6. Rowan
SIX
ROWAN
Rowan listened to Lane and Hunter chatter from the other side of the clinic door. Who was the spy now?
He ran a hand through his hair, antsy when stillness usually came naturally.
One sleepless night shouldn’t have affected him.
Vampires could go days before lack of rest caught up to them, and yet, he felt worn out.
Perhaps it was mental exhaustion. Lane was spreading lies about the past again, and Rowan was tired of it.
Especially after he’d seemed so open over breakfast.
Lane must want Hunter as a friend, an ally, and was guarding his image.
Hunter was a smart choice now that Lane knew he wasn’t a Valero.
Not that devious indeed. Unless Lane was merely frightened and scrambling?
Desperate for someone to see him in a positive light because it was the only way he believed he’d survive?
Rowan groaned.
Yes, this endless second-guessing was why he was exhausted. How long could he put up with it? Standing on opposite sides of a door was as much privacy as he’d get until Nicole broke the curse.
He was trapped, and there was nothing he could do. His chest tightened. Lane was poised to see too much. Hear things he shouldn’t. Even if he hadn’t arrived intending to spy, he’d gained access to things Rowan would never share with a Blackburn.
The tightness in his chest grew until something tugged deep within, a feeling he hadn’t had in a century.
Rowan went deathly still. No. It couldn’t be. But the tug persisted, his sire’s dark presence looming. How? He was dead. Rowan clenched his fist, and his knuckles cracked.
The feeling vanished. Of course it did. Cris was nothing but a memory.
But why was Rowan feeling the echo of his long-dead presence now?
He glared over his shoulder as if he could see through the wall. Damn Lane for mentioning his sire and pushing his mind down this path.
The scent of smoke tinged the air. Now Rowan was sure he was dreaming. Reminiscing. Having a flashback. Whatever you wanted to call it. Memories Rowan did his best to avoid swam to the surface: burning Cris to ash, the pain of going against his sire-bond, the fear.
“Thanks, Hunter.” Lane emerged from the clinic and frowned at Rowan. “What’s up with you?”
“Nothing. Are you finished?”
“Yeah, all good, other than the curse. Hey, I was thinking I could help Nicole. I’m probably no match for her in counterspells, but it can’t hurt to try.”
“It can if I’m stuck in the witch room all day.”
Lane’s face closed off, and Rowan belatedly noted hope there. Hope he’d crushed like a bug.
“Rowan, there you are.” Felix strode toward them, scowling. “We’ve had another one.”
Lane crossed his arms and turned his back. To give the illusion of privacy, or was he mad?
Rowan tore his attention away. It didn’t matter. “What are you talking about, Felix?”
“Another feral vampire tore through an apartment building in the Arts District last night.”
“Shit.”
“He did more damage than the one I stopped. And it goes without saying that none of us heard of the incident until now. There are some angry witches here to see you.”
Rowan’s insides lurched. “This feral vampire claimed I was his sire, didn’t he?”
Felix nodded, apologetic even though this wasn’t his fault. “He did.”
Lane stiffened, but didn’t turn around.
Ignore him. “Have you shown the witches upstairs?”
“No, they won’t come in. They’re waiting on the street.”
Dammit. “Lane, come with us.” Rowan waited for his full attention. “I only ask you don’t butt in.”
He gave a blank look. “I wouldn’t. It’s not like I know what you’re talking about.”
Was that all he had to say? No interrogation about Rowan’s connection to a feral vampire?
Perhaps that would come later.
Not wanting to leave angry witches on his doorstep, Rowan led the way to the building’s entrance without further discussion.
As he reached the bottom of the stairs, his steps slowed.
Lane might hear the witches’ story and believe he’d created a monster.
What if he snapped and resumed screaming about Rowan killing him, claiming he killed whoever was in his way, discarding people like pawns?
Lane was primed to believe the worst, and Rowan hated it so fiercely, his stomach hurt.
He paused in the dark entryway, everything inside him impossibly tight. Felix gave him an odd look, but didn’t pry.
Rowan couldn’t take it. He faced Lane. “I didn’t sire this feral vampire, or any other. I would never hurt someone like that.”
Lane met his eyes, gaze unwavering and lacking its usual defiance. “I know. I didn’t think you had.”
It didn’t sound like a lie, so perhaps Lane was starting to trust him. Rowan was tempted to relax. He didn’t, but he could accept this olive branch and offered his own. “Thank you.”
