Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Scottie
T he evening stretches on after the endless buffet smorgasbord of dinner. “The new chef is serious about impressing you, Zane.”
Zane swirls his blood-fortified wine in the round of his glass, his cheek pulled up in a half-smile. “Considering what I did to the last chef, it’s good to have Warin on his toes.”
The mention of Benoit raises my ire, and I fight not to let it sour our evening. The man was put to death by Zane—shredded to bits, actually. There’s nothing to be gained by giving him another moment’s consideration.
“Well, you can tell him that while the food was delicious, if he wants to impress me, he’ll have to add a few more baked goods to the dessert offering.”
Zane dips his chin. “I’ll pass that along.”
The conversation stalls out, the somber mood of tonight’s memorial hanging in the air between us like unfinished business. We both know there is another ceremony in our future.
Francesco and Da deserve their moment to be remembered properly. Not that they’ve been forgotten in any way. I can’t get through a minute in the day without thinking of them.
It’s been bittersweet to be back. This is my home, but every inch of the royal residence stirs up memories of me with Da, with Francesco, and with Zane.
The four of us were a family for two decades and the grief of losing our fathers seeps from the walls, the floors, and every piece of furniture. Still, it’s nice to be home. To be close to them. To spend time with Zane.
And so, with everything we’ve had to deal with since I got back, I called a time-out on my hostilities.
Zane hurt me. He knows it. I know it. Nothing he can say or do can change it, so there’s no benefit in fighting when both of our hearts are already broken.
I meet his weary gaze across the table and the shadows under his eyes speak volumes. He’s tired—physically and emotionally drained.
“We should all turn in early tonight,” I suggest. “You look like you could use some rest.”
Zane rises from his seat at the dining room table and sets his linen napkin on the table. “Not in the cards for me tonight, Scots. If you two will excuse me, I have a mountain of work to catch up on.”
“Can’t it wait?” I ask.
“Not according to my advisors, no.”
I sigh, wishing I could do more to help. The weight of the crown is his. The responsibility of running Vasari Industries is his. The only thing I have a hand in is the right of vengeance—that belongs to both of us.
“Good night, Zane,” Tucker says.
“Night, Z.” I watch him go, my gaze following him to the entrance of Francesco’s office—nope—Zane’s office waits down the hall.
Zane disappears behind the heavy mahogany door, the soft click of the latch locking him away for an evening of corporate decision making and paperwork.
My heart aches for him. The pressure he’s under, and that he puts himself under, is incredible.
Tucker’s warm hand squeezes the top of my thigh under the table. “Ready to turn in, beautiful?”
I meet his whiskey-colored gaze and soak in the way his wavy brown hair frames his high cheekbones and chiseled jaw. He’s all kinds of sexy and having him focused on me brings a rush of warmth between my thighs. “Turn in to go to bed or to sleep? Yes, to the first one. No, to the second.”
His gaze dances playfully, and before I can blink, he scoops me out of my chair and throws me over his shoulder. A surprised laugh escapes me as he strides down the corridor to the family quarters Da and I shared.
When we get to the entrance, Tucker turns around so I can reach out and press my hand on the identification scanner. When the locks disengage, he swings the door open and then we’re inside my personal sanctuary.
The long strides of Tucker’s frame cut the distance from the door, through the sitting room, to my bedroom. The soft purple walls embrace us like twilight, and the gray silk drapes on my four-poster bed flutter as he sets me down on the mattress.
He lifts my foot, removing first one shoe, then the other. My socks follow as his strong hands massage my tired feet. “What are you in the mood for? Do you want to be ravaged or savored?”
I close my eyes and think about that. The weight of today’s memorial service is still heavy in my chest. “How about slow and sensual? I could use some TLC.”
Tucker pulls his shirt over his head in one fluid motion, and even in my melancholy, I admire the show. The man has abs for miles and that sinful muscled V…well, it’s pointing straight down to a luscious bulge in his dress pants.
Tucker unbuckles his belt, his pants, and lets the black slacks fall to the floor in a quiet thump. He goes commando, so he’s gloriously naked as he climbs onto the mattress, pulls the tie of the drapes, and encloses us in our own private world.
He gives me that gentle smile that makes my ovaries ache. “Slow and sensual, the lady says. I can do that.”
Tucker
From the moment Scottie burst into my father’s barbershop on the night of the attack, I knew. Broken and bleeding—yet fierce as hell—she stole the breath from my lungs.
