Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Scottie

T he subway's jostling rattle mimics the jolting chaos in my mind. As the train slows to a stop at the third station of my ‘hop on, change direction, hop off' trip, I slip onto the platform and make my way with the crowd.

There are enough people in Toronto's downtown core on a Blue Jays game night that it's easy to get lost in a sea of royal blue. And the fact that they're a spirited and boisterous crowd takes the attention off the shellshocked blonde girl who is noticeably bleeding.

Keeping my head low and my pace brisk, I find the public washroom and follow the curve of the tiled wall inside the ladies' room. There's a long line of sinks on my left and stalls on my right, so I continue to the sink at the very end.

Angling to keep my back toward the room, I ease the curtain of my hair away from my face and wince at the massive scrape on my cheek. It looks like someone took a cheese grater to my face.

Feels like it too.

A woman comes out of a stall behind me and her eyes bug wide as she looks me over. "Oh, sweetie, do you need me to call someone? A friend? The police?"

One by one, I pull hand towels out of the dispenser until I have a bunch I can wad up and run under the warm water. "I'm okay. It looks gnarly, but I need to clean up and regroup."

She seems reluctant to go, but her jersey and the Blue Jay temporary tattoo on her cheek tells me she's got somewhere to be. "You're sure?"

My reflection in the mirror is a grim reminder of my night. The cheek wound is ugly, and the blood-soaked fabric of my shirt clings to my skin. "Absolutely. I've got a phone and a plan. I'm good. Enjoy your night."

When she leaves, I lock myself inside the stall at the end. It's the largest and houses the baby changing table on the side wall. Once I'm inside and I've secured the slide lock, I pull down the table and arrange my damp cloths.

Biting my bottom lip keeps me from crying out as I twist to slide my backpack off. The gash in my side hit nothing vital, but the sting is brutal and it's oozing badly.

After setting my backpack on my makeshift countertop, I open the zipper and fish through the clothes I brought for my weekend with Da.

A rush of emotion threatens to suffocate me when I think about my father, so I slam the lid on my feelings, grab a clean T-shirt and focus on what I need to do.

This is going to suck.

My hands tremble as I dab the warm paper towel to my cheek and try to clean the wound. Dirt and asphalt debris are stuck in my flesh and when I pull the cloth back, it's a bloody mess. Awesome.

This would be a ton easier in front of the mirror, but then I'd draw attention from more well-meaning bystanders, and I really need to get this done and get gone.

Turning on my phone, I open my camera and use it to see how I'm doing. It's not perfect, but it'll have to do.

Next, I lift my shirt, hissing as the fabric tugs at the cut on my hip. There's nothing to be done about the blood on my pants, but I wipe my skin clean enough to examine the two sides of yawning flesh.

How can I piece this back together? The simple answer is, I can't. No amount of butterfly strip adhesive will fix this mess—I need stitches.

Fuckety-fuck . Well, that isn't in the cards for tonight.

I dig around in my backpack, pull out my emergency period pack, and select the maxi pad at the bottom. I'm a tampon girl myself, but it pays to be prepared for those WTF months, am I right?

Once I'm reasonably cleaned up, I pull on the fresh T-shirt, press the dry weave of the maxi against the wound on my hip, and then stick my shirt on top. It won't be enough to hold it in place, but I slide my backpack over my shoulders and pull out the waist strap I never use.

When the buckle clicks at my navel, I cinch it as tightly as I can stand it, wincing as the pressure binds against my tender skin. That should be enough to hold the maxi over the gash for now.

With that sorted out, I take a moment to collect myself, and then grab my bloody shirt and the used paper towels into a gory ball.

On my way out, I catch my reflection in the mirror. I look marginally better, except for the haunting emptiness in my eyes that echoes the gaping hole aching in the center of my chest.

How am I supposed to live in this world without Da?

He was my foundation.

Stepping back into the bustling station, I scan the crowd and then make my way to the nearest exit. The golden arches of a McDonald's catch my eye. Perfect. I need the internet, and it wouldn't hurt to fuel myself for future fights.

