Chapter 5 Bad Pennies
Chapter Five
Bad Pennies
— Sunday —
We end up taking the light-blocking panels back down after making sure Gray is thoroughly protected—one blanket, then a second, and finally, heavy curtains pulled tight. It’s too stuffy in the room for all four of us, so we throw open the balcony doors, letting the salty onshore breeze roll in.
Breakfast is at the big wrought-iron table outside. For a moment, I let myself breathe and just take it all in. Tomas sips his espresso, reading glasses perched on his nose as he scrolls through emails. Shadow leans back, pretending to relax, but their eyes sweep the roofline and railing, ever watchful. Ben sits close to Tomas, drawing strength from his steady presence, then reaches over to push more food onto my plate. Tomas notices, a small, fond smile touching his lips.
Almost perfect. We just need Mishka and Grayson now. Then I’d have everyone right where they belong.
But before I can get too cozy in that “everything’s fine” bubble, reality elbows its way back in. We still need to find Roxana and end her. Even without her souped-up compulsion, she’s a never-ending pain in the ass. Speaking of which…
“Did anyone find the cuff Roxana was using to control Lys and Gray?”
Shadow’s hand jerks, nearly knocking over their glass of juice. Their face tightens, a flicker of turmoil crossing their features. I reach out to steady the glass, my fingers brushing theirs, and send a wave of calming reassurance through our bond. It’s okay. We’re safe now.
Tomas, oblivious to the silent exchange, continues. “We searched the entire throne room but came up empty. You said it was a black bird that took it?”
I nod, my attention still on Shadow, watching for any sign that they’re not okay. That was clumsy of me—bringing up the object used in their torture so casually over breakfast. They recover quickly, giving me a small nod of reassurance. I pick up my fork and take a bite, trying to project an air of normalcy.
“Maybe one of Rurik’s ravens, then,” Tomas says. “It wouldn’t surprise me if he added the snake cuff to his collection.”
I pause, concern spiking at the thought of an overpowered Rurik. But Tomas doesn’t seem bothered. He wipes the rim of his cup with a twist of lemon peel, as if we’re discussing the weather.
“So, you don’t think he’d use it?” I ask.
He sets down his demitasse and meets my gaze, his expression curious. “You broke the enchantment, right?”
“I think I did. But it was moving—slithering away from her—so maybe there’s still some mojo left.”
Tomas nods thoughtfully. “As much as I dislike Rurik, he doesn’t like shortcuts. And after losing Lys…” He trails off, his voice edged with something heavier. “I’ll ask him about it. But objects like that have a way of disappearing and reappearing. They’re self-preserving. They vanish when their purpose is fulfilled or when they sense a threat. It’ll probably resurface someday—when it’s fated to… or drawn to a new source of power.”
“Like a bad penny showing up?”
“Exactly. There’s an entire field of study—autonomous artifacts. Fascinating, really…”
“Oh, I’m sure it is,” I say, leaning forward eagerly. “But we’re a bit short on time, Professor Thorne—so, let’s put a pin in it.”
I chew the inside of my cheek, considering. The image of the black bird lingers in my mind—the sharp eyes, the awkwardness as it swooped down, the bits of down caught in the light. Mishka’s shifts are never fully mature.
Suspicion curls in my gut, solidifying into something I can’t ignore.
I set my fork down. “Well, before we go beating down Rurik’s doors, I think we ought to ask our son.” Tomas’s eyebrow lifts, and I lean forward to smooth it with a fingertip. “Speaking of our favorite vampire Tsar…” I tease. “Would one of Rurik’s chyldren be a good pick to take over here?”
Our Alpha exhales a heavy breath. “That’s an interesting idea, but…” He trails off, meeting Ben’s gaze.
“Not a good idea,” Ben finishes. “Rurik’s already too powerful.”
“I know,” I say, “but I’m talking about Leon or Max. They’re still young and—”
“Sweetheart,” Ben interrupts gently, his silver eyes serious, “anything Rurik’s chyldren do is an extension of him, and everyone knows it. It’s why we talk about vampire houses instead of individuals and families.”
Tomas nods. “If Rurik or anyone from Volga takes over, it could destabilize the region. Leon’s a great pick in theory, but if we want stability, he’s a bad choice.”
“Fine.” I drum my fingers on the table, my frustration mounting. I pick up a piece of fruit, popping it into my mouth as the idea crystallizes. “What about Nessa? We couldn’t have pulled this off without her. This could be a major political plum for her.”
“I agree,” Tomas says, “but there’s the small problem of her Maker. If Roxana shows up, she could force Nessa to relinquish the throne.”
“Right. The whole Maker’s command thing.” I sigh, leaning back in my chair. “Okay, then give me some alternatives.”
Shadow grins, reaching across the table to snag a piece of melon from my plate. “I say let the otters run things. Turn this place into a refuge for demons stuck on this side of the veil.”
Tomas laughs. “Okay, Che Guevara, settle down.”
Shadow scoffs, one eyebrow arching. “I’m not a Marxist.”
Before they can launch into a full-blown debate on Central American revolutionaries, I cut in. “What about France? They already had territory disputes with Roxana, right? And they’re just on the other side of the Mediterranean.”
Tomas smirks. “Still thinking about that townhouse in Paris, aren’t you?”
“It’s a whole townhouse?”
