Chapter 16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Zane

T he lights in the PATH hum overhead, illuminating the bustling crowd of commuters moving through the network of stores and corridors. They seep along in waves, heads down, focused on getting home after a long day of work.

Suits and ties blend with casual coats and bags, the rhythmic shuffle of feet and high-heeled shoes tapping the tiled floor to create an urban heartbeat.

The smell of food courts, coffee shops, and the faint whiff of cologne hangs in the air, but none of it matters to me.

In fifteen minutes, when the sun finally sets, we'll be free to ascend to street level. Until then, Huntley and I weave through the throng, our steps quick but deliberate. The humans pass us by, oblivious to the dangerous currents swirling beneath their ordinary lives.

If only they knew the power struggles happening right under their noses.

As we move toward the exit, my hackles raise. Tension gnaws at the back of my mind. Leaving Scottie behind will either piss her off or hurt her feelings.

I don't like either of those options. Over the years, I've longed to make things right with her. I always swore I'd never hurt her again. She won't appreciate me protecting her—she never has.

But Huntley's right. At least for now, Scottie is out of her depths and is safer at home watching over Jack and Tucker.

Not that Tucker needs tending to.

I grip my fingers into balled fists and try not to think about all the ways she might tend to him. Scottie doesn't even know the man. There's no reason to think that something will happen between them before I can turn her head and rekindle what we lost.

We have history.

"Do you need to kill someone else?" Huntley is watching me, his sandy blond brow arched with amusement.

"Careful or it might be you."

He chuckles. "You know I'm happy to be your outlet when you want to get rough, but with your house guests, your proclivity toward blood play won't go unnoticed."

"That you can joke about the clusterfuck that is currently my reality proves what an asshole you are."

He laughs harder and steps onto the escalator just ahead of me. "I admit it. It's fun watching you twist yourself up in knots over Scottie after pining for her for years. She's not the same woman who ran away from us, Z, and we're not the same men."

"You think I don't fucking know that?" I can tell by the glint in his eyes that there's more, and he's gauging how much he should say.

Say nothing. When in doubt… say nothing.

"What do you think good old Scots will say when she finds out how we passed all those long, lonely nights?"

And there it is. Why does he insist on prodding me?

"Well, luckily I'm your king and you're bound to keep my confidences, so that won't be an issue."

We emerge from the underground into early evening, the golden hues of the sunset just barely visible on the horizon. "She knows you better than that, Z. She'll see it."

I shake my head. "No one has ever seen it or caught us. There's no reason to think anything different. Discretion is the better part of valor."

He reaches around me as we get to the glass doors of the office lobby. When I move to step past him, he drops his head and warm breath brushes my ear. "I don't mind being your dirty little secret, but if you think you can sweep me under the rug and play Scottie's sweet prince after all these years, you're fucked in the head."

While that little kick to the sac settles over me, the two of us emerge onto street level and stride down the steps of the First Canadian Place.

Jaxon is waiting beside the car down at the curb, his expression unusually neutral as we approach. He seemed put out when he wasn't invited back to the safe house, but Scottie and I agree that the fewer people who know where we are staying, the safer we all are.

It was hard enough to get Huntley a pass, and he's my right hand. I know how to pick my battles. "How are things with the family? Is everyone settling in?"

Jaxon opens the door to the back seat for me and I slide in. "Everyone's fine, considering we're living underground in a fallout shelter with the rats and cockroaches."

The door slams shut behind me and Jaxon and Huntley circle around the car to get in on the driver's side. The two pause for a moment before coming inside and Huntley's deep voice murmurs what I can only guess is a warning for Jaxon to watch his mouth.

The two of them slide in and then Jaxon starts the car and pulls us away from the curb.

"Where are we headed?" Jaxon adjusts the rear-view mirror, his gaze flicking between me and Huntley sitting in the back seat. "Are we off to reclaim the infamous diamond dagger?"

I straighten, my entire body going rigid as the words leave his mouth. Slowly, I lean forward, pinning him with a glare that could peel the paint off the car. "Why would you ask me that?"

Jaxon's expression shifts and his demeanor shrinks. He shrugs awkwardly, lifting his hands in a defensive gesture. "Sorry. Someone's after your crown, and the way to prove you hold the power is to hold the dagger. I just thought?—"

"Well, stop thinking," I snap, my voice cold. "We're on an information-gathering hunt, not a treasure hunt."

