Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Tucker
A fter getting my father settled in his apartment above the Jack of all Fades barbershop, I use the entrance in the kitchen to access the vampire compound. The damage done by Daeva’s men when they blasted through the secret access has been fixed, but, the ‘secret’ part became moot.
With the latch released, and the fridge swung away from the wall, I duck and step into the private tunnel. Scottie said she and Zane used to play in this maze of corridors behind the walls.
Their size would’ve made that a fun pastime.
As a six-foot-seven man—not so much.
At the first opportunity, I exit the tunnel and take the public passageway. I’ve used this access point before and it’s remote enough that I can usually slide into the compound proper without running into any unfriendly vamps.
Not tonight, though.
As I make my way to the royal residence, I interrupt a dark-haired vampire clutching a barely clothed woman in a hungry embrace.
His mouth is buried in her neck, his fangs—no doubt—buried in her throat.
My gut clenches.
Every instinct in me burns to rescue the helpless human female. Then she lets out a moan and I focus on her expression. Her lips are parted and swollen, her fingers clutched in the guy’s shirt, pulling him closer.
She’s riding his leg where he’s wedged it between her thighs, grinding on him good. By the throaty moans she’s letting off, she’s on the verge of climax.
Vampires weaponize pleasure. They leverage it to get what they want, and humans willingly submit for the ecstasy they receive in return.
I find it distasteful, but it’s also none of my business.
I’m a guest in this family of fucked up and keep my opinions to myself and stay off their radar—which is difficult for a man my size.
I must linger too long because the vampire’s eyes snap open. His stare locks with mine, his irises as crimson as fresh blood roses.
“My apologies. Just passing through.” I drop my gaze and continue on my way, passing the couple as the woman peaks. Throaty cries of pleasure follow me all the way to the main corridor, but I put it out of my mind.
The last thing I want to do is trigger a vampire’s territorial instinct.
The guards outside the royal residence recognize me and I give them a polite nod as I pass their sentry. The rooms just beyond the massive double doors are where Francesco used to receive guests. The decor screams old money and power, and garnered him a great deal of respect among his visitors.
Renaissance paintings in gilded frames line the windowless walls, lit by a crystal chandelier which casts warm light across antique furniture that costs more than I’ll make in ten lifetimes.
It’s exactly what you’d expect the home of a six-hundred-year-old Fondatori king to look like.
But beyond the next set of doors is where the private rooms of the royal residence lay. These rooms are no less elegant, but are much more modern. Bathed in the colors of the Vasari clan—black, silver, and ox-blood—this part of the suite feels like a home.
And it’s where Scottie and Zane grew up.
I hear the two talking and follow the sound of their voices across the polished marble floors to the living room. But while this section of their home is more modern, there are still no windows.
Growing up in the Northwest Territories, I lived with endless horizons and open skies. These vampire spaces feel like beautifully decorated tombs. I understand the necessity, but my animal side doesn’t like being caged, no matter how fancy that cage might be.
Scottie is lying sideways on a velvet chaise lounge. She’s got her feet tucked up beside her and her head resting on her arm. Long blonde hair cascades down in front of her and my animal side stretches languidly inside me.
She’s something special.
And for now, and hopefully forever, she chooses to share her bed with me.
Zane has taken the leather armchair across from her, his posture rigid despite being in his own home. They are involved in a quiet conversation about their fathers, their voices barely above whispers.
I lean against a marble column, giving them space. Living within a pack taught me the beauty of sharing—it’s in my nature. Wolves, bears, elephants, caribou, and a dozen other species prove that love and family can thrive with more than two.
Zane loving Scottie doesn’t take away from how I feel about her, nor how she feels about me. I’m not threatened while watching them rebuild their connection. Their history runs deep, written in every shared glance and unfinished sentence.
And as long as Zane doesn’t get possessive of her, we’ll be fine. If he does…well, then we won’t be fine.
My animal instincts stir restlessly as I watch Scottie. I’m not sure what I’m picking up on, but something is off with Scottie. Her scent has changed subtly over the past couple of days. She isn’t pregnant—it’s definitely not that—but there’s an edge to her natural essence I can’t place.