I head inside, the warmth and the familiar smell of fried food grounding me back in the world. Grabbing a table by the side door, I order a Filet-O-Fish and a small Sprite and tap to have it delivered to the table. After scanning the QR code on my table, I pay and pull out my laptop.

Zane's father had both of us chipped when we were kids as a precautionary measure. It was a secret shared only between Francesco and my father, and then, when I had an incident while in New York at school, Da used it to rescue me from some terrifying people.

Given that he'd just saved me from what I later learned was a sex trafficking ring, I could hardly be offended.

And now, given the situation, the wisdom in their foresight can't be argued.

My fingers hover over the keyboard, a moment of realization hitting me. This is my life now. There will be no more living anonymously in Manhattan Valley.

As his squire, my life is bound to Zane.

Why would Da do this to me? Is this really what he wanted for me or was it a last-minute decision because of there being a traitor in our midst? Why didn't his powers go to Huntley? Did he suspect him of being the inside man?

My order arrives, and the server gives me a concerned look as she hands me my tray, but I interrupt whatever she might say by offering her a wide smile and accepting my food. "This is great. Thanks."

"You're welcome."

I take a deep breath as she turns to go back to the counter and then I stab my paper straw into my cup. Why is fountain Sprite at McD's so refreshing? Is it a childhood happy place thing? And Filet-O-Fish… come on. Is there anything better at two in the morning when you're drunk and the bars are closing?

After a bite of my sandwich, I wipe a gob of tartar sauce from my lip and go back to accessing the secure server my father set up.

It requires a series of authentication steps, each one more complex than the last. No one other than our family could answer the questions right, so it's a matter of wading through the tests more than being challenged.

Finally, I reach the locator interface, and a blinking dot appears on the map. "There you are, Zane. It's been a minute, eh?"

I wolf down my food, stuff my laptop back into my backpack, and get moving. The vampire bitch made out like she knew where the prince and the dagger were, but I think it was all bluster—at least, I hope it was.

She wanted Da to help her get into the vault.

That showed how little she knows.

The same probably rings true for Zane's whereabouts.

Hopefully, whoever she has on the inside isn't in the upper echelon and doesn't know where the heir to the Vasari seat is being sequestered.

The streets are quieter now, the rush of commuters and sports fans having found their way to their destinations. It makes navigating the sidewalks easier but doesn't offer the same level of cover it did earlier.

I consider plugging in my SIM card to open my Uber app to get off the streets altogether, but no. If Da's attackers recognized who I am, they might be trying to track me.

It's too risky.

I tuck my phone back into my pocket and go old school. The fastest way to hail a cab in Toronto is to go to one of the big hotels. "Hang on, Zane. I'm coming."

Zane

Another day, another meaningless stretch of night among the rich and entitled of the Toronto elite—such is the life of a Fondatori prince.

I need to be highly educated, but will never need to apply for a job. I need to train in physical combat, but no one would ever dare instigate a fight. And I need to keep who and what I am a secret from everyone I meet, lest they get any ideas of using me as leverage against my father.

When the condo buzzer goes off, I glance at the mirror of my ensuite bath and check that I look better than I feel.

Thankfully, I do.

My father's Old-World origins give me the olive skin and dark hair that people swoon over.

My mother's first-generation, true-blood status gives me strength and power.

My vampire genetics gives me a chiseled musculature, a natural grace, and the allure of ‘other'. My status as a true-blood strengthens that and gives me a few other perks as well.

So, sure, if the outside package were an accurate reflection of the man, I'm on top of the fucking world.

A shadow takes over the sliver of golden light beneath the door and then a soft knock follows. "Jaxon is back from the pickup. Are you ready for your company?"

I drop my head, my hands braced on the side of the sink. "I suppose I have to be."

The door opens and Huntley steps in. Even without looking into the mirror, I know the look he's giving me. He worries when I get like this.

The soft pad of his footsteps brings him to stand behind me, and then the heat from his body warms the bare skin of my back. "You don't have to keep up the fa?ade, Z. You can feed without playing into your father's plan of painting yourself as a spoiled playboy."

When his hands come around my hips, one slides up my chest to my nipple and the other skims over the front of my silk sleep pants.

