Chapter Twenty-Six
Vladimir
Grant refuses to go and rest. He at least remains on the other side of the curtain as Asher and I move in and out of the kitchen, but he sits stubbornly on the sofa the entire time.
Quinn is napping, as is Margot. They spent five minutes whisper-arguing about who should take the bed and who should take the floor until Quinn shifted and curled up by the doorway, making Rachel let out a startled shriek.
Asher gave his mate a stern look for that, but from the way Quinn huffed at him, then yawned and showed all his teeth, I doubt that it means much to him.
It is not my concern. My concern is that the bodyguard is just waking up.
It is already almost noon. Rachel helped me block up the window in the kitchen so that I do not need to worry about the sun, though the curtains in the living room are thin. No matter. I do not intend to move this vampire from this space. He is to be nowhere near Grant again.
Rachel is sitting out with Grant, I believe. She clearly does not wish to be in the same room as him for long, but this is a one-bedroom flat, so there is little space to hide.
“Where the fuck am I?” the bodyguard growls when he comes to. Harold—Grant never bothered to get his name. We checked his ID hours ago.
“That is not your concern,” I reply. Already, his magic is shifting, reacting to the confusing situation he has found himself in. We have prepared for this—Grant helped us to set wards that should hold even all the magic Eirian gave Harold earlier. “We are looking for your boss. Jakob.”
“My boss?” Harold’s eyes narrow when he looks at me. There was not a flicker of recognition when he took Asher in, who is leaning over by the doorway. “You. I remember you. You were with that little bi—”
My hand lashes out before I can think the action through. His head snaps back, pain juddering through my knuckles and up my arm.
Asher huffs. I hear movement in the other room, but Grant restrains himself. He at least does not come barging in. I try to send a reassuring feeling down our bond. I am not certain it quite works that way, but I can at least try.
“Be polite, or this will be far more unpleasant for you.”
Harold spits out blood and glares at me. I sigh. We will have to thoroughly clean before we leave.
“This is how you talk to people, huh? Fucker.”
“You were being rude,” Asher drawls. He corrals his blessing, giving his eyes a little silver flash. Harold pales, swallowing hard. Ah. He knows of wolves, then, and does not understand the truth of fae magic. Not that that is unexpected, but it is good to know.
“Where will we find Jakob?”
“How the fuck should I know?”
“You are his bodyguard.”
Harold scoffs. “Please. That man is all about image. He wanted to look important. Said it helped with the boys.”
“Boys?”
“The young vampires he likes. I mean, they’re adults, but they’re fucking young. He’s older than me. More powerful.”
“Where did you get that magic?” Asher asks, and Harold’s eyes cut to him.
“Why don’t you tell me? Seems like you two know a lot more than you’re pretending.”
I lean back against the kitchen counter and cross my legs at the ankles. Asher looks at me, raises his eyebrows.
I have never considered our dynamic before, but he is the only other member of the Hunt I would interact so easily with in an interrogation like this.
Maurice is all bluster, and why not—his magic speaks for him, and he would surely have answers by now.
Jeremiah is quiet, Paxton friendly up until the moment he is not, and they work perfectly well together, too.
As it is, we have a decision to make regarding how many of our cards we should show. Harold knows that I am Grant’s sire. He knows that Grant is powerful.
He must imagine I am even more so, and with little understanding of the magic Eirian has given him, he either believes he has an ace up his sleeve or that he needs to bluff his way out of this situation.
Strange that neither way involves telling us what we want immediately, but perhaps he believes that holding out gives him some edge.
I give Asher a faint shrug in answer, and the corners of his eyes tighten as though he has swallowed a smile. Good. We are on the same page, at least.
“Eirian gave it to you,” I say, and Harold smirks but doesn’t answer. “What interests me is whether or not you wanted it. Whether or not Jakob betrayed you in the process.”
His jaw tightens, gaze never dropping as he seeks to hold my eyes. Angry then. Jakob has offered up these young vampires he wants to enjoy so easily, and from what Harold has already said, he is not even a friend.
“Did she give you magic first, or the bartender?” Asher asks.
Harold jerks in the chair. Asher smiles when Harold looks his way.
“Jakob handed you over, didn’t he?” I say. “I imagine it was painful. All that power. You cannot even truly use it, can you?”
“I can.” A growl underpins Jakob’s words.
“Oh, yes?”
“I used it when you attacked me.”
