Chapter 21
21
Ramone
Ilya strolled into my office like he owned the place. My irritation was instant. “What do you want?”
His eyes darted to the floor, and he moved toward the second chair that was positioned in front of my desk, clutching a group of folders in one hand. He looked up at me, arching a brow, before glancing at the floor again. “Are you going to clean that up?” he asked, tossing the folders onto my desk.
“No.” The roses that had sat on the corner of my desk had been relocated to the floor. Ilya was likely worried the water and flowers would mar his pristine shoes.
He rubbed his forehead. “You can’t leave that there.”
“Then clean it up.” I leaned back, resting my elbows on the desk and clasping my hands together. “Again—what do you want?”
“Violet!” Ilya barked. When she peeked through the door, he instructed her to clean up the strewn roses.
Separating my hands, I slammed the door in her face from across the distance. “I want it there,” I told Ilya. The mess on the floor was a reminder that I was fucking everything up. It told me I lacked the self-control needed to stop myself from hurting her further. The symbolism of the crushed flowers would protect Samantha, would safeguard my goddess, and hopefully rein me in.
Ilya waited for an explanation he would never receive. On second thought, I realized, announcing my ownership of her by name would cease any pursuit by others. “Samantha Fern. No one is to touch her.”
“The girl you were with the other night?” Ilya inquired. I eyed him. “The opera, I saw you. Others did as well.”
Reluctantly, I pulled the files closer, knowing I had to examine them. “Yes, her,” I growled.
“I'm not going to touch her, Ramone. Kiara was the one for me; there’s no one else.” Anger and heartbreak emanated from the scarred man in front of me, his face and his heart both bearing the weight of my actions as well as his own. If he was truly going to leave Samantha alone, it was more than I deserved.
Meeting his gaze, I replied, “Thank you.”
“I’ll give you a minute to look over those documents.” Ilya stood up and poured himself a drink before returning to his seat while I perused the files.
My email folder indicated I possessed digital copies to electronically sign, but I still preferred the feel of paper in hand. Rifling through the documents and skimming them, it became even more obvious how much I’d neglected and how very valuable Ilya had been in keeping things afloat. He’d foregone relying simply on magic, illusions, and spell work although I knew those avenues had been utilized in conjunction with tangible methods. After signing where necessary, I closed the folders, stacking them neatly.
“You wouldn’t happen to be responsible for a man named Timothy Smith’s untimely demise, would you?”
Smirking, I answered, “Of course not.”
A low laugh left Ilya before he replied, “I thought that neighborhood was safe. Probably an isolated incident.”
“The police will probably call her soon. Do we have anyone we can send in?”
Ilya pulled out his phone. “I’ll send Stefan in; have him monitor.”
Fortunately, Stefan had multiple degrees ranging from psychology to law to criminal justice. He was perfect for the situation. I indicated my approval.
“You should know that Fulgere Industries is attracting multiple reporters who want interviews and photos. They think we’re an overnight sensation. I even saw a reference to you as the ‘world’s most eligible bachelor.’ Most eligible psychopath would be more honest, but the press never is.”
Ilya appeared highly amused by his alternative moniker for me, and plenty pleased with himself, adjusting his tie and brushing back an errant strand of hair. “You’re preening, you narcissistic asshole. Did you agree to meet with the press?” I asked.
His face fell, an aura of seriousness descending. “Of course not. In my opinion we should only deliver written statements after spelling them for protection. We know all too well what they can do with words.”
I wasn’t about to disagree with him, we used them as weapons. “No photo shoots still, either. Let the others know.”
“Will do.” The man stood up. “We will have to make some public appearances from time to time, it's good for business, good optics. We can’t stop pictures from being taken when that happens.”
“No posing or contrived images,” I stated. We didn’t need to be a spectacle and invite more attention before we were prepared.
“Agreed.”
“Have you seen Matthew?” I asked.
“I believe he’s back in Los Angeles, temporarily.” He waited for a response and continued when I gave none. “He’ll be back. It's useful to have him there as well; he has responsibilities as he’s told us.”
The further away the fucker was, the better. “He’s made moves on Samantha; I don’t want him here if it can be avoided.”