His smile turns indulgent. “We need someone here who’s an ally, someone who participated in the coup. That means Gaul, Bohemia, and Albion should be our top considerations. I think Edward Plantagenêt is a good choice. He’s always been close to Grayson and Vivien. He even extended them amnesty when they were fleeing Roxana.”
Suddenly, Shadow tenses, their eyes locking onto the roofline. We all freeze, the easy morning air turning sharp and electric.
A heartbeat passes—then another. Ben relaxes first, followed by Tomas.
With a swift, decisive motion, Shadow pushes back their chair, folds their napkin neatly, sets it beside their plate, and launches into a gravity-defying leap. They clear twelve feet and land soundlessly on the roof. A moment later, they drop back down, cradling a long, reddish lizard gently in their hands. Its tail curls around Shadow’s wrist, the movement slow and trusting.
I chuckle, the tension breaking like a snapped thread. “You’re going to give Lily a run for her money in the eavesdropping department.” I glance up at the edge of the roof. “Never seen it done quite so literally, though.”
Mishka climbs onto Shadow’s shoulder in his lizard form, perching there expectantly. Shadow holds up a piece of bacon, but he seems unimpressed, his long chameleon tongue flicking out as if to say, Try harder.
“I’ll take him in, find him some clothes… and maybe a few crickets,” they say, flashing a toothy grin.
Shadow disappears back into the suite, leaving Ben and Tomas to exchange a worried glance. Tomas suddenly turns, his head cocked as if he’s heard something, then shakes his head and strides to the doorway.
“Leave Gray alone,” he calls out firmly. “It won’t be funny when he wakes up.”
“I’ll admit,” I say as Tomas retakes his seat, “I’m a little concerned about what Colt and Shadow might get up to when they finally meet.”
Ben chuckles. “X is smart. They’re just struggling a little this morning—or rather, their jaguar is.”
“Really? How so?”
“He’d like to have a bond with Gray again. They tried to convince me earlier that biting him when he’s dead is ‘their thing.’” Ben shakes his head, a hint of exasperation in his voice. “So, we need to watch Gray’s ass today. Literally.”
“Aww, I think we should let them,” I say, my heart melting a little at the thought of the big cat’s longing.
Ben raises an eyebrow. “I thought you were the queen of consent.”
“I just think it would make them both feel better,” I argue. “And who’s to say it’s not their thing?”
Tomas cuts in, his voice rough-edged. “I can’t, in good conscience, let Xavier stealth-bond Gray while he’s dead.” His words are firm, but I sense the envy simmering beneath—laced with a raw insecurity. It’s not fear of losing his place; it’s the gnawing need to prove he belongs there in the first place.
His emotions surge beneath his composure, each one clashing and unresolved. I know I can’t untangle it for him, but I can help lighten the load.
Without overthinking, I scooch onto my Alpha’s lap, pulling his mouth down to mine in a reassuring kiss. He tastes like espresso and lemon, his lips warm beneath mine. For a moment, I feel his tension begin to unravel. His hands settle on my waist, holding me close, but there’s more than possession in his grip—there’s raw, aching need, though whether it’s for me or Grayson, I can’t tell.
I smooth the hair curling at the nape of his neck, feeling it flatten beneath my fingertips. “Do you trust me?” I whisper against his lips.
He nods, his misgivings shifting into something warmer, deeper. His eyes meet mine, the sharp edges softening as his wolf settles. There’s still a flicker of insecurity, but hope glimmers there, too.
“I’ll fix this,” I promise, patting his broad chest. I imagine his wolf lying there, growling softly, craving comfort. “I’ll make it right for both of you.”
He sighs, leaning into the kiss, but before either of us can speak further, his phone buzzes—a jarring reminder of the outside world.
“I have to take this.”
“Okay, but we still need to—”
He’s already guiding me to another chair, kissing my forehead, and striding back into the suite. “Jim, thanks for getting back to me. I looked at the numbers and…”
“Jim?” I echo, brow furrowed.
Ben shrugs, a sneaky smile slipping out before he quickly quashes it. He’s clearly enjoying my confusion.
“Could be banker Jim or real-estate-development Jim… There’s also a Jim in the Southern Pack, not far from Greenbriar.” A playful glint dances in his eyes. “Tommy has a lot of Jims in his life.”
“Well, which Jim is this one?” I press, leaning closer. “I bet you heard his voice and already know.” There’s always something, isn’t there? Some piece of information everyone else seems to have that I don’t. Maybe Jim isn’t important, but the way Ben avoids my eyes makes me think otherwise.
His grin falters, and a shadow of guilt crosses his face. He mumbles something about having to see a man about a horse, then escapes inside with a hasty kiss on my cheek, eyes still averted. Something’s going on, but I don’t have the attention span—or the emotional bandwidth—to dig deeper.
I stuff one more pastry into my mouth, my gaze drifting to the western horizon where the clear sky deepens to a stormy gray-blue. The first sign of incoming weather.
Walking to the balcony’s edge, I lean against the cool wrought-iron railing. Elba stretches below me, its muted green slopes tumbling toward the inky blue sea. Tiny villages with terracotta roofs glow warmly, nestled among the pines and oaks. In the harbor, white sails catch the breeze like birds poised for flight—brief, fleeting freedom.
The storm on the horizon seems to hold all our uncertainties. It’s a reminder of how fragile this tranquility truly is, and I wonder: can we harness that energy, or will it simply tear us up?