“And yet you are here. You did not escape.” I tip my head to one side. “But you escaped Eirian. She would want to see how you endured the sun. Did you get away by giving up your friend?”
“She wasn’t expecting us to be so strong,” Harold says after a moment. He flexes his shoulders. He’s been trying the bindings the entire time, but we have warded those too, though I have no doubt his blessing is working away at that. “I won’t die that way.”
“The sun?” Asher asks.
“As part of some fucking experiment,” Harold spits. “She’s mad. Vampires can’t stand the sun, they can’t—”
He pales again, eyes going wide as saucers as he stares at the beaded curtain. I know Grant is out of sight. I know it. Yet, I wonder if Harold just brushed up against Grant’s magic.
“We cannot,” I agree. “You will not. If you step into the sun, you will die.”
It is not an assumption. Not that I have died, obviously, but we have all had close calls, even after receiving our blessings. I burnt my entire left arm last time, and wounds from the sun are slow to heal. It was weeks before I could use it properly again.
“You can’t be sure,” Harold says, but his words ring hollow, even to me. “I saw… I know what I saw.”
“I am certain you do. That does not mean you will have the same fate.”
He hisses at me, fangs out, and Asher rolls his eyes but does not move from his position against the wall. Even if Harold should break free—which he will not—his speed is likely equal to my own, so he will not escape to hurt the others.
Not that I necessarily believe he wants to. He wanted to get away from Eirian, but when we found him in that park…
Asher seems to be having the same thought. He frowns. “Why were you in the park then? Why not leave Margate altogether if you want to get away from Eirian and survive?”
“Why should I have to leave?”
“You ran,” Asher says with a shrug. “Why stop?”
Harold growls, low in his throat, and I feel a tug that makes me think Grant is listening. No doubt of that. No doubt he is concerned, too. I will not have him in here, though. There are many things he still must train to do.
“Something pulled you back. What was it?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
“Harold,” Asher says, ducking low when Harold turns his head, trying to avoid Asher’s gaze. “Come on. You can tell us.”
“I was hungry.” The words come out so quietly and reluctantly that I almost do not hear them at all.
“Hungry?” Asher asks.
“Yes,” Harold snarls, and when he looks at Asher now, his eyes are glowing. “This—When she—I’ve not been so hungry since I was a fledgling.”
Fuck. That is not good news, though I should not be surprised.
Grant said earlier that it felt as though the fae magic was stretching Harold’s death magic at the seams. Blood is what sustains that magic, for us.
If his death magic is hanging on, then he will need blood, though I doubt even all the blood in the world will fix what she has done to him.
Maurice will confirm it, of course, but I believe Harold was dead the moment Eirian gave him that magic.
“Where is Jakob, Harold?” I ask. “We know he has more than one residence. We will not be taken by surprise.”
“I told you. I don’t know for sure.” Harold growls again. He blinks rapidly, but now he does not appear to be able to suppress the glow in his eyes. No doubt he can scent that there are humans in the flat. I nod to Asher and he slips out of the kitchen, though Harold’s gaze unerringly follows him.
“Give me a clue. We will find him, even without your help, but things will be faster and less painful if you assist us.”
“Painful for who? You think I care about Jakob after he sold me out?”
“For all of you. You are dying, Harold. I believe you have already figured that out. That is why you did not leave.”
“She won’t fix me.”
“I am not even certain that she can.”
He growls again, long and low. “You knew this wouldn’t work. You knew she wouldn’t get what she wanted. Why didn’t she know that?”
“I believe she does not care,” I reply.
Harold says nothing to that. I am not certain he can. The power he is holding spills out of him all at once, and I am glad that I hear the bedroom door shut, even as Asher reappears through the curtains.
“What’s—”
The chair cracks, magic slicing through the wards we put on the ropes, and Harold moves before Asher can grab him. I chase him into the living room, not particularly careful when I slam him up against one of the walls.
Grant is still in here, sitting in front of the bedroom door. He leaps to his feet, eyes wide, but before he can do anything, Harold twists out of my grip.
For a second, he eyes Grant as though deciding whether he will be better going straight through him or killing him first. I reach out, ready to grab him, but in the next instant, Harold changes his mind.
Perhaps he has not been in his right mind since Eirian gave him her blessing. Perhaps he made the decision when I told him the truth.
Either way, he turns and jumps through the window, glass shattering around him as he leaps into the sun.