Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

Huntley

J axon parks in the underground parking lot beneath the Richmond–Adelaide Centre. It's a public lot, so our arrival will go unnoticed, giving us a chance to get into the compound without drawing attention. When we get out, Jaxon clicks the key fob. The car locks chirp and the lights flash. The two of us walk across the concrete floor and into the parking garage maintenance hall.

When we get to the door leading into the compound corridor, I pull out my phone and remotely access the security camera. After setting the visual feed on a loop and deactivating the motion notification, I punch in the door code.

The two of us slide inside the corridor without issue and make our way to the stairs leading down three flights to the security access of the main residence.

After disabling the security features again, we're home.

But it doesn't feel like home.

From the moment the security door closes behind us, I feel it. The aftermath of the attack hangs heavy in the air. It's like entering a bubble and feeling the insulated silence and pressure pushing at you from all sides.

Jaxon rubs a hand over his chest and frowns. "That's majorly creepy."

It is. We stick to the shadows, and for once, Jaxon isn't endlessly spouting off.

Look at that, he has a sense of self-preservation.

The open area known as the hub is a massive, hundred-foot circular area where six different corridors and wings of the compound converge. It's normally full of boisterous bravado and at least two or three dozen of our family.

Today there is no one.

True, the horizon was glowing faintly orange with the coming of dawn when we arrived, but even so, it's weird.

"Where is everyone?" Jaxon whispers, pressing his back against the wall. "Do you think they're all dead?"

I shake my head. "The seethe has been knocked off its axis. Zane has a big job ahead to set things right."

"Do you think he can?"

I throw him a sidelong glare. "Of course he can. Zane is every bit as smart, ruthless, and strategic as Francesco. He'll unravel what happened here and then blood will flow. Anyone who had anything to do with this will die a horrible and painful death."

Jaxon lifts his nose as we ghost our way through the abandoned common areas toward the residences. "Smells like the blood's already been flowing pretty freely."

It's true. The scent of blood and death lingers. Unlike the metallic tang of human blood, vampire blood smells sweet. It looks and tastes a bit like grenadine.

And by the sickly sweet scent cloying in the air, it wasn't only the king and Bran who died here last night.

There were others—and by the smell of it—many others.

That takes a bit of the sting out of the situation. I'd like to think that the people we've lived with and trusted for years didn't just sit back and watch as our king was overtaken.

I stare at a particularly gory spray of blood staining the golden walls and figure that must've been someone's carotid artery. "We may have been blindsided, but it's good to know we fought and took some of them down, too."

Jaxon looks like he's half-expecting fanger mutts to jump out of the shadows. "How many of our friends do you think died here last night?"

"I'm hoping less than them."

The two of us move through the blood-stained corridors and while there are no bodies, it's obvious there were.

"There." I point to Dante and Link coming out of the billiards room. The two have been on the staff as royal guards for centuries and were tight with Francesco and Bran.

They are both covered in blood and look hollowed out. I quicken my step and for a moment, they stiffen and drop low, as if readying to fight.

"Whoa. Easy, guys." I hold up my hands and slow my approach. "We're here to find out what happened and how we can help. Where is everyone?"

The two of them gesture for us to follow them back into the billiards room and then close the door. "A few of us were chosen to clear the bodies. The rest are either preparing and serving last meal to our new guests or have been secured in their chambers."

"What the fuck?" Jaxon snaps. "They're making us serve them?"

Link nods. "They took the education center first. They have the kids and are threatening them if anyone steps out of line."

"Fucking Benoit."

Dante's gaze narrows. "Is he the fucking traitor that let them in here? We knew there had to be someone. There's no way they would've known where the kids have classes without someone telling them."

I pull out my phone and let both Dante and Link look through the images Zane sent me.

Link points a finger toward the screen as they scroll through. "Yeah, that's Daeva, the bitch that runs the show."

"Zane watched the security video and said she left with the king's head."

Dante's lips curl back, exposing the tips of his fangs. "She did, but she wasn't gone long enough. She came back and now she struts around like she fucking owns the place."

"And with the kids as her hostages, no one will say otherwise," Link adds.

I need to make sense of this as quickly as possible. If the bitch is threatening the kids, no one will stand against them. Vampires don't have the same reproductive cycles as humans and have a great deal more complications bearing children.

It means we treasure our young above all else.

There's no fighting back until we secure the little ones.

"Where are they holding them?"

Link grimaces. "They're in the dining hall while they eat. Daeva says they're having a ‘get to know you' picnic. It's obvious she's keeping the kids close so she can kill them quickly if anyone steps out of line."

