Chapter Six
Vladimir
The doorbell rings an hour before sunset, and Grant leaps up from his seat on the sofa. Paxton is already on his feet, shaking his head, but Grant follows close behind him as they both go into the hall.
Jeremiah watches me from the other chair. My own bag is already packed, but I know Grant wants whatever Quinn has bought for him, and I am not certain we will be ready to leave when I wish to.
“Come in,” Paxton says, voice warmer than I often hear it—or at least warmer than when he directs it at me.
Jeremiah raises an eyebrow and turns his eyes back to the book in his hands.
I swallow a growl when magic passes through the wards.
It is not only Quinn who has come here; the pack’s mage has joined him.
“I think we got just about everything,” Quinn says.
Paxton comes back into the room first and takes his seat beside Jeremiah again, one hand falling to land on his lover’s knee. Quinn gives me a tight smile when he comes in. Of course, I am happy for Asher and what he has found. I do not truly want his mate to feel unwelcome.
Grant ushers him over to the sofa, where he takes his usual cross-legged position at one side. Quinn sits in the middle, setting bags down on the floor before him. A lot of bags.
The mage—Sam—lingers in the doorway. His magic pulses differently to our blessings.
It reminds me, for a moment, of the power Grant possesses, though I believe Sam has far more control over his magic than Grant does.
He cuts a confident figure, nodding at Jeremiah before he turns his attention to me.
“Thank you for your assistance,” I say because I do not really want his magic in here, but there is no polite way to tell him that.
His smile does not reach his flinty eyes. “Of course. Our pack’s always happy to help a friend.”
Grant perks up, eyes wide, and the smile Sam turns on him is far warmer than the one he just gave me. I pick a piece of imaginary lint from my trousers and pretend I do not see Jeremiah’s subtle eye roll.
“Take a look then,” Quinn says, and Grant dives for one of the bags. He lets out a quiet gasp at the shorts he pulls out. They are incredibly short and silver, and I swallow a growl that I can never let escape.
“Oh my God, these are perfect.” Grant drags out some tops—mesh and translucent and cropped—holding each one up to himself and glancing around for approving looks from Quinn and Sam and Paxton. Jeremiah seems content to ignore the would-be fashion show, and Grant avoids my gaze entirely.
He drags out a pair of jeans I already know will be tight and a bundle of straps and buckles that make his face colour. Reaching into the bottom of one of the bags, he frowns, and Sam shrugs.
“Quinn said attention-grabbing,” he says, “so I figured a little makeup might not go awry.”
Grant dumps a handful of tubes and small boxes into his own lap, sorting through them and reading the labels. When he looks at Quinn, Quinn raises his shoulders helplessly.
“I’ve never tried… any of that,” Grant says.
“It’s straightforward enough.” Sam drifts closer, perching on the arm of the sofa. From here, I can see the dust of powder on his cheekbones and the darkness of his lashes. “Look online for videos. Or you can call me. I’ll talk you through it.”
“For real?”
Sam frowns. “Of course.”
“But you… You’re busy, aren’t you?” Grant quirks his head to one side. “Like, you’re your pack’s second. You have shit to do.”
“Yeah. You can still call, Grant. I’ll answer. It’s fine.”
Grant hums. I am not certain he believes him, and I am not sure why. I believe Sam is telling the truth.
More clothes make an appearance, and by the time everything has been taken out and thoroughly discussed, the sun has fallen below the horizon. It is not yet dark, but now Grant has more to pack. We have some distance to travel and I want to ensure we are fully settled before the sun comes up again.
“Is there anything else you need?” Sam asks, and I do not like the wide-eyed way Grant keeps looking at him.
“I—No, thank you,” Grant says. His smile is sweet, cheeks ever so slightly pink. I do not like that, either.
“Right, come on then,” Sam says to Quinn. “Drew’s making dinner tonight.”
Quinn makes an approving sound and gets to his feet. “Be careful,” he says to Grant. Jeremiah lifts his eyes from the book to frown. I sigh. I suppose it is inevitable that Quinn should know what is happening in the Hunt. I can only hope Asher does not tell him every single detail.
“I’ll be fine,” Grant says, and for the first time since they arrived, he looks at me. “Vlad’s gonna be there. It’ll all be okay.”
Quinn smiles at him and me, and it is truly a privilege to see the changes that the fledgling bond between him and Asher has wrought.
I survey him for a second. The Huntsman would take him in an instant, I think.
