9. Lane
NINE
LANE
Rowan’s screams shook Lane far beyond the jarring wake-up call, and the unaffected, blank manner he adopted in the morning only cracked Lane’s confidence further.
What was he hiding?
Keeping his fears from Lane wasn’t a shocking development. They hardly knew each other, and the understanding they’d reached last night was far from friendship. Miles away from confidants. Lane was still the last person Rowan would look to for any kind of support.
Lane wished otherwise. He’d like the chance to be what Rowan needed. But maybe he was taking hope too far.
As the morning wore on, Rowan acted as if nothing had happened. He didn’t have any private words with anyone, unless he’d been texting his heart out and finding support in secret. Somehow, Lane doubted it. He was probably working, running his empire from his phone.
Even if Lane couldn’t be the one to help Rowan, someone should. Keeping all that inside wasn’t good for anyone.
Eventually, the texting stopped. Lane had been making a show of reading on the couch and looked up. Rowan was seated behind his desk, staring unmoving at his phone. Lane wanted to tell him it was okay to relax, that he didn’t have to pretend for Lane’s sake.
“You’re staring,” Rowan grumbled without turning his head.
Lane refused to look away. “I’m thinking.”
Rowan ran his tongue over his top teeth, lingering on a retracted fang. “That was a hint. Stop looking my direction.”
“I’m looking out the window behind you. Not at you,” Lane lied.
“Right. Sure you are.” Rowan stood abruptly. “I need a drink.” He strode over to the small bar next to Lane and grabbed a glass, hesitated, then grabbed another. “Would you like a bourbon?”
The courtesy didn’t fit Rowan’s pissy mood, and Lane was kind of touched. Rowan never would have offered yesterday. “It’s a little early for me, but I’ll take another coffee.”
Rowan huffed and poured himself a measure of brown liquid from one of the decanters. “I’m not making coffee.” Without turning around, he swallowed the drink in one gulp.
Lane’s spine stiffened. Vampires had a higher alcohol tolerance than humans and witches, but they weren’t immune to intoxication.
Did Rowan often chase his feelings away with fancy liquor? Lane wouldn’t have thought so, but what did he know?
“The window is over there, yet you’re still staring.”
Lane didn’t budge. “I’m wondering if you’re okay.”
“I’m fine. Thirsty, like I said.” Rowan stooped and opened a cabinet, revealing a hidden mini fridge stocked with blood bags. “If the smell makes you sick, I suggest waiting in the hall.”
Lane stayed where he was. “I’ll be fine. Drinking blood doesn’t bother me. What happened yesterday was different.”
Too many alarm bells were going off in Lane’s head for anything to distract him, even memories of the poor vampire in the van. Rowan was fighting hard to maintain his usual indifference, and the problem couldn’t be thirst alone, not after the way he’d screamed last night.
Rowan poured blood into his glass, filling it nearly to the brim, and carried it to his desk, where he drank it more slowly than the bourbon. Lane couldn’t help noticing he lacked his usual grace.
The office door flew open. “Vampire on a rampage across the street,” Felix said in a rush. A second later, he was gone.
“Damnation.” Rowan was on his feet. “We need to go.”
Lane followed him out the door at a run, all other concerns pushed to the back burner. “Has your coven discovered anything about the feral from yesterday?”
“No, they haven’t. Fuck.” Rowan paused at the entrance to the stairs. “We’re about to walk into a bloody mess. Will it be too much to handle?”
“I—I don’t know.” There was no point lying. “You drinking from a glass is one thing. An attack…” Carnage like the headless vampire. Maybe worse. People being torn apart before his eyes. Lane swallowed. “I still want to help in any way I can.”
Rowan nodded and took off down the stairs, Lane beside him.
“I appreciate your willingness. Just know your limits. Warn me if you aren’t okay, so I’m not caught off guard.
We have to stick close together.” He shot a glance at Lane.
“I don’t want to have to worry about you.
” It could have sounded like a dig, but didn’t.
“I won’t hold back,” Lane promised.
Rowan couldn’t seem to hide a flicker of pleasant surprise. “Thank you. You’re a good person.”
Lane’s insides felt like they’d been left behind as they ran. Why did a simple compliment have him in a chokehold?
Maybe he was getting through to Rowan more than he realized.
A scream cut through the air as they reached the ground floor. Rowan banged out the front doors and ran across the street, heading for a small café. Lane kept at his heel, magic at the ready.
The door was open. Inside, tables and chairs were scattered, and smashed cups and spilled drinks littered the floor. Most people seemed to have run.
Behind the counter, a man in an apron struggled against a headlock. He was clearly no match for his captor’s strength despite being larger. The little guy clutching him snarled, his eyes glowing white and fangs bared.
