Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Scottie

T he midday sounds of downtown Toronto are shockingly familiar at the same time they are the soundtrack of a dream that faded into distant memory. There's the constant hum of traffic bouncing off skyscrapers, the occasional honk of a disgruntled driver tapping the horn, and the charming ding-ding-ding of the streetcars as they make their stops.

It's a very different city than New York.

There's nothing occasional or charming about the traffic sounds in Manhattan. The Big Apple has its own draws—many of them—not the least of which is living anonymously as an art history major rather than as part of the Vasari crime family.

Not that I don't love Francesco Vasari— I do.

With my father bound as his Sacred Squire, I've grown up with him being a second father to me. He's a firm but fair man and as long as you live within the principles of his code, you're fine.

If not, you're very much not fine.

Gripping the shoulder straps on my backpack, I duck into the side alley on the block behind the Vasari compound and close the distance to my childhood home.

To the outside world, it's simply a city block in the Financial District of Toronto. Running from Richmond Street West to Adelaide, and from York Street to Sheppard, it encompasses several office towers that house Bell, Google, six restaurants, a parking garage, a walk-in medical clinic, a barbershop, and more.

Those are the foundation of the legal businesses of the Vasari empire.

But, like many things in business, it's location, location, location, because the compound is connected to Toronto's underground PATH tunnels and that makes it possible for vampires to get around during the day to run their illegal businesses.

Those include things like assassinations, the theft, smuggling, and brokering of magical objects, dealing in the blood trade, and filling feeding quotas for paranormal beings who can't blend in with humanity the way vampires can.

From the outside, the family business ventures may seem morally reprehensible, but if Francesco Vasari wasn't the man in charge, the vacuum of violence would be filled by someone with less integrity.

That would be even worse.

Many people don't realize there is an underground city below the downtown core, or the advantage that system of tunnels and shops offers a ruling family of true-blood vampires.

Local humans think it's about avoiding the cold, slush, and snow while navigating from Union Station to their office buildings during the winter.

But that's not why Francesco initiated the project.

For him, it's about his men having access to the city's core to handle issues during the day.

Why let a little thing like exploding into ash in sunlight hold you back, right?

I stride down the alleyway, around the dumpster, and head for the swirling red, white, and blue barber pole.

Jack Of All Fades is a twenty-four-hours a day gentlemen's grooming shop run by Jack Grayson, my father's mentor, and the king's previous Sacred Squire.

After close to eighty years guarding Francesco and his family, Jack opted to open this barber shop and stay close to the action. Possessing the magic of a Sacred Squire kept him from ageing all those years, but after he retired and gifted his power to my father, the years started to show.

But not much.

The guy celebrated his one hundred and twenty-ninth birthday last fall and still looks like Pierce Brosnan in his fifties. He cuts a mean head of hair, too.

And while anyone is welcome to come in for a cut or shave, more often than not, the men getting their hair trimmed and laying with a hot towel on their faces are part of the Vasari family or mafia informants coming in to spill the latest tea.

The chiming of the door as I enter brings Jack's gaze up from the book he's reading. He breaks out into a wide smile and hops out of his barber's chair to give me a hug. "Scotland McCullough, let me get a look at you."

Jack's hugs are like coming home and I take a moment to breathe in the scent of his aftershave. When I ease back from his embrace, I extend both my hands, knowing the drill.

With a hold on both my wrists, he steps back to assess me. The moment he lets go of my arms, he throws an elbow directly at my face.

Ducking to the left, the whoosh of wind and fabric narrowly misses the side of my head. I'm not distracted by the direct attack. I've got my arm up to block the uppercut that will come next.

Batting away his hand, I spin and get my fists up. He grabs the strap of my backpack and spins me to the side. It's a good try, but I use his hold against him and drop my weight backward, taking us both to the floor.

He laughs as he rolls away.

I spin back to my feet to see whether I've passed the test or if he wants to play on.

It seems he's pleased with my moves.

I offer him a hand and when he's back on his feet, he leans in to kiss my cheek. "You've gotten fast, Scottie. I bet you could even rival your father toe-to-toe."

"I don't know about that, but thanks."

He steps back and brushes off the butt of his pants. "Your dad said you weren't coming home until the weekend."

"I lied. Francesco said he'd stay in tomorrow night if I wanted to take Da for dinner and a movie for his birthday."

Jack beams. "Working covertly with the king. I like it."

"I wanted to come in the back way to tell you, and also to ask if you could cover inside while we're out tomorrow night? I know it will make Da feel better about leaving if you're with Francesco."