He nodded to Felix, feeling better, even if he wasn’t his usual unfaltering self. Felix opened the door, and Rowan slipped out, Lane behind him, keeping close without positioning himself at Rowan’s side. Rowan hoped that counting on him not to make this confrontation worse was the right call.
“Rowan Valero. I see you’ve brought your muscle,” said a short woman, flanked by two others. Rowan’s vampire sense confirmed they all possessed magic.
“Hardly,” Felix muttered as he came to stand beside Rowan.
He could see why the witch felt otherwise. Lane was shorter than Felix, and perhaps not as built, but nowhere near as willowy as Rowan. As if stature mattered to vampires.
“How may I help—sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met. What’s your name?” Rowan asked smoothly.
“No, we haven’t, which has been nice. I’m Ava. No coven association. My sister was killed last night.” Her gaze burned with painful fury.
Rowan’s heart sank. “I am so sorry, Ava. Felix tells me a feral vampire attacked, but I swear on my immortal life they weren’t my creation.”
“If I believed they were, I wouldn’t waste time talking,” Ava said. Her companions nodded their agreement, and Rowan’s heavy heart lightened. “This is still your fault. Someone put your name in the vampire’s mouth and set him loose in our building.”
“We aren’t collateral in your disputes,” the man next to her grumbled. “We don’t even know you, other than by reputation.”
“You’re right. No one should be collateral damage,” Rowan agreed.
“I don’t know who’s creating these feral vampires.
If I did, it’d already be dealt with.” It was important to make it clear he wasn’t sitting around letting this happen or wasting time negotiating with a known enemy.
“I’ll find out who’s behind this and end them. ”
Ava didn’t appear impressed. “How long have attacks like this been happening?”
“Last night was the first I heard of a feral claiming me as their sire,” he said, and she seemed slightly mollified. Rowan would take what he could get. “Where can we find this latest vampire? Hopefully, I can learn something from their identity to help find the one responsible.”
“His body is in the van.” Ava jerked a thumb behind her. “He’s got no ID, and he didn’t say anything coherent other than claiming to be yours.”
Damnation.
“Any idea where he came from? Was anyone seen with him?” Felix asked.
Ava shook her head.
Rowan asked about the witches killed, and Ava gave their names. She refused any help with putting them to rest and confirmed no humans were caught in the crossfire this time. She also made a point of having no enemies herself. Same for the other lone witches living in her building.
“We’ll take the vampire from here,” Rowan said. “If you wouldn’t mind pulling the van into the alleyway so we aren’t seen, I’d appreciate it.”
The man who’d spoken earlier quickly obliged, probably eager to leave.
Ava watched him reverse along the narrow drive with tired eyes. “How do we know this won’t happen again?”
“We don’t.” Rowan hated being unable to reassure her. Random acts of violence were far more difficult to combat than covens that confronted him openly.
He asked a few more questions about where the feral vampire was first seen, but no one noticed him before he was inside their building.
It wasn’t located far from Felix’s encounter with the other feral.
He and Cecile hadn’t uncovered anything helpful last night.
Had the culprit released both vampires at once, or dropped them on specific targets?
The first victims being human suggested it was random.
They’d have to check the area again, in case they’d missed a lead. Rowan didn’t expect the sire to stick around after releasing his beasts, but there was nothing else to go on. Maybe one of the cameras in the area had caught something.
Down the alley beside Rowan’s building, safely hidden from the street, Felix opened the windowless van’s rear double doors, Rowan at his side, and Lane at Rowan’s elbow. A headless corpse lay in the back with a bloody cardboard box at its feet.
Lane made a sharp, strangled sound that cut through Rowan like a knife. He whipped around in time to see Lane’s face drain of color, his eyes wide and features twisted in horror.
“Are you all right?” Rowan’s heart skipped. Had Lane never seen a body like this?
His pained expression hardened, skin going ashen. “This is fucked up.”
“It is. I’m sorry. I didn’t think.” Rowan gently guided Lane away from the open doors. He should have made sure Lane wasn’t looking, or warned him what he was about to see.
“I’ll take care of this.” Felix caught Rowan’s eye before addressing Lane. “I’ve gotta get to the door over there, so look away a moment, will you?”
Lane didn’t respond. His color was nearly as sickly as it’d been last night. Rowan nodded encouragingly to him, and he seemed to shake himself, then slowly faced the wall.