My bear claimed her at first sight.
The man had a little more restraint, but not much.
And every moment I’ve spent with her, I’ve fallen a little more. A little deeper. A little harder.
Scotland McCullough is my fated mate.
A low growl of approval rumbles at the back of my throat and her eyes slip shut as she swallows. “That’s primal, but it’s hot.”
“Primal and carnal. You know what you do to me.”
My fingers feel fat and clumsy as I work free the delicate buttons of her silk blouse. The deep oxblood is a tribute to the Vasari clan and makes her pale, Scottish complexion glow like moonlight. Each tiny fastening tests my patience, but I take my time, savoring each new inch of creamy skin revealed.
“Do you want help?” Her fingers brush my cheek.
“Not even a little. You getting impatient?”
“Not even a little. Good things come to those who wait, right?”
I trap my bottom lip between my teeth, my gaze locked on the unveiling of Scottie’s body. When the last button gives way, I ease the silk from her shoulders. My bear rumbles in approval at the sight of her full figure and lush curves. My female is perfect.
The first touch of skin on skin sends a jolt through us both. The sacred squire magic living in her cells reaches out, recognizing the echo of itself in me. The same power that once flowed through my father, and then through Bran, now flows through his daughter.
It creates something electric between us.
Her breath catches as golden light dances where our skin meets. “How can anything feel this good?”
“The magic knows magic.” I trace the curve of her collarbone, watching the light follow my touch. Trailing my finger downward, in a lazy, swirling caress, I make my way to circle one breast, and then the other.
Her back arches as her nipples harden into tight, rosy peaks.
I shift down the bed to take one in my mouth as I claim the other with a gentle pinch. Swirling my tongue around the little nub draws a feminine sigh rumbling up her throat.
My cock pulses against the super-soft Egyptian cotton of her duvet, begging to be added into the play.
Not yet.
Scottie asked to be cherished, and she will be.
All. Night. Long.
Once I’ve given her breasts the love and appreciation they deserve, I move lower, trailing my tongue down the filigree of Sacred Squire history that expands across her ribs and down to her hips.
Magic connects the two of us, but this ink is a reminder that it connects her to Zane, too. The Vampire King might think he has exclusive rights to her heart because of their past, but he’s wrong. What Scottie and I share is different, but equally magical and profound.
And equally unbreakable.
He’ll have to learn to share, because I’m not going anywhere. The bear within me growls in satisfaction as I pull her closer.
“Time to get these pants off you, beautiful. Let me see how wet you are.”
Huntley
The night air wraps around me, thick with tension and the aftermath of chaos. I lean against the brick wall outside the Pravda Vodka Bar, catching my breath after a literal fight from hell. What the fuck were those demons thinking, attacking in plain sight?
There isn’t much cooperation among the sects of the Otherworld, but there’s one tenet everyone understands. We keep our existence private. We fight in the shadows. And we never break the veil of secrecy in public places where any human with a cellphone can record it.
And did this guy think touching down as a dragon at ten o’clock at night on Adelaide was a good idea?
Exposure much?
My mind is still stalling out over that one—a freaking dragon.
Thankfully, he’s back to looking like an ex-military man and somehow, no one is staring. After he checks on the singer and the Ian Somerhalder look-alike rubbing the back of his head, he strides over to me and extends a hand. “Thanks for stepping in. I’m Wilder. I appreciate you keeping them safe more than you’ll ever know.”
“Huntley.” I shake his hand and frown at the heap of dead assholes oozing tar onto the sidewalk. “Fucking hell. We need to clean this up.”
He nods. “I phoned a friend. A cleanup crew is on the way.”
“And the fact that you shifted in public? What about that?”
He waves my concern away. “I threw up a glamor the moment I smelled the char of these fuckers. “We’re covered.”
I let out a long whistle between my teeth. “Impressive. I wish that was a skill my people had. Instead, I get called all hours of the night to deal with the bloody consequences of poor impulse control.”
Wilder stretches out his arms and tilts his head side to side. As the vertebrae pop and resettle, he seems to work out the last of his adrenaline. Given that he was a giant black beast with massive wings only moments ago, I’d bet his body produces a shit-ton of adrenaline in a fight.
“A dragon.” I scrub a hand over my jaw. “I didn’t know that was a thing.”
“Not many people do,” he says, voice low and gravelly. “We were wiped out completely, but there are a few of us left.”