"I can send them packing and get someone anonymous for you to feed on. Hell, we run the fucking blood trade. I can make a call and have some sent up. Then we can drink deep and fuck until dawn."

His warm breath dances across my neck, and I close my eyes. "That's so fucking tempting."

"Then do it. Jaxon can take the couple away and you can take a night off from being the spoiled prince they expect and just be Z." His voice is soft and seductive, but not half as seductive as his teeth and lips teasing the skin of my shoulder.

He's pushing me to the edge and knows it.

He's always known what buttons to push with me.

"Oh, that my life was my own to lead."

He bites my shoulder and lets off a gruff chuckle. "Masochist. I'll give you a moment to settle and then I'll send them in. Feed well, my prince."

I collect myself for a long moment and then stare at myself in the mirror. This won't last forever. Soon my father will call and tell me to come home where I belong. Then I can give up this stupid game and live and feed like a normal man.

But for tonight…

The darkness of the main suite is broken by a swath of light that spills in from the hallway.

The couple that enters has visited me before. The big male is a vampire and can handle my carnal needs. The other male is human and will satisfy my nutritional needs.

The vampire enjoys sharing his partner. The human enjoys the coming together of so many body parts. I enjoy the no-strings mutual gratification of this arrangement.

I don't even know their names.

When Huntley arranges an evening with them, we call them ‘that couple'.

"It's good to see you again, sire." The vampire presses the knuckles of his curled fists together and bows his head. "Where would you like us?"

"Naked and on the bed."

The human waggles his brows and the two of them hurry deeper into the suite, peeling off their clothes as quickly as they can.

To the outside world, I appear to be the aimless heir to the Vasari family. In reality, I'm in protective custody. Ever since the Berlin seat of power fell to an upstart usurper, my life has been securely placed behind bulletproof glass.

Earlier this summer, we were called to an emergency meeting of the Fondatori rulers and found out Heinrich Rainier and his entire family were dispatched to their final deaths by a transitioned vampire. Father worried what kind of message that would send rippling into the vampire community and began moving me around from penthouse to condo to mansion in the hills.

I can't go to my favorite places.

I can't work on any projects within the businesses.

I can't even go home to the compound because putting the two Toronto royals under the same roof at the same time is a risk we can't take.

And while I understand Father's caution, I don't like it.

It's been months and I'm bored with playing a defensive strategy. I want to take a more offensive stance.

Father says when we know more about the local transitioned seethes and their intentions, I can come home. Until then, he wants me to stay safe with my friends.

The two men assigned to my protection, Huntley, and Jaxon, are the friends he's referring to. In truth, they aren't really friends or even bodyguards—they're my jailors.

They watch over me, reporting everything back to my father through his chief of security, Bran McCullough.

Now those two are friends.

My father and Bran have been inseparable for my entire life and share a bond I've always coveted—that of a Fondatori King and his Sacred Squire.

They are bound in life and death.

Thinking of Bran brings images of his daughter to my mind. Scottie was the only true friend I've ever had. She was my partner in crime, my confidante, my conscience in a world where everyone around me had an agenda.

She was my frustration and my muse.

She was my happiness…

Until I fucked it up.

"Sire? Is everything all right?" the vampire asks. He and his partner are naked and sitting on their knees on the bed as I instructed.

"A moment of distraction." I blink and put it out of my mind. Pulling the tie on my robe, I release the belt and let the silk slide off my shoulders and onto the floor. "You, on your back, legs open. You, on your knees at the top of the bed, so he can suck on your cock while I feed. His blood always tastes better when he's horny."

The two scramble to get into position and I let them settle in and get started with a little oral before I crawl up the bed like the predator I am.

The skin on the human's legs is warmer than that of a vampire and the body hair is always a distraction for me. It's nice. I like the tactile sensation of brushing my fingers over coarse hairs.

Hair on his sack and cock is another story altogether. I like my partners bare. Male or female, I don't care. Bare and smooth is the only way to go.

I grip my shaft and give myself a few rough strokes. "I'm in a mood tonight, boys. Brace yourselves."