Ilya shifted his legs, his jaw tensing. Despite his ill-advised deal with the archangel, he would always side with me when it came to Matthew. “I don’t blame you.”
Annoyance welled up within me. Did this demon truly believe Matthew had even a ghost of a chance with my woman? “I will kill him if he makes another move toward her,” I warned.
Ilya’s eyes emitted a thin red circle around his irises. “Let me know, I’ll help.” He moved toward the door, slapping his hand against the frame before turning his head, grinning. “Tonight’s your first public appearance. I’ll pick you up at seven. Wear your best.”
He left before I could ask what the event was. I was about to check my phone for any text messages I’d ignored when Violet poked her purple head in.
“Sir?”
She really should change her hair back to an acceptable color. “Dye your hair. Or spell it, I don’t care. You look like a box of fucking crayons.” She scowled at me and had no business doing so. Her past actions, her betrayal when it came to Kiara, had permanently altered our friendship. Kiara’s abusive ex-boyfriend had held her hostage due to my secretary’s actions.
“Fine,” she bit out. “Ilya asked me to let you know the event is a fundraising gala.” Her eyes darted to the mess on the floor.
“Leave it.” How many times would I have to tell her?
Her eyes were boring into my forehead while I scrolled through my notifications. “Is there a problem?” I didn’t bother to look up and then my office door shut a little harder than it should have.
Once home, I headed to my bedroom to prepare for the evening. Absently, I chose an outfit, and the ghost of a statement wandered through my head. “Your aristocrat look.” I recalled the look of puzzled amazement on Kiara’s face, the first time she saw me in the outfits I wore to frequent my bar in the Second Realm. She’d been used to my finely tailored suits, not tall boots, leather, and make-up.
Rebellion over my current circumstances threatened to place me in inappropriate clothing for tonight’s appointment. The dutiful executive in me reached for an all-black three-piece suit, of course. It would be expected of someone in my dual positions—ultra-wealthy business owner and the prince of darkness.
My silver talons slipped into my pocket; one never knew when they’d provide the perfect accent piece. I drew my hair back into a low ponytail and then fastened cufflinks at my wrist when Ilya walked in.
Again, like he owned the place. He was getting on my nerves more so than usual. I knew he sensed and saw the reddish aura that emanated from me the moment his Italian shoes hit the carpet; he simply didn’t care.
“Roses,” he remarked, pointlessly.
Although the flowers in my office reached an unfortunate end, they still decorated my private bedroom. “Your powers of observation are astounding.”
“You do know she’ll likely be there. Her parents are on the guest list.” Ilya followed me down the stairs.
“I’m aware,” I replied. “She wants nothing to do with me.”
“When will you take her? You have to be slightly more careful now.”
Adam helped me into a long leather coat, and I pulled my hair out from under the collar. “I’m working on it.”
“Ramone, stop.” Ilya paused, leaving Adam holding the door and I turned my head. “Samantha,” he said, looking at me.
He was reading me, and I instantly knew he saw. He saw what she was doing to me, saw my vulnerability, and he had me by the balls if he chose to cut them off. I was going to have to trust him and bitterness over that fact coated the back of my tongue. Helplessly, I tried to rein in my aura, control the ether drifting around my head, but the woman and my associated emotions were a severe infection with no viable cure.
“Fuck,” he said.
“Yeah, fuck,” I muttered, in return.
We climbed into the back of the car and Ilya asked, “So what’s the problem.”
“Samantha is the woman I trapped in a house in the Fourth and she figured out it was me.” Kiara had campaigned for the woman’s release endlessly, harassing both Ilya and I for months to do something about the situation and having no idea what she was messing with.
“So, you knew, and you still pursued Kiara.” Ilya tapped his pair of leather gloves against the palm of his hand. “You are one fucked up asshole.”
“I had my suspicions; hence I took the needed actions.”
“You are going to take her—and soon,” Ilya hissed. “And then, you are going to leave the rest of us the fuck alone when it comes to our women.”
I snapped, and Ilya found himself choking, his hand instinctively grabbing at his throat even though nothing visible or tangible was restraining him. “It's only Samantha, and it will only ever be Samantha,” I said before letting go.
“You may want to look into our favorite archangel, if anyone’s female is being harassed,” I added, settling back against the leather seat.