"Zane's going to lose his mind when he hears she's endangering the kids."

"Zane's alive?" Dante's eyes blow wide. "The bitch told us she got to him and she's taking over the seethe."

"That's bullshit. I just spoke to him. Scotland snuck in to surprise Bran for his birthday, saw him die, and then bolted to get Zane to a safe house."

"Thank fuck," Link says.

Dante nods. "Yeah, that is by far the best news we've heard in the past twenty-four hours. But if there's a threat, why aren't you with him? With Bran dead, you're the squire now, right?"

Both Dante and Link drop their gazes to my forearm.

I'm not sure if Zane wants Scotland put into the line of fire by outing her, and I certainly don't want to talk about being fucked over, so I ignore the question and get back to why I was sent here.

"Speaking of Bran, where did you put his and Francesco's bodies?"

Dante gets the hint and throws a thumb over his shoulder. "They're in the ballroom in two rosewood coffins we brought over from the funeral home. The staff and members of the seethe have been encouraged to view them."

Link scoffs. "The bitch thinks she's beating us down by putting them on display. In reality, we've all been honoring them and vowing to avenge their deaths."

Good. They deserved nothing less.

"What about the other dead? How many of ours versus theirs?"

"Ours are in the grand foyer awaiting nightfall. We set them out for final farewells and will let the sun claim their bodies tomorrow."

"And the fanger mutts?" Jaxon asks.

"They don't seem to care about one another beyond obeying Daeva, so we tossed them into the courtyard first. They're nothing but ash now."

I'm glad their dead are gone, but my chest tightens at the idea of a dozen friends and acquaintances lying in the grand foyer awaiting their final destination.

It's a tragedy that they are gone, and their efforts to fight our foe shouldn't be set aside so soon. They died to protect our seethe, and that is the noblest of deaths I can think of. "What if we move them into the ballroom to be with the king and Bran? Will she allow that?"

Dante shrugs. "She didn't seem to care what we did with the bodies one way or another."

I meet their curious gazes and shrug. "I'm sure Zane will agree that if members of the Vasari seethe fought to protect our home and people, then they should be lain to rest with Bran and the king. It'll unify the seethe at the same time."

"We could bring up a bunch more coffins and set them up in an honor guard circle around the other two," Link says.

"I'm sure Zane will appreciate that." After all, Bran and Francesco were more than leaders—they were the foundation of our family. "Now, as much as I want to shred Benoit, I don't think we can do that until the children are safe and we can get them out of here and to a safe house."

Dante's eyes flash red. "We could slay him and dispose of the bodies with the others."

I hold up a halting finger. "Zane's demanding to shred Benoit himself. He wants a bloody spectacle to set the stage for anyone else who might have similar ideas."

Dante meets Link's gaze and the two of them nod. "Fine. We can wait until the children are safe if the king wants vengeance for his father. Although, it won't be easy to see that French fucker and not rip his nuts off."

My blood boils with the need for revenge, too. Unless I kill someone soon, I won't be able to control myself. "The children are our priority. Let me speak to Zane and see how he wants to handle this."

Scottie

My alarm goes off and the annoying ‘Happy Birthday' jingle penetrates my state of near catatonia. My mind is heavy with sleep and throbbing. Wow! We must've had one hell of a night out because I feel like I've been run over by a Humvee.

And squished on a concrete road.

And then it backed up and ran me over again to make sure I was good and flattened.

I let out a long sigh and consider opening my eyes to face the day. It's too bright. I squint at the golden light bombarding my sleep and curse myself for not closing the blinds before I went to bed.

Even with my eyes closed, it's blinding.

Flailing a floppy hand toward the side table, I find my phone and make the cheery wake-up call stop. I'm not ready to face the day—even if it is Da's birthday.

It'll still be his birthday in another hour.

Shifting under the covers, I roll to my side and sigh. I don't know when I've ever felt so cozy. My skin is buzzing, and the sheets are soft and luxurious over my skin. Man, this mattress is incredible.

And I was having the sexiest dream evah!

Everything about this moment demands I give in and go back to sleep. Everything except my stinking alarm.

Shaking off the woolly warmth of slumber, I open my mind and let the coming day creep into my state of warm and cozy. The heart-squeezing truth hits me like a breath-stealing punch to the gut.

Wait… there is no birthday.

Da and Francesco are dead.

We're in the safe house.

The significance of the mid-morning sun blaring into the room takes root in my mind and I jolt upright, scrambling to get my legs out of the covers. "Zane!"

Sunlight is everywhere.

It's flooding the entire bedroom and coming through the windows in the joined bathroom beyond. Where the hell are we? And with this much sunlight, where is Zane?

