8. Ashe

ASHE

Ambrose stands at the end of the table, both palms flat on either side of the digital blueprint currently being projected from Lan’s computer. Almost all of the chairs have been pushed to the walls or out of the way. Only Deidre and Eloise sit at the table, both of them focused on their individual laptops.

Even Wren has joined us, though she paces the room as she cradles her and Lan’s daughter, Emily. The sight of the young child makes my stomach clench with envy, something I never thought I’d feel in relation to Landon. Cassandra has—had?—always wanted children, and until her, I’d never believed it possible for me to be a father. When I lost her to Eris, it was as if I lost my future too. I look across the table at my mate, who watches Wren with a fond expression.

I couldn’t fight for our future then; I sure as hell will fight for it now. I won’t lose her again, not when she’s in my arms.

“Rhys, you’re good to go to replace the band at the gala,” Eloise says with a fist pump and looks up to the estranged Nightshade vampire. He saunters over to her, looking over her shoulder while resting his hand on the back of her chair. He can’t help that he naturally oozes sensual confidence; no doubt the time traveling as a lauded rock star has only made it worse. If it weren’t for the utterly serious expression on the vampire’s face, Ambrose would be doing more than gritting his teeth.

While Eloise and Rhys work out signing and faxing the contract, I drag my attention back to Ambrose, Kasar, Lan, Wren, and Cassandra. Malachi left earlier, ensuring that the event’s contracted musicians found themselves suddenly unable to perform.

“It’ll be better if I’m there,” Wren repeats while bouncing Emily gently and letting the infant chew on her knuckle. “I know you don’t like it, but it’s not like I’ll be doing anything more than I would at a normal charity dinner. Fostering HopeTech has already purchased two tickets as a courtesy and it won’t be an issue to get two more even the day before.”

Lan gives his mate a look that’s frozen men and monsters. Wren raises a brow, as if challenging him to deny the truth of her words.

“Agreed,” Ambrose says, effectively overriding Lan, no matter how much his instinct to protect his mate rears up. He taps the table where a back entrance is of the venue. “Eloise and I will also be in attendance. With our presence, there will be enough attention on the room that no one will notice when Kasar and Malachi slip in.”

Cassandra leans over the table, inspecting the ballroom layout where we’ll be. “And you’re sure there won’t be any wards that stop illusions? Otherwise Giuliani will recognize us.”

Kasar snorts but shakes his head. “Too many of these people use magic for their appearance. Not that they’d ever admit it. Small magics like this are fine. I won’t be surprised if this guy isn’t using his own.”

“Okay,” Ambrose interrupts, his expression as serious as when he’d planned battles. In a sense, this is one. “This Benevolent or Aeternaphiel, whatever he goes by, won’t be there tonight in spite of sponsoring the event. Which means Giuliani, who owns the venue and is his personal rep, is the key to the invite for the private event the following day. We need him to get in...”

“We’re in place.”Kasar’s gravelly voice is clear in my ear as Cassandra and I follow Wren and Lan towards Alfonso. Alfonso Giuliani is surrounded by a bevy of beauties, all of them hanging on to his every word as if they can’t bear to be more than a foot away. I grip Cassandra’s hand tightly, reminding myself that this is our cover, and Giuliani is our target. We need him to get access to Aeternaphiel’s estate with a private luncheon tomorrow. Which means Cassandra needs to capture Giuliani’s attention enough to provide the invitation.

Wren and Lan are our introduction, the two of them wearing contact lenses to disguise the distinct golden eyes of vampires. As for Cassandra and me, we both are disguised with a minor illusion spell to conceal our identity entirely.

Wren, experienced at navigating the upper echelons of society, seamlessly inserts our small group before Giuliani.

“Ms. Foster!” The man himself greets, bringing her close, and she allows him to kiss her cheek. Lan, to my surprise, appears as utterly unbothered. “I was so sorry to hear about your father.”

“Thank you,” Wren says graciously. It’s not public knowledge that Oberon Benoit was slaughtered by Lan after the man attempted to ritualistically sacrifice her in a bid for immortality. She gestures towards Cassandra and me. “I wanted to introduce you to my friends, Elana and Timothy Farr. I believe you may find their projects inspiring and I convinced them to come simply so Elana could meet you.”

Alfonso gives Cassandra a lascivious once-over that has my blood boiling. A part of me can’t blame him though.

Cassandra wears a floor-length gown that’s a dark, deep teal. The dress is held up by two delicate straps, leaving her shoulders and chest bare, including the faint marks I left on her earlier. A primal satisfaction fills me with my obvious claim, even if our identities are disguised by magic.

The skirt of the dress is loose and flowing, the silk fabric rippling around her legs as she moves. The bodice, however, is fitted around her waist and torso, the silk fabric shimmering against her skin. Her breasts are pushed together, creating a slight valley of cleavage that Giuliani can’t keep his eyes off.

