Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
Summer stared at Fabian’s business card for twenty minutes.
Tapping the thick card against her left palm, she recalled her earlier visits to Le Sang and Fabian’s library.
With a pang, she thought about the rolling ladder and the floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with books and knowledge.
She dialed. The phone rang twice before his cultured voice answered.
“Dr. Vale. Summer,” he purred. “I was hoping you’d call.”
“Your offer,” she said without preamble. “About learning what I’m capable of. You mentioned resources.”
“Extensive resources. You’re familiar with my library. Books, records, artifacts dating back centuries. Everything you need to understand your heritage and find your mate.”
It was a tempting offer. Summer pushed aside the other memory of being with Fabian in his library.
She would not allow Fabian to seduce her again, even if there was little chance of Rowan feeling anything through the mate bond.
The promise of information about Rowan, however, was too tempting and helped her make her decision.
“I’d like to accept your help. Temporarily. ”
“Of course. Vincent will collect you within the hour, if that is convenient. Pack light—everything you need will be provided.”
After hanging up, Summer gathered her few possessions into a single bag. The flannel shirt that smelled like Rowan, her medical kit and Rowan’s coffee mug. Everything else—the photos, the memories, the life she’d built—stayed behind like discarded skin.
Vincent arrived precisely on time, driving a gleaming black sedan.
It looked out of place on Magazine Street’s tree-lined blocks.
Summer thought of the first time she met him.
He seemed younger than Fabian by decades, a massive man with a scarred face and knuckles.
It was unusual. His transformation to an immortal should have smoothed away all the scars and imperfections of his human body.
Summer knew he had been a soldier, but the wars of which he was a veteran, were only mentioned in history books, not in recent memories.
His manner was politely professional as he loaded her bag, but Summer caught him glancing at her with mild concern.
“Dr. Vale,” he said, opening the passenger door of the sleek Mercedes with old-fashioned courtesy. “I hope you’ll find Le Sang… comfortable.”
Something in his tone made her pause. “You have been with Fabian a very long time, haven’t you?”
Vincent’s jaw tightened. “Many years. Since he saved my life.” He gestured toward the open door. “We should go. Master Delacour doesn’t like to keep dinner waiting.”
The drive through New Orleans was like traveling between worlds.
The familiarity of Magazine Street, ancient oaks, houses weathered by surviving decades of hurricanes, was all left behind as they drove through the Garden District’s manicured perfection.
Where mansions like Celeste’s lurked behind iron gates like sleeping giants, their antebellum grandeur preserved by money and careful maintenance.
The journey continued through the business district into the narrower streets, tourist crowds and noise hiding Fabian’s restaurant and home in plain sight.
Le Sang occupied a whole corner of the French Quarter, with scented jasmine and ivy climbing over the wrought-iron balconies.
Gas lamps flickered along the street, casting dancing shadows over the two-story restaurant next door, making the mansion look like something from a Gothic novel.
The effect was undeniably beautiful and subtly unsettling, even if, as Summer knew only too well, its very perfection was a carefully constructed fa?ade.
“Just as impressive as the last time I saw it,” Summer murmured as Vincent guided the car through gates that closed behind them with a soft mechanical click.
“Master Delacour has very particular tastes.” Vincent’s deep bass voice was completely neutral, but his knuckles were white where they gripped the steering wheel.
Summer wondered what was making the old soldier so tense. Surely, he’s got few concerns about a new breed of hybrids?
The mansion’s interior was a symphony of old-world luxury.
Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over Persian rugs and French antiques, while oil paintings in gilded frames watched from silk-covered walls.
Everything boasted of centuries of accumulated wealth and refined taste, but Summer thought the perfection was somewhat sterile compared to the pack house’s comfortable chaos.
Fabian waited in the marble foyer, dressed in an impeccably tailored suit. He moved to greet her, taking her hand and pressing it briefly to his lips. His gesture managed to be both courtly and possessive.
Summer’s hands heated as the silver fire tingled on her palms. She stretched out her fingers, anxious that Fabian should not see her clenched fists nor sense her concern.
“Welcome to Le Sang, Summer. I trust Vincent made the journey pleasant?”
“Very,” Summer replied, looking around. There was something about the ornate surroundings which always made her feel exposed and small. She’d grown accustomed to the bayou’s organic beauty, lived-in spaces rather than preserved ones.
“Excellent. Vincent, please take Dr. Vale’s things to the blue suite.”
Vincent nodded and disappeared with her bag, moving with the efficient silence of well-trained staff. Summer watched him go, noting how the old soldier’s shoulders remained rigid until he was out of Fabian’s sight.
“Come,” Fabian said, offering his arm. “Let me show you the library. I know you saw it when you were here before, but I have some new items since then. I believe you’ll find the additions… illuminating.”
The library occupied the mansion’s entire east wing, its soaring shelves reaching toward a vaulted ceiling painted with celestial scenes.
Thousands of books lined the walls—ancient grimoires bound in leather and metal, modern academic texts, handwritten journals in languages Summer didn’t recognize.
The air smelled of aged paper and leather, knowledge accumulated across centuries.
“This is so incredible,” Summer breathed, running her fingers along the spine of a medieval manuscript. Her palms crackled as the Le Voile magic sensed there were answers to her heritage ensconced in these ancient pages. “Some of these must be priceless.”
“Knowledge should be shared, not hoarded.” Fabian’s dark eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he watched her reaction. “Everything here is at your disposal. Genealogical records, supernatural histories, treatises on magic and bloodlines. Whatever answers you seek, they’re likely here.”