Jaxon swallows hard and nods. "Got it."

Huntley's face remains unreadable as usual. "Make a right on York and go up to Queen. I'll point out the way once we get closer."

I slide back into my seat, the vibrations of the engine pulling us along as we cruise through the streets of the downtown core.

The city surrounds us, skyscrapers reaching high before giving way to smaller buildings as we head along Queen Street. The nightlife is just beginning to awaken, the energy in the air palpable. But despite the familiar sights and sounds, something still feels off. I search the sightlines of the rooftops and the faces of the people living their lives.

Paranoid much?

Then again, knowing that there is a vampire army actively hunting me down to cut my head off is reason enough to be jittery.

Huntley leans forward, taps Jaxon's shoulder, and points toward the side of the road. "Park there."

I glance out the window, frowning at a drag club next to a rundown soup kitchen. The drag club is all lit up with marquis lights and poster boards displaying their upcoming show called Bacon and Leggs. The soup kitchen next door looks more like an afterthought than a place for us to find answers.

"Where the fuck are you taking me?" I narrow my gaze on Huntley. "You expect to get information about the underground workings of vampire power players at a homeless shelter?"

Huntley grins, his expression calm as always. "Wait here for us, Jaxon. Park and wait. Nothing more, nothing less."

Jaxon mutters something under his breath about being underappreciated and shuts off the engine.

I don't have the patience for Jaxon's drama tonight. As soon as Huntley is at my door, I step out and scan the building ahead. The rundown structure looks like it could collapse with a hard gust of wind.

"You take me to the nicest places," I deadpan, crossing my arms as I take in the view.

Huntley chuckles, a rare sound that catches me off guard. "Ignore the exterior. It's what's inside that counts. And don't kid yourself. We both know the places I take you."

I shake my head. "You're awfully sure of yourself."

He waggles his brows and then gestures for me to get moving. Together, we make our way to the entrance, and the moment we step inside, I'm hit with the scent of fresh bread, savory soup, and the faint tang of baked apple.

Not at all what I expected.

The place is alive with the sounds of clinking dishes and the murmur of cheerful voices. It's barely seven, and the line for food stretches all the way to the back of the room.

"Apparently, the locals know where to go to get their free food fix."

Huntley walks with purpose, leading me around the throng of people. Given his height, broad shoulders, and general ‘don't fuck with me' vibe, people make way for us to pass. His focus tells me he's looking for someone specific.

I scan the rows of bench seating as we pass, searching for any potential threats. Not that I expect to find any among humans who have no clue who or what we are.

What dangers could they pose? But then a subtle ripple of magic raises the hair on my arms and the smell of char speaks of demon folk.

There are more than just humans here.

"What is this place?"

Huntley casts a glance back at me as he reaches the serving area. "Exactly what it looks like. It's a soup kitchen and a safe place for anyone who needs one."

"You got that right, baby. Welcome. And after the way the world's been treating you, I expect you could use a little home-cooked comfort." The woman who speaks is tall—easily six-foot-six—and is standing behind the counter in a hot pink animal print sheath dress, ladling out bowls of soup.

She bats her sparkly blue eyelashes at us and sets two large bowls up on the tray, waiting on the sneeze guard. After she adds a plate with two wide wads of fresh bread, she gestures for us to take them. "Have a seat, gentlemen, and I'll be with you in two shakes."

Huntley reaches up and gathers the tray, then turns toward me. "Close your mouth, Z. It's rude to stare. Come on. There's an empty table near the back."

I follow Huntley, my mind spinning out. Growing up as the heir to the Vasari seat of power left me sheltered from many things in the human world, but she was exceptionally interesting. "How do you know about this place? And who was that?"

Huntley chuckles as he rounds the end of the empty table and puts his back against the wall. I follow him and do the same thing, sitting beside him so I can keep the room in view.

"You've heard of the Oracles of Toronto, haven't you?"

"Of course. Your point?"

"Well, you just met Clare Voyant, one of the three sisters who watch over the downtrodden. They run this soup kitchen and have for decades. They also have connections with all the major players of all the races and factions that live in our streets. Be nice to them and they'll be nice to us."