Her illusioned white-blonde hair is styled in a loose bun, with soft tendrils framing her face. The makeup she’s chosen makes her look like a fresh-faced goddess, with dark, smoky eyes, a subtle, natural lipstick that’s supposed to make her lips look flushed. Her natural mist blue eyes have been darkened to hazel, and her magic has softened her features. She’s soft and rounded, like a fertility goddess ready to be worshipped.

Her different face unsettles me, but my body knows it’s Cassandra. A selfish, savage part of me is glad Giuliani doesn’t get to see the real woman.

Giuliani takes Cassandra’s offered hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing her knuckles. “Enchantée, Elana—I can call you Elana, right?”

Cassandra titters, a sound that grates my nerves, but sparks a look of glee in Giuliani. “Of course. Wren has told me so much about you. I’ve been dying to meet you.”

Literally. I barely suppress rolling my eyes. Clearing my throat, I put my hand out in clear expectation. I channel the suave attitude of Malachi and smile at the man. Hopefully, my mate’s magic is strong enough to disguise my desire to rip the man’s hand off for touching her.

“Timothy,” I use the false name we’ve adopted. Giuliani reluctantly lets go of Cassandra’s hand to shake mine. He gives me an assessing look; it’s nowhere near as suggestive. I know what he sees. Black slicked-back hair with tanned skin, and a soft face and jaw suggesting I spend more time at my desk than the gym. Magic can do nothing about height, which means I’m still a few inches taller than Giuliani, to my petty satisfaction. Where he’s wearing a classic black tuxedo, Tara—the Nightshades’ new tailor after Mr. Carter retired, put me in a navy-blue velvet suit jacket with black lapels along with a crisp white shirt, navy blue bow tie, and black slacks.

“Easy,” Kasar says, humor in his voice. “We need him alive.”

“Do we though?” Malachi replies. “We really just need access to the computers here for the security codes at the estate.”

Giuliani shakes my hand, and I force myself to ignore my brothers’ running commentary in my ear. Giuliani grips my hand hard, satisfied to think he’s won this round of a pissing contest. He doesn’t say anything, just offers me a polite smile. I’m far from offended at the obvious dismissal.

Kasar is right, though. Giuliani’s offices may be on the top floor here at the Verdant Pavilion, but getting into Aeternaphiel’s estate will be much less complicated if Cassandra and I can walk in through the front door.

“I insist you let my wife tell you about our recent ventures,” I say, laying on the charm while purposefully directing his attention back to Cassandra. I place my hand on her lower back, my fingers pressing hard in the only display of possession I allow myself. Lan catches my eye from the other side of Wren. To my surprise, there’s a look of understanding. Considering what I know of Lan and how Wren must circulate in these shark-infested waters, I should be more surprised he hasn’t turned the streets of Topside into rivers of blood.

The event coordinator announces that dinner is ready and, reluctantly, I release Cassandra when Giuliani offers his arm to escort her to our table. Wren, with her connections as the CEO of Benoit Tech, was able to secure the four of us seating at the round table with Giuliani. A few people send us disgruntled looks, no doubt the ones who were bumped from the highly sought-after table.

Giuliani dominates the conversation while a lavish six-course meal is served. He sits on Cassandra’s right, while I sit on her left beside Lan. Lan leans back in the seat, always in an arrogant repose. Even wearing the blue contacts he uses to hide his vampire nature in Wren’s circles, there’s something that unsettles the mortals around us. No doubt it delights him. When I catch the faint scent of arousal, I cough to hide a laugh before I shoot him a look. His expression gives nothing away, but Wren is incredibly focused on the meal in front of her.

I’m too tense to really notice the food, eating mechanically. It’s a new brand of torture to listen to Cassandra flirt with Giuliani and do nothing about it. My comfort is knowing this tittering socialite is not the real Cassandra. She knows how to speak with men like Giuliani because of her family’s coven. It doesn’t matter if she hasn’t been active in the world since the Victorian era; the maneuvers of high society never change.

Ambrose catches my eye towards the end of the dinner service while dessert is being brought out. Like he’d predicted, his and Eloise’s appearance had caused a ripple throughout the guests. I’d overheard more than a few people expressing concern about their safety, while there were even more whispers about what it would be like to be fed from by a vampire. Nerves settled when Michael Garner introduced him as a personal business acquaintance. How would people react if they knew Garner is under a compulsion to obey the powerful vampire? He gives an idle nod, one that could easily be passed as a response to the conversation at his table. I clear my throat and gratefully set my napkin on the table.

“If you’ll excuse me,” I say, and Cassandra looks up, as if annoyed.

“You’ll be back for dancing, right?” Her tone suggests a long-running irritation and I play into it as we’d discussed.

“Yeah, yeah,” I grumble, matching her irritation. Then, as if the idea comes to me, I look over her head to Giuliani. “My wife loves to dance and I can’t think of anything else I like less. Maybe you can take one—or two for me? As a favor?”

