe, but the threat is implicit. It's also obvious that it isn't coming from a familial bond after having grown up with her and considering her part of his life.

Zane Vasari is staking his claim.

That complicates things—because she's mine, too.