"I'm fine, Scots. And you're fine. We're safe." Zane's voice comes from the open door to the hallway.

Sucking in some much-needed oxygen, I focus on slowing my racing pulse, and rush forward to reassure myself that he isn't about to burst into flame.

He's fine , I repeat to myself.

My bare feet sink into the plush ivory carpet as I rush to the hallway. It's long and unfamiliar, the walls decorated with artwork and sculptures that are no-doubt centuries old and invaluable.

I'm accustomed to life with the Vasari royals, so I ignore the splendor and find Zane in an office suite across the hall. He's sitting behind an eight-foot slate desktop, his attention focused on the market readouts spooling across the bottom of the massive monitors mounted on the wall to his right.

With the mic of his headset down, he waves to me and goes back to a conversation he's having with someone on a video call. "And how concerned was my father that this Pi-X start up would get exchange status?"

While he talks markets and business, I take in the leather sofa, the dark wood of the cabinetry wall, the white leather chairs, and let the normalcy of the moment dissolve what's left of my panic.

He's fine .

Hell, with his broad-shouldered build barely contained in an expensive black dress shirt, and the sleeves rolled back to expose the tanned olive skin, inked with his lineage tattoos, he is more than fine.

Add to that his dark green eyes rimmed by long, dark lashes, and his midnight black hair still damp from a shower, and it's impossible to ignore how fine he is.

Stop ogling the man. I hate him.

Giving myself an inward shake, I force my gaze away from Zane and let the surroundings wash over me. By the color scheme, I know this is a Vasari office.

Each of the original families of the Fondatori true-blood vampires has a color scheme which sets them apart as the leaders of the vampire race.

This executive office suite is designed in the Vasari's black, silver, and oxblood. The familiar palette has a Pavlovian effect on me, and my nerves settle.

When he finishes his call, he takes off his headset and scrubs his fingers through his hair. "Sorry about that. How are you feeling this morning?"

How am I feeling? "I just had a coronary moment because I woke up in a strange place with sunlight flooding my world."

"I'm sorry for the disorientation and the stress on your heart. How are you other than that?"

By the cautious smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, he's not talking about my disorientation.

The bastard is asking about my knife wound and likely thinking about how he healed me last night. About the exquisite pleasure of his mouth on my flesh and the magical pull he has on my blood.

OMG… and that orgasm.

My nipples peak, and I close my eyes. No. I'm not doing this again. Dragging up all the hurt and humiliation, I lock down my reaction to him and cut off the arousal.

"Why aren't we in the safe house where I took us last night?"

"We're in one of my father's secure retreat homes." He frowns and swallows. "I suppose it is my home now. I moved us here because I didn't want to be trapped in a row house with the sun blazing and no escape routes."

I glare at the windows as if they might turn on Zane at any moment and set him ablaze. "And yet the sun is blazing and you're safe?"

"The windows were treated and then spelled by a New Orleans witch Dad had flown in when he remodeled the office tower. His increased dealings with human businessmen demanded he meet with people during the day. He had several floors of the Richmond building and a couple properties around the city done to make them vampire friendly."

The white and pale gray marble floor is one glossy sheet of stone stretching from where I entered the room to Zane's desk, almost thirty feet away. "It's impressive."

Zane smiles. "The things my father had a hand in always are—or were."

That's true. Francesco had old-world class and a classic taste that set him apart from the modern chrome and glass crowd.

"That's where we are. My next question is, why here?"

Zane sits back in his seat, looking every bit the part of a corporate mogul. "I need to conduct business and be seen by the seethe. They need to know I am handling things and am in charge."

"What if someone recognizes where you are and word spreads? Then we'll be right back to you being a target."

He pegs me with a droll stare. "To run the Toronto businesses, I need to be present. The trick isn't being invisible, it's being invulnerable."

"And how do you propose we do that when we don't know who the enemy is or who else is involved in the coup?"

"I'm working on that. For right now, I need to show those who watching that it's business as usual."

"At least until we're overrun and die."

He has the nerve to look amused. "I promise you, Scots, if anyone comes at us?—"

"— when they come."

He holds up his hands. "This home is a fortress. It has all the state-of-the-art security features as well as blood wards and witch magic. And if, by some crazy fluke, we trust the wrong person and they get inside, there are four different routes of escape."

"What if it's the middle of the day?"

"There's an SUV in the garage with a sealed compartment in the back for you to drive, or a private tunnel down to the abandoned Lower Bay subway station—which my father took possession of and revamped into a fallback home for the seethe if ever necessary."

