5. Lane
FIVE
LANE
Lane faced Rowan’s simmering fury with dwindling confidence.
He’d left his coven to prove he was someone his father could rely on, to save him from getting sucked into another scheme, and somehow this was where he ended up. Helpless. The opposite of who he wanted to be, especially in front of Rowan Valero.
“Why’d you kill your sire then?” he asked.
“Not to rid myself of a nuisance. I’m not that cruel.”
So Lane was a nuisance. “I’m sure you can justify offing me. Taking out a threat, perhaps?”
Rowan took a menacing step closer. “Are you the kind of threat I’d take out? Think, Lane. I didn’t hurt you after you betrayed me, and I won’t do it now. You’ve done nothing wrong. I believe you’re telling the truth about why you’re here.”
“Are you kidding? Since when? After everything you said last night, you suddenly trust me?” Lane wasn’t that gullible.
Rowan’s jaw clenched. “I don’t suddenly trust you, but that doesn’t mean you showed up to entrap me. The curse being part of a plot is too far-fetched. You came for help, and so I’ll help you.”
“But if you change your mind again and deem me a threat, all bets are off?” Lane’s hands shook. He felt like he was falling and couldn’t stop as the ground rushed up on him.
“I didn’t say that.”
“Didn’t deny it either.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say, Lane. I’d never kill you like this. It’s low, and not how I operate. Trust is irrelevant. This is about principle.”
Lane was desperate to believe him, which was exactly why he shouldn’t. Not without solid proof. Words were too often empty. “Trust isn’t irrelevant to me. Not when it’s life and death.”
“Then what do you propose? How can I convince you that you aren’t in danger?”
“I’ll take your word for it when you can do the same for me. Think you can manage that?”
“All right. That’s fair,” Rowan said, halting Lane’s next cutting remark.
He hadn’t expected Rowan to back down, let alone agree he had a point. Was Rowan for real?
Rowan gestured toward the door. “Why don’t we go across the hall? I’ll have clean clothes brought in for you. And breakfast,” he added as if the need for human food had only just occurred to him.
Lane’s gaze bounced from the door to Rowan and back. “Fine.”
He had to get out of here. Away from Rowan’s stare. He headed out of the room, aware enough of Rowan’s presence that he didn’t need to turn and check.
In the bedroom, Lane shut himself in the bathroom for privacy. All the taps were gold, and the counter was covered in little trinkets. It was weirdly pretty, but Lane hardly saw what lay before him. He braced against the counter and shut his eyes.
He couldn’t go on like this, sitting around waiting to see what Rowan decided to do with him, waiting for a witch to perform an impossible spell. He couldn’t take it.
He counted backward from ten and laid out the facts.
Rowan wasn’t evil. Lane had learned the inaccuracy of those rumors ten years ago.
Did he believe Rowan’s morals were firm enough that he’d never kill him while they were bound together?
It was more likely than the flip side. Lane didn’t genuinely believe Rowan had killed his sire in a cold-hearted power grab. There had to be more to it.
Rowan had also changed his mind about Lane being here to trap him, and he wasn’t one to tell placating lies. It seemed Rowan was capable of hearing Lane’s side and admitting when he was wrong. That wasn’t how someone looking for an excuse to kill acted. Rowan had never been rash.
Maybe Lane was safe in his hands. As safe as he could be when death was only a few steps away.
He splashed water on his face and brushed his teeth with the new toothbrush he’d found in a drawer the night before. Rowan had agreed it was fair for Lane to trust his word when he trusted Lane’s. Did that mean Rowan was open to trusting him, or was he agreeing they’d never trust each other?
Could Lane convince Rowan to give him a chance?
He had to try. Proving himself could change everything. He could clear up Rowan’s misconceptions about him—about their past—and when he got out of here, he could prove himself to his father as planned.
He had no interest in letting the Blackburns stumble into another conflict with the Valeros. Neither Rowan nor Marshall wanted that. The two covens might never be friendly, but they didn’t have to be at odds.
What if Lane could bring the whole feud to an end? Clear the bad blood?
There was a polite knock on the door. “I have clothes.”
Lane opened it, finding Rowan blank-faced and holding a few folded garments. “That was fast.”
“We have items on hand. In case things get messy.” Rowan didn’t look like a man who enjoyed mess. He’d changed his suit while Lane slept, this one as fine as the last.
Lane took the neatly folded pile, thankful it wasn’t a suit. “I didn’t think the Valeros were big on bloodshed.”
