Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Zane
I jolt awake to a sharp knock on my bedroom door. Huntley’s warm body is pressed against mine, his chest rising and falling into a deep sleep. The digital display on my phone reads 7 a.m.. Some asshole has a death wish, waking a vampire at this hour.
Sliding out from under the covers, I grab my black silk robe and tie it around my waist. Another knock echoes through the room. “I’m coming.”
I yank open the door, ready to eviscerate whoever stands on the other side. The fury dies in my throat. Jack’s face is ashen, his usual cocky demeanor replaced by grim determination.
My stomach drops. “Tell me.”
“Tucker and Scottie went back to the psychiatric hospital before sunrise. Daeva showed up with reinforcements. They took her.”
The world tilts on its axis. My fingers dig into the doorframe, splintering wood. “Where’s Tucker now?”
“On the phone. We need to move this to the security office.”
I follow Jack down the hall to Bran’s office. The Scotsman’s presence lingers here—in the worn leather chair, the wall of state-of-the-art security monitors, even the faint scent of his favorite whiskey.
Jack drops into Bran’s chair and boots up the system while I take possession of the phone.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” I snarl at Tucker.
“Dial it back, Zane. Do you think I could’ve stopped her? You know how she gets when she’s determined.”
“You’re supposed to protect her!”
“She figured with your royal guard there, we’d be safe enough. And it’s not like she’s helpless. She’s a trained fighter and your Sacred Squire.”
“Exactly, so she shouldn’t go off and leave my side.”
“Like you left her all those times?”
The growl that rips from my chest is nothing I can control. “Be careful, shifter. I allow you a certain amount of leeway because Scottie cares for you, but you’re still a guest in my kingdom.”
“What the fuck is going on?” Huntley enters the office, pulling a T-shirt on over his shoulders. “And why is it going on in the middle of the fucking morning?”
“Scottie went off and got herself taken by Daeva,” Zane snaps.
“Fuck you, Zane. It wasn’t like that,” Tucker says on the other end of the phone.
“Both of you stop.” Jack takes the phone out of my hand and sets it on the desk beside the mouse. “I’m hooked into the traffic cameras. Tell me what they were driving and which way they went. Come on, boys. Let’s find our girl.”
Scottie
Sitting in what I can only imagine is a vampire coffee shop, I wait to meet the man who had my father killed. Leaving me here with a black canvas bag over my head cranks my anxiety up with each passing moment. The shuffle of feet, the gentle shushing of doors swinging over the floor, the knowledge that people are moving around me, but not interacting with me.
With my senses on high alert, it’s very unnerving.
It’s also making my stomach growl. I’d swear I’m in a Starbucks or a Tim Horton’s. I’ve never been a coffee drinker, but the smell is amazing.
“Could I get a peppermint tea or a hot chocolate?”
Is that why they brought me here? Does Lazarus Kaza do his dirty dealings in the local java joint? It doesn’t seem like a very likely hangout, but vampires are weird and the older they get, the more skewed their sense of logic becomes.
I tense when someone steps behind me, firm hands squeezing my shoulders. “Apologies, bella .” The man who speaks tugs the canvas bag off my head and I blink against the sudden flood of light.
That voice. That smooth as silk, educated, old-world cadence resonates in my mind and dread seeps into my veins. No. It can’t be.
He steps around me and settles into the seat across the table. When I meet his gaze, my breath hitches.
It is him. The jet-black hair slicked back, those piercing blue eyes—Russ Fusco. The man who held me hostage in New York for what felt like an eternity. My skin prickles with revulsion and fear.
“What are you doing here?” My voice wavers despite my effort to sound strong. Confusion floods my mind, mixing with panic as I fight to grasp how this could happen again. “What do you have to do with Lazarus Kaza?”
He leans back in his chair, a lazy smile curling his lips. “I have everything to do with him, Scotland. You knew me as Russ Fusco, others know me as Lazarus Kaza.”
The truth of what he’s saying strikes me like a blow to the gut.
The mastermind behind everything—the true-blood vampire responsible for siring a turned army, for orchestrating chaos across Toronto, and for killing Francesco and my father is the man who haunts my dreams?
“Why go after Francesco? Is this because he and Da bested you in New York? Was killing them some kind of payback for them saving me?”