From what Asher told us of Sorrel’s attack a few months ago, Quinn might be far better at dealing with high fae than the rest of us.
But he has been through a lot in a short time, and I cannot ask Asher to pressure his mate into assisting us when I cannot—
Well.
Grant is helping whether any of us want that or not.
Grant and Paxton see them to the door, and Paxton remains after Grant comes back and starts scooping all of his new purchases back into the bags they came in.
I hear the low murmur of Sam’s voice replying to something Paxton has said.
If I were to strain, I could make out the words, but there is no need for that.
“I’ll be ready in”—Grant’s eyes dart to the clock up on the wall—“ten minutes?”
“Fifteen,” I say. We will not leave for another half an hour, I am certain, but I have already accepted that, and I will not rush him.
There is no need to start this journey off on the wrong foot.
Grant nods and then dashes from the room, and Paxton makes a startled sound as Grant presumably runs past him.
Paxton shakes his head when he comes back into the living room. “He’s gotta keep to human speeds in the house,” he says.
“You’re just jealous,” Jeremiah replies without looking up.
Paxton huffs, but he is smiling. He turns his gaze on me. “You owe me money, by the way. Or the Huntsman does. That little shopping spree was not cheap.”
I frown. “They—”
“I told Sam if he doesn’t send me photos of the receipts, I’ll ask Drew for them,” Paxton says, smile sly. “This is our job. We pay for it.”
“I know that,” I say. Irritated, I get to my feet. I need to have my thoughts in order if I am to take Grant out on this mission. “This is going to be a disaster.”
Paxton shakes his head, but Jeremiah makes a humming sound that tells me there is something he knows that I do not. Paxton frowns at him, too, and at least this time I am not left in the dark.
“What is it?” he asks.
Jeremiah sighs and puts his book aside with a pointed glance at the door. I close it as silently as possible; I can still hear Grant’s movements above, and they do not hesitate.
“You do understand where you’re going?”
“To Margate,” I say, “as the Huntsman asked.” I arranged the hotel today. I have already ensured I know the way to the club, that I have several routes memorised to quickly extract both of us from any potentially dangerous situations.
“And where’s Grant from?” Jeremiah asks.
Paxton’s eyes go wide. “You’re joking.”
“He is—He cannot…” I trail off when I realise I have never asked Grant that question. It is not as though his past has never come up. He talked at length about his family and friends in the first few months and years after I turned him.
But the night I did that, he was not near Margate. Admittedly, he was not terribly far, if I have the location correct, but he was not close.
“Why wouldn’t he say anything?” Paxton asks.
“You both know it wouldn’t stop the Huntsman,” Jeremiah scoffs. “And Grant’s desperate to prove himself. I wonder why.”
“I do not need him to do that,” I snap. “I would rather he be kept out of all of this.”
“We all know that.”
I shake my head, already turning towards the door. “It is irrelevant. I already thought this was a bad idea, but taking him back, where he could be recognised—”
“Vladimir,” Jeremiah says, power flaring as he feeds it into his voice.
I still and not from the compulsion. Occasionally, I forget that he is almost as old as I am, that both of us might pale in comparison to Maurice wielding his power, but we are vampires through and through, and we have learnt how to make that power our own.
“This is dangerous,” I say through gritted teeth. “And foolhardy and—”
“And you know it would be more dangerous to let this fae run free. If they keep to schedule, another young vampire is going to die soon.”
“Grant might be that vampire.”
Jeremiah huffs a laugh. I turn, eyes narrowed, but he merely shakes his head. “I’m not going to lie, the last few months have shaken a lot of my confidence in you, but that’s one area where I know you’ll never fail. You’ll never let him down, Vlad. You’ll keep him safe.”
I am honestly surprised, and that surprise robs me of my voice. I nod shortly and let myself out of the living room without another word.
It is time for us to leave.
An hour later, we are heading across the city. Traffic is still fairly busy, but it will only take us around two hours to reach Margate, and we have hours of darkness ahead.
Grant slumps in the passenger seat, scrolling on his phone. He did not offer to drive, and I did not ask him to. I am more than content behind the wheel. I have not turned on the radio, though, and for once, the silence I often seek out is deafening.
“Did you want to listen to something?” I ask.
Grant jerks his head up in surprise. “Oh. Really?”
“Yes.”
A grin flicks over his face—there and gone—and he leans forward to fiddle with the radio. After a moment, he makes a pleased sound and taps at his phone again. I do my best to concentrate on the road.