“We aren’t, but not everyone in the city shares our views.”
“Too bad. It would make life easier.”
Rowan’s brow quirked. After a brief pause, he closed the door.
That wasn’t so bad. No shouting. No accusations.
Lane dressed in clean underwear, dark jeans, and a shirt that was a little on the tight side. After taking another few moments to steady himself, he emerged.
Rowan leaned against the wall, ankles crossed and phone in hand. “Hunter texted. Your bloodwork came back normal.”
Lane paused in the doorway. “Already?”
“Perks of having your own lab. He’s headed over to check you out again.”
“Oh.” Lane wasn’t sure why. He felt fine, physically, and human tests wouldn’t help Nicole. “Is he a real doctor?”
“Hunter is licensed to practice human medicine, if that’s what you mean.”
It’d be interesting to know how old Hunter was. Same went for Rowan, who appeared close to Lane’s age of thirty-five. How long he’d been that age, Lane would probably never find out. You weren’t supposed to ask how old a vampire was or ask about a vampire’s life before their transformation.
There was a knock at the door, and Rowan went to answer, Lane following behind. Trailing along would get old fast, but Lane had no desire to test the limits of their link.
What if it shrank as Rowan’s blood slowly worked out of his system?
The bouncer Lane vaguely recognized—Kai, Rowan had called him last night—was at the door. “Hope you like bagels.” He flashed Lane a smile, handing him a bag and a to-go coffee cup.
“Um. Thanks, Kai.”
He nodded and left like a man who had a busy schedule to attend to.
Rowan’s head cocked. “You remembered his name?”
“From last night. Not…before.”
“Ah. He didn’t recognize you either. You may recall Felix, who was in the clinic last night, from the last time you were around? Jack, the other bouncer, and Hunter are new.”
“Yeah, Felix is hard to forget.” Not wanting to dwell on last time and start another fight, Lane added, “Should we head to your office now that I’m decent?”
Rowan’s room was too personal. The style was so glaringly different from the rest of the building that it had to hold significance. Being here twisted something deep inside Lane. He knew Rowan would never have invited him in unless forced to.
Not that he’d been forced to tuck Lane into bed. He could have slept on the couch.
Rowan’s promise to take care filled Lane’s mind.
“Let’s go,” Rowan agreed, apparently glad to escape his bedroom.
In the office, he retreated behind his desk, and Lane settled on the couch closest, sipping his coffee. The bagel was toasted with cream cheese and tasted better than anything he’d ever eaten.
Rowan’s fingers flew across his phone screen, typing message after message. Not wanting to rekindle Rowan’s suspicion that he was spying, Lane angled himself away and concentrated on breakfast.
“There’s video footage of you being dumped by the river,” Rowan said out of nowhere.
Lane coughed and swung around. “How do you know?”
“The coven looked into it. A security camera across the road caught a van pushing you out the back. It had stolen plates, so I can’t confirm who it belongs to.”
His coven discovered all that in less than twelve hours?
“I was wondering,” Rowan went on. “How well do you know the Hillman witches you followed here?”
“I can give you names, but I don’t know them well. They’d been in meetings with my father, not me.”
“Who’s the Hillman Coven leader?”
“I never met him, and my father never mentioned him by name.”
“Isn’t that strange?”
“Not really. I wasn’t happy my father was meeting with them after saying he’d given up alliances, and I wasn’t quiet about it.
” Lane had also been living apart from his coven for years and hadn’t been back terribly long when he voiced his objections.
He’d seen his father regularly, and wouldn’t have called his time away an estrangement—it was independence—but he hadn’t been involved in coven politics in a long time, so his father’s tight-lipped nature wasn’t surprising.
Rowan changed tack. “Is this a new alliance?”
“Yeah. It was proposed a few months ago.”
“Hmm. You’re being very forthcoming.”
“Would you rather I wasn’t? I’ve got nothing to hide.”
“It would seem not.” Rowan glanced at his phone, and it was impossible to tell if he believed Lane. “As far as my sources know, the Blackburns have stayed firmly in Oregon for years. Like you said.”
“Makes sense, since I was telling the truth.” Hopefully he didn’t sound too bitter.
There was a long pause, and Rowan returned to typing on his phone, so Lane finished his bagel.
Eventually, Rowan set his phone down with a click.
“Why do you think the Hillmans tried to kill you to keep what you learned from your father? It doesn’t sound like the Blackburns are as involved in magic world politics as they used to be.
Why would the Hillmans be so desperate to keep a new relationship with your coven from souring? ”