He chuckles softly, a sound that makes my skin crawl. “No one has ever bested me, bella, certainly not Francesco.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
He leans forward. “I’ll admit, him involving the Erebus brothers was irksome. They shut down what was a very lucrative funnel of income, but I accomplished what I set out to do in New York, so I was not ‘bested’ as you say.”
“Well, bully for you.” He chuckles again and I grit my teeth to control my spiraling emotions. “Well, you failed to kill Zane and seize the diamond dagger, so you’ll never take Toronto. You might as well pack up and get the hell gone.”
His crooked smile is cocky, his amusement obvious. “I don’t need to kill Zane to take Toronto. In fact, I’d rather not kill him.”
I blink at him in disbelief. “What do you mean?”
“I do need the dagger, though.” He shrugs casually, as if we’re discussing the weather instead of his murderous intent.
“Well, you won’t get it.”
Russ leans forward, his eyes glinting with malice that sends another shiver racing down my spine. “We’ll see about that.”
Daeva strides in carrying a rosewood box that gleams under the shop’s lights. She’s got the pomp and strut of a woman who thinks she’s the hottest of the hot shits. I hate her. I want to grab a spoon off the counter and shove it straight through her eye socket.
Unfortunately, my hands are still bound and there are four vamp guards between me and the cutlery stand.
Daeva sets the box on the table in front of me.
Lazarus’s gaze softens when he looks at her—a look filled with something like admiration that makes bile rise in my throat. “ Grazie milla bella .”
Then he turns his gaze back to me and the warmth is gone. “Francesco needed to die—there was no way around that. That your father died too was an unexpected bonus. I didn’t realize their life essences were bound, but after the trouble they caused me in New York, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tickled by the universe’s sense of justice.”
“Justice?” I clench my fingers into fists as my entire body shakes. “There was nothing just about what you did. My father was a truly great man, admired by everyone who dealt with him, and you stole him from me.”
“And he stole you from me. Sounds like justice to me.”
That he even said those words makes me want to strike him down dead. He’s insane. “You’ll never be King of Toronto. You will never get away with killing them. And you will never be a fraction of the man they were. You’re obviously a resourceful man, so go to another city, plant your roots, and take over with a new turned army. Toronto isn’t up for grabs.”
He tips his head from side to side like he’s weighing my words. “But I’m not entitled to other cities. Toronto is my birthright.”
“Toronto belongs to Clan Vasari.”
“And with Francesco dead, I am the oldest Vasari in the Fondatori line.”
My breath catches as his words take hold. “You’re lying. Francesco didn’t have any living relatives.”
Lazarus laughs. “Sorry to disappoint you, firefly. There are a handful of us, but none who cared about living a life on the other side of the world—until now. And with Francesco dead, it is my birthright to claim Toronto.”
He leans forward and pushes the wooden box toward me slowly. “I’m done with that now. I’ve registered his death with the Fondatori and Zane was kind enough to call each of them and verify my claim.”
Wait. What? That doesn’t matter. “You don’t have the dagger, and you aren’t the Vasari King.”
He points to the oxblood tattoo on my forearm and smiles. “You’re the Sacred Squire to the Vasari King. You’ve taken the oath, so when I get the dagger and claim my place, I’ll be claiming you as well, firefly.”
No. That’s impossible. Dread coils tight in my stomach, making me feel sick. “I’m Zane’s squire, not yours.”
He chuckles. “Not how it works. Take another look at the wording of the oath, and you’ll see I’m right. I always said you were mine. You should’ve believed me.”
My mind blanks out as the horror of that settles in. “I’ll never be your squire. I wouldn’t lift a finger to protect you.”
He shrugs. “It’s early days, bella. Consider the return of my cousin’s head a show of good faith. And be sure to give Zanipolo my best. Tell him his cousin, Agostino, looks forward to meeting him.”
Lazarus gets up and walks out the back, followed by Daeva and the four turned guards.
I wait, listening until an engine starts in the back and then drives away. Is there a garage back there? Is Lazarus a day walker? I can’t even think about that.
I glance around the empty shop and stare at the beautiful rosewood box. With my hands still bound and trembling, I lift the lid—and there it is—Francesco’s severed head stares blankly up at me from inside its polished confines.