Rowan positioned himself between Lane and the van. “You good on your own?” he asked Felix.
“Yep.” He heaved the vampire over one shoulder and gathered the box under his other arm. “Get the door for me?”
Rowan opened the side entrance leading to the stairwell, and Felix disappeared with vampire speed. Rowan closed the van, giving the witches the all clear, and it pulled away.
“Lane?”
He didn’t turn around. “I’ve never seen a dead person before.”
Shit. “I’m sorry.” The apology felt thin and unbearably inadequate.
“Why are you sorry? I shouldn’t have looked. You didn’t make me.” Lane pressed his palms to his eyes. “Fuck, I think I’m going to be sick.” He doubled over and heaved.
Rowan was lost for what to do. He’d said the Valeros weren’t big on bloodshed, and they weren’t, but that was a matter of perspective.
Lane would likely think Rowan’s life full of horrors if he knew the details.
Rowan should do something for him, but what?
He couldn’t even give Lane privacy as he got sick.
When his stomach seemed empty, Lane straightened with a groan and wiped his mouth. “Sorry. Fuck.”
“Don’t be. Come on, let’s get out of here.” Rowan gently steered Lane toward the side door. “We won’t run into Felix. He’ll be long gone, so don’t worry.”
The urge to offer more reassurance nagged as they ascended the stairs. Would Lane welcome it or be embarrassed? Rowan waffled silently until it had been too long to say anything further without betraying his awkwardness.
Lane stayed closer than he had been, his steps less than steady. Rowan prayed he wouldn’t faint. He’d catch him, of course. His reflexes were superhuman, but that wasn’t the point.
This had been a fuck-up.
Rowan had been doing his best to ignore Lane’s presence altogether, worried about protecting his own secrets and nothing else.
He hadn’t spared a thought for how being dragged through his life might affect Lane, and yet he’d promised to take care of him.
Rowan had failed, and it was unacceptable.
This wasn’t how he treated people trapped in situations they hadn’t asked for, and he believed Lane hadn’t asked for this, no matter what lies he told Hunter about the past.
Failure. Worthless. The words echoed in Cris’s voice. Rowan hadn’t imagined his sire’s rebukes in decades, but he deserved the punishment. He felt wretched, the scent of blood lingering in the stairwell like a reminder of his weakness in the face of his urges. His inadequacy.
He sniffed subtly at the scent of blood in the air, and his fangs itched.
How odd. He was…thirsty. Drinking blood wasn’t a daily requirement, and at his age, Rowan’s thirst was well under control.
Even young vampires like Hunter could reliably master the urge to feed unnecessarily in the presence of blood.
So why were Rowan’s fangs aching to drop?
He shouldn’t need to feed for a few days at least.
Maybe it was the feral blood. He’d have to ask if Felix noticed.
On the fourth floor, Lane asked to go to the bathroom, so Rowan brought him to his room.
He couldn’t ignore a sinking feeling that he might as well stay here for the rest of the day.
It would save the back and forth, and he clearly needed to think harder about where he brought Lane, but being idle wasn’t Rowan’s nature.
He should be on his way to the Arts District.
The feral vampire problem couldn’t wait until after the curse had been lifted.
He texted Emile, his head enforcer, and requested he meet with Felix and investigate as soon as possible. Emile’s affirmative reply was instant. Rowan should feel grateful he was surrounded by people he could trust, rather than guilty he wasn’t solving this problem himself.
Yet another disappointment, his sire’s phantom voice said. Why am I not surprised?
Rowan shook off the familiar criticism. The water in the bathroom turned on, and a text arrived from Cecile, asking what he wanted to do about a meeting scheduled for that night.
It had slipped Rowan’s mind, which wasn’t like him at all.
He was thankful Cecile hadn’t witnessed his flinch upon receiving the reminder.
He replied, asking her to take the meeting in his place. It wasn’t something Lane could tag along to, and canceling didn’t bode well. Cecile readily agreed, and Rowan tried to feel good about that.
His guilt grew, and once he texted Felix to ask if he felt unusually thirsty, there was nothing left to do.
Rowan ran his tongue over his aching fangs. Not surprisingly, the smell of blood hadn’t carried this far, since the body hadn’t been brought through his room. The dead vampire would be kept on the fifth floor until he could be identified and put to rest. Rowan’s reaction should have faded.
His phone vibrated.
Felix:
I don’t feel anything.
Unease twisted Rowan’s gut. Was it the curse?