Jack grins. "Not a problem at all. I'll be available. It'll be good to catch up with the king. Maybe I can entice him into a game of chess."

"Excellent. I'm glad it worked out all around." After straightening my backpack, I give Jack a smile and move deeper into the barbershop.

Down the little hall, the kitchenette is as tidy as ever and I head straight toward the fridge. After throwing the latch against the wall, I swing the GE to the side and punch in my security code.

Access to the compound is granted and I slip into one of the two private exits that no one except the highest level of security officers knows about. It's one of the reasons Jack became the royal barber when he aged out.

He may have retired, but he still ensures the security of the king.

The passageway from the barbershop is one of the most direct ways to get to my father's office in the royal residence. And since I'm trying to surprise him for his birthday, I don't leave the private passages to move into the public corridors as I normally would.

It's difficult to surprise the head of security.

Navigating my way upstairs is bittersweet. Zane and I grew up playing in these passages. They were a secret world where the two of us could exist without people reporting our whereabouts or our activities to our fathers.

If you added up the all the time, we must've spent years in here. Years of making plans about how, when we grew up, we'd have grand adventures and would be best friends forever.

I loved him.

I believed every word.

I believed I would be his queen one day.

Oh, the naivety of youth.

Da assured me that Zane won't be in the compound this weekend, so I don't need to worry about any awkward encounters or being charged with throat-punching the heir apparent.

That works for me.

Taking on the son of the vampire mafioso that your father is duty-bound to guard is bad form—especially on that father's birthday weekend.

So, it'll be just me and Da and hopefully Francesco will be free to share a few drinks and catch up.

I round the final corner toward our part of the residence, and the rumble of male voices has me slowing my pace.

"Go feck yerself, ye fanger bitch."

My father's words are slurred, and my heart picks up. Fanger? Why would a turned vampire be inside the royal residence? And who is he calling a bitch? That's not like him.

Sliding my backpack off my shoulders, I set it down on the floor of the passageway. I crouch to look between the metal framework of the ornate mirror to see what's happening in my father's office.

I always thought the mirror was a Celtic monstrosity, but Da insisted that form follows function.

From inside his office, it's a large knotwork art piece with detailed ironwork and a mirrored backing to reflect out from between the detailed design. From inside the darkness of the hidden passage, it's a double-sided mirror so I can see everything that's happening.

Every horrible detail.

Da's arms are bound to his desk chair, and he's slumped over to one side. He's bleeding a steady stream of scarlet onto the heirloom rug beneath his desk and there's no missing the bloody Ka-Bar clutched in the hand of one of three vampires looking thoroughly beaten to shit.

"Tell us where it is, and we'll end your suffering." A female vampire with shaggy burgundy hair and silver streaks leans close to Da's face. She drags her pointed fingernail down the side of my father's cheek, leaving a fresh line of blood surging to fill the slice.

She draws her tongue along the blood and swallows. Her eyes light up as she tastes the squire's magic running through his veins. She bites her bottom lip and moans. "You don't have to endure a bloody end, Bran. Tell me where it is, and I'll let you live."

He chuckles, though there's not an ounce of amusement in his tone. "That's the rub, ye see, because even if I had the inclination—which I don't—I have no idea. So, tickle me all ye like but ye'll not get the diamond dagger out of me."

"It's in the vault," one of the muscle-bound thugs grunts. "It has to be."

Da chuckles. "Francesco is smarter than that, lad. Pity the fool who thinks to outwit the King of Toronto."

The female scoffs and comes in for another nose to nose. I'm not sure if she thinks flashing my dad her cleavage will sway his loyalties, but if she does, she's sadly mistaken. "You have a daughter, right? You want to live to see Scotland again, don't you? Tell me?—"

Da thrusts forward and the strike of his forehead to hers is brutal. The crack of his skull meeting her face is perfection and under other circumstances I would burst out laughing.

But there's nothing funny about any of this.

My father's headbutt sends the woman staggering back, and one of her henchmen scrambles to catch her. Blood spills out of her nose and it takes a long moment before her gaze clears. "You'll regret that, McCullough."

Da laughs and this time it's genuine. "I don't bloody well think so."

I stare at the growing pool of scarlet staining the ancient rug. Blood is cascading from the wounds they've inflicted with their brutality. And there's a knife stuck through his oblique. Thankfully, that shouldn't be life threatening.

Still, he needs to stop moving around like that or he'll pass out before I can rescue him.

"Now where were we?" the woman says. "Right, we were talking about you living long enough to see Scotland again."