"Why do I get the feeling that's part of your plan?"

"Because our compound is overrun and without knowing who infiltrated and how many they've got backing them, the Vasari family needs a safe place to regroup."

"So, you're just going to say, ‘Come on over, guys'? How does that make sense? The compound was compromised because someone turned the loyalties of the people in the seethe. Inviting them somewhere to have access to you defeats the whole point of protection."

Zane stands and walks to the front of his desk. Leaning back, he props his butt on the slate desktop and folds his arms over his broad chest. The position makes his biceps bulge and his tailormade shirt strains to hold him.

Not that I'm paying any attention to that.

"Scots, we're safe. And as we determine who was involved, we'll weed out the bad ones and broaden our circle with those who are—and have always been—loyal to my father and me. The Vasari clan is strong and will survive this, but only if I trust in my people."

"Then you're a bigger person than me because I'm not feeling so charitable."

His expression softens and the agony in his deep green gaze makes my heart flutter in my chest. "I understand your pain and your mistrust, but you've been gone for years. You're looking at them as a bunch of strangers. I see them as friends and family. For me to take on whoever is coming at us, I need more than the two of us to run our organization."

Everything he's saying makes sense, but I still don't like it.

"Now, I've got to get back to work. I informed my father's Chief Financial Officer and Chief Technical Officer to work from their home offices for now, but we've got meetings booked for most of the day."

That hurts my heart. His father hasn't been dead for sixteen hours and Zane is stuck in meetings. "Are you up to speed on everything? Can I help?"

"I appreciate the offer, but Ginny will get me there. She's forwarding my father's emails and correspondence and will go over everything with me before I make any moves."

Ginny has worked as Francesco's executive assistant for over twenty years and has always presented an image of efficiency and control. Zane is in excellent hands.

"I'll let you get back to it, then. I assume somewhere in this mansion there's a coffeemaker?"

"It's in the big room downstairs with all the shiny appliances."

"I'm sure I'll find it."

When I turn to leave, he's suddenly in front of me, his warm breath brushing over my cheek. "Scots, I broke your heart, and you have every right to hate me for it. But know that I would do it all differently if given the chance. I was a fucking coward, and you were and still are everything I ever wanted."

Tears build and I blink to fight them back. "Zane, no. You don't get to say that to me."

He drops his forehead to mine. "I've needed to say it for years, but you wouldn't let me. I love you, Scotland McCullough. Our souls have always been bound and I miss you and will earn back your trust and your love."

My chest aches, all the betrayal and rejection of his words leaching out of the cracks in my heart. "You destroyed me, Zane. I'll never be that girl again. She died that night on my birthday. Now, with what's happening, I can't think about that. I've lost too much."

He grips my upper arms and presses his lips to my forehead. "We'll get through this, Scots. Our fathers didn't see it coming, but we know we're in the crosshairs. We've always been an unbeatable team. We'll figure this out and we'll pick up the pieces, I swear it."

Try as I might, the stinging behind my eyelids won't stop. My grief runs in hot streams down my cheeks, and I swipe at them, furious that my emotions are breaking free.

Zane squeezes my arms, his hands strong and warm. Only, I don't want his comfort. At least—I don't want to want it—but I don't have the strength to push him away. "I've lost two of the greatest men I know, and it'll be my fault if they kill you, too."

He eases back and drops his gaze to meet mine. "Killing me does them no good without the Diamond Dagger to claim the Toronto seat of power."

I suck in an unsteady breath and stare at him from behind a wall of moisture. "And what if they find it?"

"They won't. My father and I secured it together a couple of months ago. Only the two of us know where it is, for just this reason. There's no way either of us would tell anyone. It's the best insurance we had to stay alive."

That makes sense and I feel a bit better.

He offers a warm smile. "Do you know why our fathers made such a good team?"

There are a hundred reasons, but thinking of the two of them, even in the abstract, makes me want to curl up in a ball and scream. So, instead of answering, I shrug.

"Because they were best friends, and they respected one another as partners in survival. My father was the king and Bran worked within his duties and desires to keep him safe. It was the two of them against the forces that came at them—and it worked."

"Right until it didn't."

His expression falls. "They were betrayed, Scottie. It's horrible and it shouldn't have happened, but don't peg us with the same fate. We've always been a force to be reckoned with. We'll put together a list of suspects, figure out who's behind this. Then we'll raze these transitioned mutts and make sure no one ever thinks they can come at us again."

I want that. I want that with everything in me. I just don't see it happening that way. My heart is broken, my world is shattered, and the idea of depending on Zane Vasari for my survival seems like a recipe for destruction—my destruction.