Ilya sat back as well, murder in his eyes. It was all I could do not to chuckle at his expression. “Noted,” was all he said.
The car pulled up to the curb while I removed the long coat, not wanting to be encumbered or restrained by it in any manner. While it didn’t matter if it was forgotten inside the venue, I was not in the mood for unexpected visitors returning my outerwear. I liked my privacy.
Ilya stepped out of the vehicle behind me, tugging on his suit jacket and adjusting his tie. He schooled his features, leaving me the only one able to detect his smug air.
The flashing lights as we made our way across the sidewalk and up the wide, long granite staircase were minimal, but I knew that would change and soon enough the vultures would come out for their pound of flesh.
“How much did we donate?” I asked Ilya.
“Two million.”
“Is that enough?”
He shrugged. “I have no idea; I’ve never given money to a charity before. Probably. We usually eat them,” he remarked, referring to what generally happened to the down-and-out under our hands.
We gave our names to a woman at the door and entered the large space. Soft tinkles of laughter, fragrant floral arrangements, and clouds of aftershave and perfume surrounded us. This event was different than what I was used to, though the politics would be much the same. Perhaps less bloody, but not dissimilar in other regards.
Here, blood was shed with the stroke of a pen or the tap of a keyboard, a carefully placed photo on the internet, or an edited comment on the evening news. We had the power to change malicious internet activity, we controlled most of it, but something could slip by long enough to affect our wellbeing. By virtue of our presence, we could branch out, close deals, make important connections, or perhaps friendships. Acquaintances, more likely. Branko was my sole human friend despite my current but well-placed animosity toward him.
I barely listened while Ilya tried to point out important players, guessing half the time, I was sure. His attention to what he’d deemed an important task was wandering, distracted by the bounty of attractive female flesh. It was a hazard, yes, but my own landmine was across the room tucked into a small group.
Samantha smiled at her companions, a gesture that belonged only to me, before lifting her champagne flute to her lips. Ilya said something to me, and I waved him off, not listening. Slowly, I crossed the floor, keeping my distance while being pulled into her near orbit. Her aura was muted, the crystalline golden shimmers so familiar to her holding gaps in the web, straining to shine but restricted. With a pang, I guessed that it was me, what I’d done to her. How could I make her glow again?
She was mine, and I was hers; there could be no other way. Desire coursed through me, enflaming my blood with song. Just a taste. Exhaling, I forced the beast down. I wasn’t supposed to destroy her, I was only supposed to possess her, cradle her heart and keep it safe while crowning her with the stars in the sky.
Her eyes found mine, widening slightly. She didn’t look away, as captured as I was, and my feet were frozen to the floor. Pulling her gaze away, she went back to her conversation. Still, I caught her watching me out of the corner of her eye and noted the mild tension in her shoulders.
I never wanted to cause her pain.
“You mooning over that chick?” Alexander’s voice tore my gaze away, freeing the woman I loved from my web. “Here.”
Taking the offered beverage, I answered, “Mm.”
“Come, Alastair and Stefan are over there.” He nodded in a vague direction, and I trailed after him.
For once, we weren’t all hurling insults at each other or threatening to disembowel one another. We were perfect gentlemen. Even Alexander was in a suit. Stefan wore a suit to bed, I imagined, engaging in behavior similar to Ilya’s, but utilizing it as a tool of psychological manipulation.
Alastair managed to remain looking like a vampire even with the presence of angelic blood, although the public would likely refer to him as eccentric. There were always extra buttons on his clothing, excessive detailing, prolific embroidery, and other gothic wet dream features that belonged on a movie poster rather than in the boardroom.
Ilya grinned at something his best friend, Stefan, said, and lit a cigarette, disregarding the U.S. Cancer Initiative wall art hanging directly behind him. That answered my question as to whom we had donated a couple million to. A woman in a form-fitting white gown stepped over to Ilya and leaned toward his ear. His face split into a grin and he dropped the smoke, grinding it into the marble flooring with his heel before winking at her. Her nose raised into the air before she stomped away.
“Where’s your female?” I faced Stefan.
“She’s a woman, and she’s at home.”
He never brought her anywhere. “In the Fourth?” I asked.
