2. Rowan
TWO
ROWAN
Rowan’s night was shaping up to be delightfully uneventful. Business had concluded early, and he was contemplating reorganizing the books in his office when the door burst open, revealing Cecile and Felix, who was covered in blood.
He beckoned them in and shut the door.
Cecile wrinkled her nose at Felix’s gruesome appearance, her delicate, pale face scrunching. She was as tiny as he was large, though to this day, Rowan couldn’t say whom he’d be more reluctant to face in a fight.
“I’d ask what was so urgent, but from the looks of it, things have been dealt with,” she said.
“I’m not so sure.” Rowan handed the bloody vampire a dish towel from the room’s private bar. This had to be serious if Felix had called Cecile, rather than wait for Rowan to update her later. “What’s happening?”
Felix wiped blood splatters from his tanned cheeks and dark beard. His permanently hard expression didn’t falter. “First of all, the problem hasn’t been dealt with.”
“Then why are you bloody?” Cecile’s sharp gaze softened. “Were you hurt?”
“Of course not. This isn’t my blood. I was called in to deal with a feral vampire and had to take him out, but he isn’t the real problem.”
Of course he wasn’t. That would be too simple.
Rowan kept the comment to himself, remaining still and impassive, his frustration firmly locked down so it wouldn’t show. He wasn’t upset with Felix, so why bother him with the emotion?
Feral—for lack of a better term—vampires weren’t common, but dealing with them was rather straightforward.
“What’s the problem, other than the obvious carnage?
I assume the feral’s sire was too bereft to put him down?
” It was understandable, but meant that any deaths were blood on the sire’s hands, which Rowan would need to address.
“His sire wasn’t there.” Felix gave up on the towel and discarded it on the bar.
“The poor guy seemed coherent, so I tried to talk to him. After I stopped him from tearing people apart. But I was wrong. He kept repeating the same words as he clawed at me, eyes glowing white and already frothing at the mouth. Eventually, he couldn’t form more than growls.
Once I realized how far gone his mind was, there was nothing I could do except put him out of his misery. ”
Rowan winced. It didn’t pay to be a complete wall of stone, and any vampire could sympathize with such an end. Feral vampires were the result of botched transformations, whether done accidentally by an inexperienced sire or deliberately to create a monster. There was no cure.
“What did the vampire say?” Rowan asked.
Felix’s expression turned grave, his strong brow cutting a sharp line of disapproval. “He said Rowan Valero turned him.”
Rowan’s stomach dropped, the unfamiliar swooping sensation more jarring than he liked. He pressed his lips together, the only outward sign of shock he allowed himself.
Well, he hadn’t seen this coming.
“We know you didn’t turn him,” Felix said.
Cecile muttered, “Obviously.”
Felix went on, “It must’ve been a deliberate feral transformation with a lie like that planted in his head. It was as if Rowan Valero turned me were the only words he knew. He couldn’t even tell me his name.”
“Someone’s trying to give the impression I’m creating feral vampires and setting them loose on the city?
” Rowan’s jaw clenched. He was sick to death of rival covens coming for his position.
This was a new angle, no doubt there, but it was a sloppy, deadly, and an unnecessarily cruel way to start a territory war.
No one Rowan respected would believe he was behind a botched transformation, no matter what the feral vampire claimed, and the opinions of Rowan’s enemies didn’t concern him. Shearwater Landing was his city. Other people in the magic world answered to him, not the other way around.
There was a frantic knock, and the office door flung open for a second time. “Sorry, boss,” Kai said, his expression drawn. “We’ve got a guy about to keel over from a curse, and he’s asking for you.”
“Keel over?”
Kai nodded. “Don’t know what’s wrong, but it doesn’t look like he’s gonna make it. He showed up at the club to find you.”
Rowan headed for the door. It was one of those nights, it seemed, with everything fucking up at once.
And he’d thought he’d have time to relax.
“Go clean up, Felix, then see what else you can find out about the feral vampire with Cecile. Maybe whoever called for help knows something. I’ll handle this. ”
They agreed, and Rowan hurried after Kai.
“Do we know this guy?”
“Don’t think so. I didn’t recognize him.” Kai frowned. “He said his name’s Lane.”
Rowan stopped short. “Lane Blackburn?”
Kai’s steps faltered. “Shit. He didn’t even cross my mind. I stayed with the guy while Jack fetched Hunter. He couldn’t get many words out, but now you mention it, I can’t swear it’s not Blackburn. He isn’t looking good if it is.”
Rowan followed Kai down the stairs. Not recognizing Lane Blackburn was impossible to imagine, but Kai and Rowan’s experiences with the weasel were vastly different. Could it be him? No, Rowan was jumping to conclusions. There was no way that Lane would return after what happened.