A sickening wave crashes over me as tears burn hot down my cheeks.
The devil who possessed me in New York is back…and he plans on taking everything from me again.
Tucker
“Where to next, Dad?” I’m practically vibrating in the back of the taxi, my animal pacing inside me like a caged beast.
Jack’s voice buzzes in my ear as he wades through the traffic cam footage and rattles off directions. “They continued south on Avenue Road a ways…”
The world creeps past my window at an infuriatingly slow pace, the morning bustle of Toronto commuters building more every moment. The influx of cars and pedestrians slows our progress and heightens the urgency of me needing to get her back.
That they took her instead of killing her outright gives me a sliver of hope. Daeva, or even Lazarus, might have plans for her. As twisted as it sounds, I think that will give me the opening I need to get her back.
I shift uncomfortably on the cab’s worn seat, my shattered knee throbbing with a dull ache. It’s healing, slowly knitting itself back together after the damage inflicted during the fight.
It’ll take time to fully heal, but won’t be long until I’ll be strong enough to tear apart anyone who stands between me and Scottie.
My bear howls within me at the thought of her in danger, vulnerable to the whims of our enemies.
In the background of the call, Huntley and Zane are working to find me backup. It’s daylight, so that takes out all the Toronto vampires from coming to our aid.
Thankfully, Zane’s father made a lot of allies in the city during the centuries he ruled the Toronto seat of power.
“Take a left onto Davenport.”
I’m holding my phone out for Nazim to hear the directions and he nods and gets into the turning lane.
The taxi slows behind a Kia van at the next light and we wait until we get the advanced signal to pull through the intersection.
Every red light brings me closer to losing my hold.
Scottie’s alone out there. She’s in the hands of the enemy who slaughtered innocent people and will do the same to her without a second thought.
I couldn’t protect her. What good is the strength of a bear if I couldn’t protect my mate when she needed me?
“Right on Bloor,” Jack says, his tone steady despite the chaos.
I grip the phone tighter, barely hearing the cab driver mutter about morning traffic. Anger simmers inside me like a live wire. She’s a survivor. There’s no doubt about that, but she’s not invincible.
My animal is restless and furious at being so helpless.
“Continue down a few blocks. Over Bloor but before Bay, they pulled off to the right,” Jack continues, voice low and focused. “They took her into what looks like a coffee shop. Brown sign. Blue writing.”
The taxi slows as we cross Bloor, both of us scanning the signage of the shops on the right. Brown sign. Blue writing….
“There.” Nazim hits his indicator and pulls to a stop at the curb. “That’s it, right?”
I peer out at the bougie coffee shop. It’s the last place I would’ve imagined as the lair of an evil vampire mastermind. It’s public and pretentious and has floor-to-ceiling windows.
They just dragged her through the building to another car waiting in the alley. That thought makes the world around me spin.
“Do you need me to wait a few minutes?”
“Do you mind?”
“Not at all, man. I’ll stick around and drink my tea.”
“Much appreciated. If I can, I’ll give you a signal and let you know if I’m good.” I tap the meter with my phone to pay my fare up to that point, and step out. My knee protests as I straighten to my full height, and I shake it out a little and test how well it bears my weight.
The pain has dulled to an ache and is good enough to take on the next battle. I adjust my jacket and scan the area for any sign of Daeva’s men.
My bear stirs, eager for the hunt, ready for the violence necessary to bring Scottie home.
As I close the distance to the front door, I consider my options. Do I just open the door and walk in? Should I smash the glass windows and let the sun take care of the rest? Does it risk Scottie’s safety if I charge in?
There’s no way to know what the right answer is, so I go with the direct approach, ready for anything.
The door swings open and I’m scanning the interior, moving inside as quickly as I can while assessing the situation. Only, there doesn’t be a situation.
Scottie is sitting at a square table in the center of the empty coffee shop. She’s focused on a wooden box set in front of her and even from the doorway, I can smell the anguish of her tears.
I rush forward, closing the distance. Looking her over, I ease the panic of my bear by confirming that she seems unharmed.
Then I look into the box and curse.
Bending to take her into my arms, I hug her tight to my chest. “Come on, beautiful. Let’s get you home.”