Stefan nodded. “Not for much longer, it's no longer as safe as I’m comfortable with.” My gaze lit on Alexander, who pressed his lips together. “I’m retrieving her tonight,” Stefan added. “Transitioning back and forth is growing increasingly difficult.”
“This has never happened before, has it?” I eyed them one by one.
“Not in my lifetime,” Alastair offered.
“I have to go back,” I said. “We can’t let this happen.” We all had ties there, history, and we needed the magic present there in conjunction with our own. The magic that was the foundation of any spell work we used was retrieved from the Fourth Realm. There was some here, but not in enough quantity or quality for us to sustain our lifestyles in the manner we were accustomed to.
I felt Ilya’s stare, the accusation, and the weight of our mutually engineered disaster. He placed the entirety of the blame on me and while I was responsible for much, I was not responsible for the totality.
“It's too late Ramone, you can’t,” Ilya said.
My fists clenched and I stretched out my fingers, the stress and pressure building up in my bones. “If Lucian’s dead, who’s there to stop me?” My fondest memories and my favorite homes resided in that dimension; I couldn’t leave it unattended.
“Are you sure that’s wise?” Stefan arched a brow before sipping his whiskey, an unlit cigar in his other hand.
“Are you sure it's wise to let it crumble completely? Do we know what would happen?” I shot back.
Stefan leaned back against a table, crossing his legs at the ankle. “Nobody knows, this is unprecedented.”
I stalked toward him, leaving several feet between us. “I don’t think we want to find out the hard way.”
“Between that fucking wine, and yours and Ilya’s fumble with Kiara—the one magic source in hundreds of years, we’re fucked no matter what.”
He stood up straight. “However,” he paused to swallow another sip and placed the empty glass down. “Matthew mentioned something during Devane’s internment about wanting to round up all the Thorne women.” Stefan had all our attention now.
“And?” I prompted.
“Where is he?” Stefan pointedly asked.
“How the fuck should I know?”
He glowered at me. “This is your operation.”
“I’m not his keeper; he’s a whole other, unwelcome species,” I snarled back at him and turned around. “Alexander? Are you busy?”
“What? Kind of.” He had the grace to appear apologetic.
“Find Matthew,” I commanded him. “Watch him and see what he’s doing. Or find someone to do that for you.” The man nodded at me.
“Now, Alexander,” I barked. A group of people near us had stopped talking and gave us side-eye. I glared at them until they moved away.
“Smooth, Ramone,” Ilya chuckled.
Letting out a long breath, I asked, “Why does he want one of the Thornes? What is he planning? We found them first, he doesn’t have the right.”
“We can’t just go in, guns blazing. We’ll have to locate any remaining Thorne blood first.” Stefan offered.
“Does your woman possess the DNA?” I asked.
“She does. Not a lot, she’s Kiara’s nineth cousin, something drawn out like that.”
“Magic?” I realized I’d never asked before, nor had I met the girl.
Stefan licked his lips. “Minor, but it's there.” I had the feeling he wouldn’t tell me the full extent of whatever talents the woman possessed.
“We need some of Samantha’s blood,” Ilya stated. Stefan gazed at me, curious.
“You’re not touching her,” I told Ilya. His eyes narrowed.
“I didn’t offer to. Get me some of her blood and I’ll test it. I have a feeling about her,” he said.
The observation sent my thoughts spiraling. If what he was thinking was true, I was more of a risk to her than I’d imagined. The beast inside me would drain her magic. If she died, I would follow—whether by my own hand or someone else’s. Existence without her would be the darkest torture imaginable and my claiming her would surely be her demise. There must be a way to possess her without hurting her. I just had to discover it.
“Julian can’t find out about any of this.” I kept my voice low. “He’ll take every single Thorne woman he can get his hands on.” He would, hoping for another powerful true witch. “We’ll get them first.”
Stefan scowled and Alastair nodded. They knew my father and his proclivities and understood the importance of my words.
If I wouldn’t let anyone near her, it was up to me to do the deed. My talons may come in handy after all—them being less conspicuous than taking a blade to her flesh. An image of her shuddering beneath me while I held a dagger to her breast sent a pleasant tingle down my spine as my mouth watered. I had so many plans for her, so many things I wanted to do for her while her big, beautiful eyes gazed up at me.