When she shifts in her seat, her movements seem slightly too careful, too measured. Is she aware of something and not mentioning it?
I watch her closely, working to pin down what’s triggering my instincts. The bear in me grows more agitated with each passing moment, but I can’t figure out why. Something about her is just off.
“Tucker?” Scottie turns those blue eyes my way. “When did you get here?”
“Just a moment ago. I didn’t want to interrupt.”
She sits up and pats the seat cushion next to her. “You’re not interrupting. We were just talking about getting something to eat. Are you hungry?”
“I can always eat.”
She grins. “Yeah, you can. It takes a lot of calories to fuel that body of yours. Come on. The new chef, Warin, is working to win Zane over. He sent over a bunch of entrees for us to try.”
I meet Zane’s gaze, waiting to see if he is as welcoming as my girl.
The king’s emerald gaze meets mine with an understanding of the situation. He had his chance. He’s playing by Scottie’s rules now.
“Of course. There’s plenty.”
“Then lead the way.” I wrap my arm around Scottie as we strike off. With my hand at the small of her back, I push down my worries for the moment.
It might be nothing.
But my gut says differently.
Huntley
I escort the last of the clan members living outside of the compound through the exit and set the security protocols. Zane says he doesn’t want our home to become a prison, but for now, it’s safer that way.
When the appropriate clicks and beeps signify the compound is safe, I pull out my phone and call up Zane’s contact info. Yes, I could walk to the residence and ask him in person, but then I’ll have to watch him with Scottie, or worse, have a run-in with Scottie myself.
No. It’s better this way. I tap his contact with my thumb, debating how to phrase my question without sounding like an overprotective mother hen. When he picks up, I get to the point. “Are you in for the night?”
“Unless the sky starts falling. I’m planning to eat and then bury myself in paperwork. Vasari Industries won’t run itself—at least, that’s what Ginny keeps telling me.”
Ginny should know. As Francesco’s executive assistant, she’s kept things running behind the scenes for decades.
“Arturo made a fuck-ton of food. Are you coming to eat?”
“Later. If you’re good, I have some intel I want to chase down.” It’s not a complete lie. I do have information I want to follow up on, but mostly I can’t stand the thought of pretending to be domestic with him, Scottie, and Tucker. “The compound is locked down.”
“We’ll be fine. I’ve got guards, Scottie, and though I loathe to admit it, Tucker is a fucking beast in a fight.”
The casual way he lumps Tucker in with us is annoying, but not nearly as annoying as him considering Scottie an asset in a fight. Sure, she knows self-defense and has a few moves, but she is not a bodyguard or a Sacred Squire—she’s the daughter of one.
Bran gifting her with his powers still makes my blood simmer.
“Don’t wait up.” I hang up and drop my phone into the pocket of my leather trench before I say something I’ll regret.
The compound’s corridors feel suffocating tonight. Every golden wall, every priceless painting mocks me with memories of growing up here, always on the outside looking in. Zane and Scottie’s laughter echoing through these halls, while I trained and bled to be worthy of standing beside them.
I need a coffee.
Jogging down the stairs, I punch in the ten-digit code and exit the compound into the access hall that connects us to the PATH.
There’s a coffee shop down here and since it’s after seven in the evening, most of the financial district commuters have already fucked off and gone home, leaving no lines.
It takes no time to get a black dark roast and after a few sips, my mood shifts from murderous to broody.
I’m pretty sure that’s as good as it’s getting.
Coffee in hand, I take the escalator up to the lobby of First Canadian Place and then exit out the glass doors. The city’s pulse beats around me—traffic, distant sirens, the bass from a nearby club.
It’s enough to drown out the voice in my head reminding me that no matter how long I avoid going home, I’ll always circle back to them.
I’m a fucking sucker for punishment.
My boots hit the pavement with purpose as I head out into the night.
I brush past a homeless guy, who’s taken up residence on the wide granite steps of the business center. I can’t help but wonder where he’ll end up tonight, not that I really care.
But as someone who knows too well the dangers that lurk after dark—vampires, demons, witches, shades, djinn—I can’t help but give him a discreet once-over. Underneath his ratty blue comforter, he’s got a surprisingly sturdy frame. He looks like he can handle himself.