“What’s he hoping I can do?”
“No clue. Hunter is checking him out, but he can’t do much more against a curse than the rest of us. Nicole is on her way if we can wait twenty minutes.” From the sound of it, Kai didn’t think they could.
This wasn’t good. Rowan kept several witches on retainer, Nicole included, but emergency life-saving magic wasn’t why he hired them.
“Lane’s a witch. I sensed his magic.” Kai sounded uneasy now. “Blackburn should have come to mind sooner, but I haven’t thought about him or his coven in years.”
“Don’t worry about it, I haven’t either.” Which was true, so why was Lane’s youthful face so clear in Rowan’s mind? “Lane Blackburn wouldn’t come to us for help.”
“Good point. He’d have his coven.”
Who were permanently banned from the city. None of them should be anywhere near here.
Why the hell would any witch dying of a curse seek out the Valeros? This Lane person—who surely wasn’t a Blackburn—must’ve had nowhere else to go. Perhaps he’d been close by? Rowan had a reputation for helping people among certain circles.
This wasn’t usually what he helped with. How could he? Active magic, spells, and counter curses were beyond any vampire’s ability.
He and Kai arrived at Hunter’s clinic room, used to draw blood to stock the coven’s private supply.
Hunter had his back to the door, blocking the patient in the exam chair. The vampire-doctor’s previous career was in emergency human medicine, so it was no surprise he was doing all he could. “Why’d you come to Rowan for help? Where’s your coven?”
“I’ll take it from here, Hunter,” Rowan said, and Hunter moved out of the way, revealing Lane fucking Blackburn.
Even after ten years, recognition struck Rowan like an electric jolt. His senses prickled, and unease slithered along his spine, alarm bells ringing.
Lane returning after his coven had double-crossed the Valeros could be part of a trap.
“Lane Blackburn,” Rowan said coolly, “I told you to never return to this city.”
Lane’s expression crumpled. He was clearly dying, his skin sickly white, sweat lining his face, and shivers shaking every inch of him. So why did Rowan’s words seem to crush him?
It made Rowan feel rotten inside.
“Why are you here?” Rowan asked, doing his best to concentrate despite the confusing ache growing around the vicinity of his heart.
“To find you.” Lane closed his eyes, somehow making everything worse. He looked so much older than the last time Rowan had seen him. Lane had aged, but he’d only be in his thirties now.
He shouldn’t look like this. So broken.
“I’m here,” Rowan assured him, unable to suppress the urge to comfort. “What happened? What kind of curse is this?”
Lane’s eyes fluttered open. “Hurts. Everywhere. Can’t use magic. Maybe in my blood.” He shook his head. “Need to tell you the Hillman Coven is coming.”
Rowan stepped closer, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. “Who?” He’d never heard of the Hillman Coven.
Lane met Rowan’s gaze with apparent effort. “Hillmans are coming for you. They have…plan. Take you out. Careful.” His eyes fell shut, and he went deathly still.
Rowan’s chest seized, the lights in the room suddenly too bright, and something within him snapped. Had Lane come all this way as he was dying, forsaking any hope of countering the curse, to warn him? Why?
“We can’t let him die.” Rowan’s voice nearly faltered, his nerves shot to Hell. What the Devils was wrong with him? He could handle anything with poise, but then Lane had always tempted him to act differently, like something about him scrambled Rowan’s better judgment.
“Whatever we do, we’ve got to hurry,” Hunter said, firm but without betraying any alarm. “His heart is slowing.”
Yes, Rowan could hear Lane’s faltering heartbeat with his own enhanced hearing. They had to think fast. This wasn’t the time to indulge emotion.
Wondering if this was a trap had been emotional. Old hurts rising to the surface. The Blackburns wouldn’t let one of their own die to further their schemes, not unless everything had changed, and Rowan couldn’t see Lane sacrificing himself. Not from what he’d known of the man before.
And what would be the point of this sacrifice? Nothing. There was no logic to it. No logic to any of this, and it threw Rowan off course. It was absurd for Lane to warn him after betraying him. To put his life in an enemy’s hands.
It was too much responsibility. How was Rowan supposed to save him? His need to do so clawed at him, yet he was helpless. Seconds ticked by, and Lane got paler, looking more like death than the vibrant man Rowan remembered.
No matter how much he’d grown to hate those vibrant good looks, he didn’t want Lane to die.
Rowan grasped at straws. “Vampire blood won’t stop the curse, but it might heal some of the damage and give us time for Nicole to arrive.”