I slid a silver cap out of my pocket and placed it on a finger, curling my hand to hide the razor-sharp tip. “How do you want to do this?” I glanced at Ilya.
“Right now?” I stared at him. “Okay, just cut her. Enough so I can swipe a sample,” he said.
Conveniently, Ilya always had an array of useful items tucked on him. I figured he must have cotton swabs and vials in addition to syringes, extensive cutlery, and the firearms he was known for, if he was ready.
Appreciative eyes took us in as we made our way through the spacious hall. We were something new, and something different from the typical beer-bellied beige suit wearing men that were frequently seen in these circles. If the males weren’t the bland stereotype, they were often short, skinny, sloppily dressed in expensive clothing, or drug addicts with extensive parental trauma. Not every man was cursed in those ways, but it was a far too frequent occurrence. We stood out for many reasons, and it was far too useful a gift.
It didn’t take long for Ilya to be approached by a pretty thing in a little black dress. I almost flicked her away when Ilya stayed my hand.
“Hi! Do I know you?” she said, smiling seductively.
“Not yet,” Ilya answered, moving closer to her. He licked his lips and held out his hand.
Placing my hand on his shoulder, I said, “We have somewhere to be.”
The woman looked up at me. “I’m Mckenna.”
“Thank you,” I said to her, before glancing at Ilya. “Let’s go.”
Ilya tilted his head as if apologizing and we continued, leaving little Mckenna pouting. He could always find her later.
Samantha was alone, leaning over a narrow table, reading something. The surface had stacks of brochures, photographs, and a pile of drawstring bags bearing the fundraiser’s company colors in shades of pink and blue. One arm hung by her side, the other resting on the glossy surface.
Silently, I approached her, coming to a halt when I breathed in her rich scent. My eyes fluttered closed, savoring the flavor. Her aura was still muted, though I noticed she sensed me on some level, her energy naturally drifting toward mine. If she wasn’t attracted, or didn’t crave me on some level, that wouldn’t happen.
Removing my clawed finger from my pocket, I stepped closer, eyeing the goosebumps that rose to attention, her skin affected by my proximity. She had to have felt my heat, must have been able to hear my heart beating for her. We were now inches apart.
I leaned toward her. “Samantha.”
She stiffened, and I pricked her shoulder blade, clasping her with my hands. “Ah! What was that?” She tried to wiggle away as I slipped the talon back in my pocket.
Ilya came up behind her and deftly wielded a small stick with a ball of cotton on the end, wiping the wound, and quickly spinning away.
“Are you okay? Let me see?” I tried to turn her, but she freed herself from my grasp.
Samantha glared at me. “I told you to stay away from me.” The anger in her eyes took the oxygen from my lungs as she gave me her back and left my company.
This wouldn’t do, not at all. It was a major problem, needing her while being so very scared for her. I couldn’t trust myself, nor could anyone else trust me. It was inevitable I would hurt her further than I already had, and I wouldn’t stop. I’d been wrong to jail her for an entire year and I knew it. I couldn’t live with it, but I also couldn’t change what I’d done.
“Stop fighting it.” Ilya joined me by the table. “It doesn’t get any better, trust me.”
He would know. “I’ll kill her. I don’t know how to stop myself.”
“You’re stronger than you know.” Ilya’s lips slid into a smirk. “Did you know you weren’t supposed to come back when I put you under?”
My jaw started twitching. “I was unaware of that minor detail.” The man had once put me in a coma designed to keep me immobilized and disempowered for a length of time so he could possess Kiara. If not done correctly, the process can be permanent.
“I would’ve done anything it took.” He shoved his fingers in his pockets, his thumbs fiddling with the seams. He was nervous, and possibly traumatized, still, if he was going as far as to wrinkle his clothing.
I sighed. “I could’ve survived without that knowledge.”
“Just fucking take her. Do whatever you have to, or you’ll go crazy, and someone will dispose of you.”
My father would, either way. Just because he could. I’d rather die with the woman I loved by my side, if I had a choice in the matter. Ilya didn’t have to say the name for me to know exactly who “someone” was.