Good. Because these are troubled times.
I take a long swallow of my coffee and let the jolt of java feed my cells.
For humans, coffee is a pick-me-up.
For vampires, it’s like freebasing a stimulant directly into our bloodstream. I don’t partake often, but tonight was shitty and I’m out to burn off some energy, so I give myself permission to take care of myself.
Upending my cup, I let every drop of caffeine gold drip into my mouth. After tossing my cup into the bin along the sidewalk, I slip around the side of the building, ready to hunt down answers.
A black Humvee pulls up along the curb up the road. I think little of it until the door opens and out drops the dark-haired beauty I’ve seen perform a few times at local bars.
Her name is Pyper, and she’s got a voice that is definitely ‘other’. The way her songs wrap people up and suck them in isn’t normal. She must be a siren or an angel or something in the ‘Otherworld’ realm.
Not that the people in the crowd realize that—or that they’d care if they did. Because despite my dark and dangerous vampire killer reputation, at some point, even I became an unintentional fangirl.
I reconsider my plans. If she’s singing tonight, I’ll catch her first set and then track down the mysteries of our fucked-up world.
The guy dropping her off jumps out of the combat vehicle and jogs around to open her door. He’s got short-cropped hair and a military vibe and whoa, yeah, he’s huge and definitely ‘other’ himself. “I’ll park and be right back.”
Another guy, tall, dark, and human, climbs out of the back seat and pulls out her guitar case. “I’ll get us good seats.”
“You do that.” Military guy winks at them and then he’s in the truck and driving off.
I slow my roll, not wanting to look like I’m stalking them, but also not sure where she’s going to play because there are three bars within spitting distance where she could be headed.
But then I hear it—the soft rhythm of footsteps echoing my own. The footfalls multiply—one, three, six sets of boots hitting concrete in a coordinated approach.
I draw a deep lungful of night air, and my vampire senses pick up the stench of bonfire and char. That can mean only one thing.
Demons.
I scan the street. Pyper and her human companion are twenty feet ahead, crossing toward the Pravda Vodka Bar.
A blur of movement catches my eye. The demons emerge from the shadows, their glamors falling away to reveal grotesque features twisted with malice.
“Look out!” I sprint forward as the first demon lunges for Pyper.
The boyfriend spins and tries to step between her and danger, but takes a brutal hit that sends him sprawling. His head cracks against the pavement and he falls still.
I slam into the nearest demon, driving my fist through its chest cavity. Black ichor sprays across my face as I rip out its heart. One down.
“What the fuck, assholes? This is too public.”
Didn’t they get the memo about keeping the secrecy of the Otherworld? Demons can’t read.
Two more rush me from opposite sides. I duck under clawed hands, spinning to catch one by the throat while kicking the other in the knee.
Bone shatters. The demon howls.
It’s satisfying as hell.
“You need to fuck off before we’re all going viral on social media.”
The one in my grip thrashes, razor-sharp talons raking my arm. I squeeze until its windpipe crushes beneath my fingers.
Another group of demons flood out of a nearby alley like a wave of cockroaches. All of them have their focus locked on the woman.
I shove Pyper toward the wall as the demon charges. “Stay behind me!”
Its fist connects with my jaw, and pain explodes through my skull. A sweet rush of blood floods my mouth, but I swallow and keep moving. Vampire speed lets me dodge the next strike, and my healing will fix the damage done to my lip.
The demon with the shattered knee is back up. They coordinate, working to flank me. Not my first Darkworld battle, fuckwad . I launch into a flying kick that takes one in the chest while throwing an elbow into the other’s face.
A roar of fury cuts through the night from somewhere beyond our group. A moment later, Military Guy is launching himself into the fray. His form shifts mid-leap and his body explodes into a beast unlike any I’ve ever seen before.
Massive black wings erupt from his back as scales and talons replace his human form. He descends on the six remaining demons like divine wrath.
He’s a fucking dragon.
The dragon makes quick work of the remaining threat, leaving nothing but dissolving corpses on the street.
Holy hell. I didn’t even know dragons were real.