Giuliani guffaws loudly enough to draw attention, his rotund belly bouncing before he stands and claps me on the shoulder. “If you won’t dance with this beautiful woman, I will be glad to.”

I pat him on the shoulder, keeping it light by sheer force of will. Otherwise, I’d send him crashing into the table like a buffoon. I lean closer to whisper, “Distract her, yeah? There’s a hot piece of ass I spied at the bar earlier that I need to introduce myself to.”

When I pull back, Giuliani’s eyes gleam with satisfaction. The seed that he’s free to pursuit Cassandra has been planted. Now it’s up to my mate to secure the invitation to tomorrow’s event while I go let Kasar and Malachi in through the back.

Excusing myself again, each step away from Cassandra is pure agony. Every instinct is telling me to turn around, to protect my mate from the male I’ve left her with. The only thing that makes it possible for me to leave is the affection and reassurance Cassandra sends to me through our bond. I breathe easier; I’d gone so long without our connection open that I’d forgotten how much I’d needed it.

I head towards the bathroom, nodding politely at the security guards posted in discreet locations. Each one is human; Lan’s research said as much but with the unexpected attendance of Ambrose, there was always a chance the company would bring in some sort of supernatural guard.

I slap my hand against the bathroom door, shoving it open. I act as if I’m about to enter, timing my move until any guard or camera surveillance will be sure I did. Then I’m running, using my vampiric speed to travel from the bathroom door to the back hall without notice. Seconds later, I’m pushing the back service door’s bar, opening it knowing Malachi or Kasar would have disabled the alarm.

Two Nightshade vampires slip in, dressed in their own suits in the event a guest sees them. Malachi turns when the door clicks shut, pulling out a phone with a short cord attached. He puts it next to the security box on the wall, tapping at the screen.

“Giuliani?” Kasar’s question has me turning to him.

“Enthralled by Cassandra,” I bite out.

“Sensitive, are we?” Malachi asks, still doing something to the alarm system.

“Shut it,” Kasar orders, and I snap my mouth closed on the retort threatening. Kasar’s known as the Lion, a moniker he earned long before the Barrows grew under Ambrose’s hand. He outranks both of us and isn’t afraid to remind us. His golden gaze burrows into mine, questioning me. “Can you keep it together to finish the job?”

I don’t hesitate. “Yes.”

He gives a terse nod, then jerks his head down the hall. “Go on,” he says. “We’re good here.”

I don’t question him. When working with a team, you have to trust that they’ll do their part just like they’re trusting you to do yours. The rest of my night, the goal is to make sure I don’t rip Giuliani’s head off and ruin the whole plan.

I make my way back towards the ballroom, but I head to the bar like I’d told Giuliani I would. A slim woman leans casually against the bar top, talking with the clearly enraptured young bartender. She’s wearing a steel gray backless dress that turns transparent just under her ass, putting her shapely legs on full display. Her mahogany curls are pinned flat on one side, while the rest of the curls fall free around her shoulders.

With a sly grin, I join her, ordering a whiskey neat and a second drink for her. When the drinks are served, she takes the martini glass and raises it in thanks before sliding the olive off the toothpick with her lips.

“Does Kasar know what you’re wearing?” I ask, refusing to look towards the ballroom where the first notes of music are beginning.

Deidre snorts inelegantly, finishing the olive before replying. “He knows he gets to tear it off me later tonight,” she says before taking a sip of her martini. She keeps her voice low, eyes on me instead of the ballroom where our cohorts are doing their parts. “That bad, eh?” She gives my drink and white-knuckled grip a pointed look.

I knock half of it back, not giving a fuck about the rouse at the moment. I’m grateful for the familiar smooth burn, even if the alcohol does almost nothing for vampires.

“Yup,” I admit, knowing I can be free with the woman. She might be Kasar’s mate, but she’s someone who won’t judge anyone for their emotions.

“Bummer.”

I snort, but that’s Deidre for you. I finish the rest of my drink before finally letting myself look at the ballroom. Immediately, I find Cassandra in the crowd. She’s got a fake smile plastered on her face while Giuliani holds her too close for my comfort. She glances my way, and our eyes find each other for a heartbeat. Then he’s spinning her, stealing her away from me.

Except he isn’t, not really. Not when she is bound to me for eternity, our souls connected. Not when I can feel her love through that bond.

“Another one?” Deidre asks, pulling my attention away but my eyes don’t leave the dance floor. I nod and vaguely hear her hail the bartender.

Kasar and Malachi should be entering Giuliani’s office by now, accessing the blueprints for Aeternaphiel’s residence estate. When a flare of discomfort hits me, I narrow my eyes. Giuliani has pulled Cassandra flush against him and I snarl.

Deidre pushes the tall boy of whiskey into my hand and I toss it back in one go.

Malachi might have a point. We don’t necessarily need Alfonso Giuliani alive. If he doesn’t let my mate go soon, he might not survive the night.