“Jace! Shit.” Pyper is crouched over a heap of hot guy slumped on the ground. One minute, he was sitting up at the curb nursing the back of his head, the next, he is down hard.
Wilder leaves me to rush over to check on him. It’s hard to tell who’s with whom here. Honestly, I’d bet money they are a throuple.
Not that it’s my business…or that I’d ever judge.
In a lifetime of living with Zane and Scottie, the idea has appealed to me more than a few times.
Pyper is crouched beside him, holding his face in her hands and leaning into his field of vision. “Jace, sweetie, wake up. Come on, sugar, open those eyes.”
“He needs a hospital.” Wilder straightens, turning toward the street. “But if I leave to get the truck, the glamor will break, and this mess will be exposed.”
“I can help.” The words are out of my mouth before I have time to consider them. “I’m a true blood. Our healing ability is legendary.”
“A true blood what?” Pyper asks.
“Vampire.” Wilder’s tone is strained and unnaturally neutral. It’s obvious he doesn’t want to offend me, but I also get the feeling he’s not an active member of any vampire fan clubs.
Pyper’s gaze widens, flooded with fear for the first time since all this started. “Jace is human. He wouldn’t want to be turned.”
I hold up my hands. “It doesn’t work that way. I can donate a bit of my blood, and he’ll heal over the next hour and have no lasting effects.”
Her gaze narrows on me, but Wilder makes the decision. “Do it.”
Releasing my fangs, I press my thumb into the point and slash my skin open. Stepping over to the unconscious human, I slide my thumb into his mouth and let my blood cover his tongue.
After a minute or two, I step back and wipe my thumb on my pants. “He should be fine.”
“Thank you.” Gratitude swirls in Pyper’s gaze, but there’s still a healthy dose of skepticism in there, too. “Why are you helping us?”
I chuckle. “I’ve seen you perform and when you got out of the truck, I figured I’d follow you inside and catch a set. The fight was unexpected, but it’s a fucked-up time for my clan, and killing a few bastards was a welcome outlet.”
“I heard about the death of your king.” Wilder dips his chin. “You have our condolences.”
“Thank you. It doesn’t make things suck any less, but I appreciate it.” I haul a deep breath into my lungs and shove my hands into my pockets. There are people milling around outside the bars, walking past our little tableau of dead and decaying without notice.
Magic is crazy.
I’m about to take my leave when a man with long, multicolored hair rushes toward us from the shadows. He’s obviously a warrior given his frame and the lethal way he moves, and based on the air of untouchable he’s giving off, I’d bet he’s high in the rankings of his society.
As he closes the distance to our group, his long hair shifts colors under the streetlights, his gaze locked on Pyper holding her downed lover’s head in her lap.
“Jace!” The new arrival drops to his knees and checks him over with quick hands. “Fuck, what’s wrong with him?”
“He’ll be all right. He’s healing.” Wilder joins them, setting a hand on the shoulder of the new arrival. “Crisis averted.”
Wilder kneels, and the four share a few whispered words in private. I could hear them if I wanted to, but I don’t. Not a throuple then. They are definitely a fearsome foursome.
Props to the pack.
A moment later, the guy with the hair strides over with Wilder. “Thank you for helping Jace and for stepping in to protect Pyper.”
I shrug. “Just doing what anyone would do.”
“ Should do, but not would do. Not everyone would get involved.” He extends a hand towards me in greeting. “I’m Larkin.”
“Huntley.” I accept his gesture and shake his hand before crossing my arms over my chest again. “Anyway, you’ve got your drama. I’ve got mine. I’ll say good night and leave you to it. Rogue vampires to find, wars to end, and all that.”
Wilder narrows his gaze and scrubs a hand over the dark stubble darkening his jaw. “Maybe you should talk to Lady Cassiane at DonorWatch. She might have some insight into what’s going down in your community.”
Larkin scowls and something tense passes between the two.
DonorWatch. That was a dead end.
“We spoke with the Queen of the Shedim the night after the invasion. Unfortunately, the wounds were fresh, and our prince’s temper flared hot. We didn’t make the best first impression.”
Wilder straightens and looks expectantly at Larkin.
A moment later, Larkin sighs. “Allow me to speak to my mistress on your behalf. If there is something she will share which could help you, I will reach out. How do I contact you?”
I blink, collecting my phone from the pocket of my trench. “I appreciate that. Any help you could offer would be welcome.