Summer pulled a volume on werewolf pack structures from the shelf, noting its weight and age. These weren’t reproduction texts but original sources; primary documents most scholars could only dream of accessing.
“Where did you get all this?”
“Centuries of careful collecting. Some were gifts, others… acquisitions from those no longer able to appreciate them.” Fabian’s smile didn’t extend further than his lips. “The previous owners had no further use for earthly possessions.”
The casual reference to death made the hair on Summer’s neck prickle, but she forced herself to focus on the opportunity.
Somewhere in this vast collection might be information about mate bonds, about tracking separated wolves; she already knew there was a wealth of information about her own mysterious heritage.
“I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Your company is thanks enough.” Fabian moved closer, close enough for her to smell his expensive cologne.
Warmth rose low in her belly, and she tried hard to dismiss the sensation.
This room held personal memories as well as history.
“Shall I show you to your room? You must be tired after such an emotional day.”
The blue suite lived up to its name, decorated in shades of sapphire and cream.
The effect should have been soothing but felt oddly cold.
The four-poster bed was draped in silk, the furniture was museum-quality, and French doors opened onto a private balcony overlooking the mansion’s courtyard.
It was undeniably beautiful and completely unlike anywhere Summer had ever lived.
The roses filling the vase on top of a low table were the only things not blue—they were devoid of color.
Black. Reminding Summer of the first rose Fabian had given her.
The rose haunted her as she fled from him.
Perhaps coming here was a mistake? But how else would she discover more about the mate bond and where Rowan had gone? Her hand rose to her throat, and her fingertips caressed the scar at the base of her neck. It was cool to the touch. I will find you.
“Vincent will bring dinner shortly,” Fabian said, interrupting her thoughts as he lingered in the doorway. “Rest tonight, and tomorrow we’ll begin exploring what you’re truly capable of.”
After he left, Summer sank onto the silk-covered bed and tried to process the day’s surreal turns. This morning, she awoke in the pack house, still clinging to the hope of Rowan’s return. Now she was ensconced in vampire luxury, preparing to learn more about her abilities and her missing mate.
The mate bond pulsed weakly, the thin connection to her absent wolf providing the only familiar anchor in this strange world. She pressed her hand to her chest, trying to sense Rowan’s emotional state, but the distance made interpretation impossible.
A soft knock interrupted her brooding. “Dr. Vale? I have your dinner.”
Vincent entered with a silver tray laden with fine china and crystal. The meal looked like something from a high-end restaurant—perfectly prepared, artistically plated, completely unlike the hearty communal dinners she’d grown accustomed to with the pack.
“Thank you,” she said as he placed the vase of roses aside and arranged the settings on the small table near the balcony doors.
Vincent paused, his dark eyes meeting hers with intensity. It suggested he wanted to say something more, but he maintained his silence. “Dr. Vale, I do hope you’ll find what you’re looking for here.”
“I hope so, too.”
“If you need anything—anything at all—please don’t hesitate to ask.” The emphasis on the word “anything” felt significant, loaded with meaning. His tone made her shiver.
After Vincent left, Summer picked at the elegant meal and tried to shake the feeling that she was a bird in a very beautiful cage. The room was luxurious beyond anything she’d ever experienced, but the silk curtains felt like bars, and the perfection seemed designed to isolate rather than comfort.
She moved to the balcony doors, seeking fresh air and a connection to the world beyond these walls. The courtyard below was illuminated by strategically placed lights, revealing fountains and manicured gardens that looked like magazine spreads.
As she watched, a figure emerged from the shadows near the far wall. Fabian, moving with his characteristic grace, but his usual composed demeanor was absent. He seemed agitated, gesturing sharply as he spoke to someone Summer couldn’t see clearly.
She leaned forward, straining to make out the second figure, but the angle and shadows made identification impossible. She could see it was a man, taller than Fabian, with an aura of menace, and her supernatural senses recoiled.
A soft chime from her phone drew her attention—a text message notification. When she looked back into the courtyard, Fabian stood alone beside the fountain, hands clasped behind his back as he gazed up at the stars.
Had there been someone else, or had her exhausted mind conjured shadows into threatening shapes?
Summer checked her phone, hoping irrationally for a message from Rowan. Instead, she found a text from an unknown number:
Be careful who you trust. Not everyone who offers help has your best interests at heart.
She read the message three times, her heart racing. Someone was watching, someone who felt the need to warn her. But warn her about what? And why not identify themselves?
When she looked back down the courtyard, even Fabian had vanished, leaving only an empty space and the whisper of wind through perfectly maintained gardens.
Summer closed the balcony doors and drew the silk curtains, suddenly aware of how exposed she felt in this beautiful prison. The mate bond thrummed weakly in her chest, a reminder of the connection she’d lost and the choices which led her here.
She was trapped between worlds now—no longer pack, not quite human, and definitely not vampire, vulnerable and alone in ways she was only beginning to understand.
Tomorrow she would begin learning about her heritage and abilities, but tonight she could only clutch Rowan’s flannel shirt and wonder if accepting Fabian’s help had been salvation or a mistake she would soon regret.
Outside her door, footsteps trod softly in the hallway. Was it Vincent checking the house, or Fabian ensuring his guest was settling in comfortably? Either way, Summer was acutely aware that she was no longer in control of her environment, her safety, or her future.
She was now in a cage. Admittedly, it was a golden cage, and her surroundings were incredibly beautiful, but it was still a cage.