Lane stopped short. Rowan’s hand shot out to halt him unnecessarily. Felix and Cecile—who Lane hadn’t seen in ten years but would never forget—stood frozen beside them.
There was no blood. Not even on the vampire’s mouth.
“Help me,” the trapped man pleaded.
Rowan held out his hands. “We will, I promise. Stay calm. You’re doing a great job.”
The feral vampire screeched, yanking his captive toward the back of the café. The man whimpered. It was hard to tell through the white glow obscuring his eyes, but the vampire seemed as terrified as his captive, not like the mindless beasts Lane imagined ferals to be.
“Rowan,” the vampire rasped, clutching his hostage tighter. “Rowan sired me.”
“Yes, I’m here. I’m Rowan.” He inched steadily forward. “It’s me you want, not that human.”
The vampire’s grip on his captive slackened. He blinked, his glowing eyes confused, and the human almost broke free.
In a whirl of blurred movement too fast for Lane to follow, Rowan and Felix rushed forward.
Snarls and shouts filled the café, then everything went still.
Rowan now held the terrified human, and Felix had the feral vampire in an iron grip.
Next to the giant enforcer, he looked about as threatening as a puppy.
Well, maybe more like a wolf pup. He screamed and thrashed, the white light in his eyes pulsing.
His sharp fangs sank into Felix’s arm, tearing flesh and spilling blood.
Felix didn’t even flinch. He clutched the vampire tighter and tangled a hand in his hair to pull him off.
The feral yelped as his mouth was torn from Felix’s arm, sending blood splattering across the floor.
Rowan shoved the human to the side, staggering forward and stumbling to one knee, his fists clenched.
What the hell? Lane glanced at Cecile. Alarm lined her face for a split second before the frantic human commanded her attention.
Lane took a step forward. “Rowan?”
He turned, fangs extended and mouth open in a silent snarl. The hair on the back of Lane’s neck stood on end.
“Snap out of it, Rowan,” Felix said, stern but level, his grip on the struggling vampire unrelenting.
Was Rowan reacting to Felix’s blood? Shit. Lane was sure that wasn’t normal, especially the way the other vampires reacted to Rowan’s sudden shift.
He rushed forward and clasped Rowan’s shoulder. “It’s all right. Tell me what you need.”
Rowan didn’t move for long seconds, his twisted features fixed on Lane. Everyone in the room seemed to hold their breath. Even the snarling vampire faltered.
Rowan shook Lane off and stood. “Apologies.” His fangs retracted, and his features smoothed out.
The feral vampire growled with renewed vengeance, teeth snapping at Felix like a crocodile. The human whimpered.
“Would you mind taking care of him?” Rowan asked Cecile, gesturing to the terrified man as if he hadn’t fallen to his knees in some sort of weird vampire meltdown.
She gave him a searching look, but nodded and walked the human outside. Lane watched through the window as she spoke to the man, her eyes glowing orange, likely indicating her use of hypnosis.
Rowan might not use the power lightly, but this wasn’t a light situation. Lane couldn’t see any way around erasing this horrible disaster from the human’s mind without making him aware of the magic world in the most traumatizing way.
A whimpering snarl dragged Lane’s attention to the feral vampire. He whined like a hurt dog, and Felix’s features twisted in pain, a flash of deep emotion, there and gone.
Lane’s chest constricted. “Is there anything we can do for him?” The incurable nature of feral transformations was deeply unfair. Lane couldn’t watch Felix kill the poor guy, especially when Felix seemed loath to do it, his sad eyes fixed on the young man in his arms.
“Lane…” Rowan looked at him with compassion, the display jarring after how blank he’d been all morning.
“Just wait,” Felix growled. “Look at me, kid.” He let go of his hair and cradled either side of his face, forcing his gaze away from Rowan to focus on him.
The feral snarled, scratching at Felix’s arms.
Felix weathered the onslaught like he didn’t even notice. “You’re okay. Relax. No one’s hurting you.”
There was no response. The vampire struggled, and Felix continued his gruff, soothing words, the low murmurs almost rhythmic. Eventually, the feral’s snarls faded, his jerky movements slowing like he was losing steam. Lane swore the glow in his eyes faded a fraction.
“What’s your name?” Felix asked, so soft you’d think he was speaking to a lover.
The vampire stilled completely, transfixed by Felix. He laid a hand on Felix’s chest, the touch painfully gentle, too great a contrast to his movements a moment ago.
“Can he tell us who turned him?” Lane whispered to Rowan. “Even if part of him thinks it’s you, he’d remember meeting his sire. Right?”