"Leave my daughter's name out of yer feckin' mouth." He pulls at his wrist restraints and lifts his lip in a sneer. "I'll never help ye and we both ken it. And if ye don't ken it, yer even more stupid than ye are incapable."

"Incapable, am I?" I tear my gaze away from my father to focus on the woman and rage clouds my vision. She's holding Francesco's head by the hair, dangling it in front of my father like a trophy. "I think it's you who is incapable. Aren't you the man tasked to keep the former king alive?"

The sound of voices warbles in my ears and I'm filled with a furious rush of panic. I can't breathe. Francesco is dead. Da is bound to Francesco… their life forces are connected.

If the king is dead…

I fight the instinct to storm in, screaming at them. I want to cut them down where they stand… to snap their necks and burn their bodies before they can regenerate. If my legs weren't rubber and I could stand, I would.

But despite my rage and the need to get to my father before he's lost to me, my neural impulses aren't responding.

My father is dead.

It just hasn't taken hold yet.

My hands tremble as I pull out my phone and text him,

I'm here, Da. Give me the signal and I'm at your side.

I hit send and swallow hard against the lump forming at the base of my throat.

Slouched as he is, no one seems to notice as his attention slides to the screen of his tactical watch.

"No!" His cry comes out hard and panicked.

The woman gives him an annoyed look. "No? No, you won't help me gain access to the vault? Or no, you can't believe I killed your precious Fondatori King?"

He recovers from his outburst and takes a couple of deep breaths. "Ye killed Francesco, so I'm a dead man already. As long as ye don't have the dagger and ye don't have the prince, yer a queen of nothin' but a shit show."

His words are directed at her, but he's speaking to me.

"Don't be so sure. I have ways of making even the strongest, most principled men talk." She leans in close and stares directly into his eyes. If she's attempting to compel him, she's not very well informed.

He chuckles again. "Even fer an outlier, yer stupid. I'm the Sacred Squire to a Fondatori King. I'll not fall prey to pathetic parlor tricks."

The woman pushes away from him, looking homicidal. "Then we're back to torture. You will help me gain control of this city."

He laughs again. "Are ye na?ve enough to believe that?"

"I believe it because it's true. It's only a matter of time before my reign is secured." She paces away and then wheels around and comes back at him. "What if I told you we know where the boy and the dagger are and will take possession of both within the hour?"

My stomach drops and my Taco Bell makes an aggressive attempt at escaping my stomach.

"I'd say yer a liar and yer bad at it to boot."

Her gaze narrows and then she glances back to one of the roid-droid gorillas with her. "You're up, Andre."

Da pegs the guy with a smart-assed smile. "Have at it, big man. Ye'll not get anywhere near Zane or the dagger. Whoever ye've got on the inside will never be as good as the ones I trained. Zane will live and rule and he and his squire will burn yer wannabe fanger seethe to the ground."

The brute backhands my father to the face and the force of the strike knocks the chair to the side. I press my hand over my mouth to catch my sob.

Da crashes onto his shoulder on the floor. His unfocused gaze stares into the mirror and I bend to the side so he's looking at me. He can't see me, but he knows I'm here. "Go on then. It won't be long. I lived my life like a warrior. It's time fer the next generation to do the same."

I text him again:

No, Da. We'll take them and secure Zane together.

He doesn't move to glance at his watch. "Zane and the dagger will never fall into yer grasp. That is the only thing that matters now."

I swipe at the tears burning hot against my cheeks. As a young girl, I grew up thinking my father was invincible. It was more than the magical enhancements of him being a Sacred Squire—throughout my entire life, he never got overwhelmed by anyone or anything that came at him.

He got pissed off plenty, sure—he's a Scotsman, after all. Being stubborn, hotheaded, and quick to fists is ingrained as part of his DNA—but no one ever bested him.

He has always been my hero.

And he always will be.

"Forgive him, lass. It's been the greatest honor of my life to be yer da, but yer a chip off my block. Deep breaths. Love ye forever and always." My father's words slur as his life drains from him.

"What are you babbling on about?" the woman snaps.

When his body slumps, I crumple forward and press my face to the floor. My world is dark.

No! I'm not ready .

My father is too vibrant to be killed by a power-hungry, transitioned bitch. I came home to celebrate his life, not to witness his death.

"Wait. What just happened?" the woman shrieks.

There's a commotion on the other side of the mirror as she moves to examine him. "You idiots! I needed him alive to open the vault so I can claim the dagger."

"He couldn't have died from the knife wound, my queen," one thug says. "There is nothing vital where I stabbed him."

"And yet here he lays—useless to us."