I blink and stare at him. "Who are you?"

He rolls his eyes. "My training with Bran goes deeper than strategic thinking and military defense. That man knew everyone in this city and knew how to nurture those relationships for the good of your family empire."

I never knew, but it doesn't surprise me.

"She's coming, so act cool."

I meet his gaze. "I am your king now, you know?"

"My statement stands. Be cool."

There's no time to argue or to remind him of his place. Clare Voyant is, indeed, coming our way. I take in the exaggerated swagger of her steps, the four-inch heels on her thigh-high boots, and I do my best to not let the dazzle of her uniqueness affect my expression.

When she arrives at our table, she sits on the bench opposite us and frowns. "You haven't touched your dinner."

Huntley drops his head and dives in.

I dip my chin. "Thank you for this. It was very kind."

She sends a pointed gaze to my bowl and then raises her gaze to meet mine. "You should eat, sire. When war is brewing, you need to fuel the machine when you can."

I straighten. "You know about what's been happening?"

She taps her long, zebra-patterned nails on the tray and points to my spoon. "I know a lot of things. Some I've heard from the whispers of the streets. Some I've seen unfolding. And some have yet to be revealed."

I pick up the spoon and try the soup. It has a dark, beefy broth and is delicious. "Do you have answers for us?"

"That depends on your questions, baby."

I tear off a piece of bread and dip it into the beef soup. "My father was assassinated last night, and his Sacred Squire died with him. The woman who led the attack was a turned vampire. We've uncovered a great deal of funding working to destabilize our seethe. My question is whether you know who is behind it."

Clare sighs. "Sadly, no. I don't have that answer for you, majesty."

The way she says that makes me think she has other answers, but only if I ask the right question. I take another run at it, coming at the problem from another angle.

"The woman who led the attack, Daeva, brought a force of turned vampires into my family compound. She and her men were turned by a true-blood. If they are serving their maker, he or she could very well be in the area. Do you know how we could find them?"

"I'd say that's a matter of biology, baby. Your biology, to be exact."

I set my spoon down. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well, are your people known for churning out armies in short order?"

I shake my head. "No. It's a process that takes a lot out of a sire—makes them weak and depletes their health."

"So, if there are suddenly a bunch of baby vamps running around bound to the same sire, what does that mean?"

I don't know. "I don't understand how it's even possible. A vampire could have many children, but they wouldn't all be fledglings, like the ones who invaded my compound."

"Forget how it's possible and consider what the sudden presence of an army of baby vamps would mean. What impact would they have on our city?"

I sit back from the table and wipe my mouth with my napkin. It's obvious then why she wants to help me. If my enemy has an army of fledglings in the area, they will feed ravenously. From what Huntley says, Clare Voyant and her sisters protect the would-be food sources for that army.

"Has this impacted the innocent? Is there an area where civilians have been attacked?"

"Thankfully, no. Whoever is behind this either has a strong hold on his people or is incredibly smart."

"Or both," Huntley says. "If they aren't feeding off people in the streets, where are they getting their sustenance?"

"There are rumors the clan in Oxford are working on synthetic blood, but I don't think they've advanced to trials."

"Well, we control the blood trade here," Huntley says. "Someone would've noticed if huge quantities were being bought up or siphoned off. Fledgling hungers are insatiable."

I pull off another chunk of bread and nod. "Normally, I'd agree, but with everything that's happened, we can't be sure. Yes, we control the blood trade in this part of Canada, but it's a global market."

"Could they be getting it from Victor and Talon in New York and having it shipped up here?"

"I can't imagine the brothers would allow that to happen. Respecting the territory of the other kings is a vital part of keeping the peace between clans. No one wants a war."

Someone whistles over by the serving line and Clare pats my hand. "You're on the right track, baby. Excuse me. Back to work before the boss thinks I'm slacking."

Huntley looks up at her. "Aren't you the boss?"

She winks. "And I'm a real ball-buster." She hands me a business card and grins. "These are good people who might help. Tread lightly, baby… and watch your back. You've still got a couple of vipers in your den."

I straighten, but before I can ask her if she knows who, she's gone.

Letting out a long breath, I show Huntley the card. "DonorWatch. Have you ever heard of it?"

Huntley nods. "I have. And I understand why she told us to tread lightly."