I clench my fists and fight not to burst through this mirror and grab the bitch around the throat. Useless to them? My father was a great man who lived by a code of honor they couldn't even begin to understand.

He's dead. Francesco is dead. And all she cares about is that things aren't going her way?

My lungs are locked so tight I can't breathe. The ache of loss expands from my chest and burns ice hot as it spreads, consuming me. My arms and legs tremble as blood rushes to my extremities with alarming force.

It feels like my body is about to break apart.

Wait. This isn't natural. Is my life essence bound to my father's? Will I die tonight, too?

There's a horrifying moment when I consider my life over. A highlight reel of memories flashes before my eyes and it splits my experiences into two camps: my years as part of this family, living in the Vasari compound, and then the years after I walked away and left it all behind.

I claw at the icy fire crackling at the base of my throat and fight to stay conscious as dark spots close into my field of vision. It strikes me then—I know what this is.

It's the transfer of Da's power.

Given how protective he has always been of me, Da made it clear he would pass the fighting enhancements of his position to his apprentice, Huntley.

But as the magic etches its way into my flesh, so does the reality of the situation. He knows me best. He trusts me the most. He knows how deep my loyalty to Francesco and Zane goes… and he knows there is a traitor within the compound.

The filigree of Sacred Squire history expands across my ribs and down to my hips. From what Da told me, the branding is the easy part—the true transfer of power is what sucks the worst.

I clench my teeth as vaporous streams of golden energy rise from his body, pass through the mirror, and worm into my eyes, ears, and nostrils.

The violation is horrid.

I brace my hands on the floor and lock myself down, helpless as my father's squire magic finds a new home within me.

"What is that?" the burgundy-haired vampire says on the other side of the mirror.

I'm not sure if she can see the energy transference or if I let a groan slip out, but I've drawn the attention of the woman vampire and her men. Panting in the darkness, I fight to remain as quiet and still as possible.

They are staring through the mirror from the other side and start feeling around the edges, testing its frame.

If they find the release latch, I'll be the next to die.

Pushing down my grief and agony, I grip the straps of my backpack and struggle to stand. After steadying myself to keep from keeling to the side, I hurry down the passage as quickly as my rubbery legs and agonized heart will carry me.

My heart hammers as I weave my way back through the dark passageway. The path is blurred behind a wall of tears, and I swipe at the moisture to clear my vision.

A loud smash sounds behind me and the shouts of male voices bring the vampire assassins into the tunnels.

They have speed, but I know the way.

Unsure who has the advantage, I pick up my pace.

I make it back to the keypad into the barbershop and suck in a deep breath when I close the door behind me. Pressing the thumb pad, I hold it down and enter the emergency lockdown code.

It won't hold them back for long, but maybe long enough for me to get away.

Rushing through the back hall, I find Jack about to begin a man's shave. He sets down the clippers, takes one look at me, and his smile fades. "Scottie? What is it?"

"The palace has fallen. Francesco and Da are dead."

The man sitting in the barber chair sits up and pulls the apron from around his neck. He's got brown, tousled waves that curl against the side of his neck and the most incredible whisky gold eyes I've ever seen.

If I hadn't just had my world shattered, I would swoon, but as it is, I don't have it in me. "Are you sure they're dead?"

I swallow, but my mouth remains dry. "A turned female with burgundy and silver hair was waving the king's head in my father's face before the bond took him."

Jack grabs my arm, staring at the ancient crest of the Vasari clan shimmering on the surface of my forearm. "Did they see you? Did they see this?"

My mind is spinning. I've seen this mark on Da's arm my whole life and never once thought his duty and his powers would be transferred to me. "No, but they heard me in the passageway. They know someone witnessed what happened and they're right behind me."

As if on cue, there's a tremendous bang down the hall.

"I sealed the exit, but it won't hold."

"We need to secure the prince." Jack jogs over to his cupboard, exchanges his apron for a gun holster and his jacket, and gestures for the door. "Do you know where he is?"

"No, but I know how to find out."

The fact that the last time I saw Zane and Huntley, they each broke my heart, can't play a factor in what's coming next. As Zane's squire warrior, the two of us are now bound.

It's my duty to find Zane Vasari and secure the diamond dagger. Toronto can't fall to the violence and whims of some startup, turned bastards.

Jack opens the door, and I race out in front of him, my mind already listing what I need to do.

The tackle comes out of nowhere—hard from the side.

I'm taken to the ground, the weight of my attacker crushing me to the asphalt of the alley. The blow to my head is like nothing I've ever experienced in life or in training.

My world spins and my vision fritzes in and out.

Fucking hell.