Chapter 28
Max
“May we come in?”
I stared blankly at the grinning human standing on my front porch, her eyes glinting mischievously from under long auburn bangs.
My gaze drifted to the priest standing behind her, although he wasn’t truly a priest. “Father Brennan” wasn’t even a human, but it was apparently considered rude nowadays to pry into another’s supernatural status, so until someone decided to share, exactly what he was would remain a mystery.
Along with their other—unsurprisingly absent—mate.
The one I’ve never seen with my own eyes…
“I’m shocked you didn’t simply walk in and help yourself to something from the fridge, Magdalena,” I huffed as if annoyed, although I liked Billie’s personal assistant—found her devil-may-care attitude amusing.
And highly relatable.
“First of all, you bloodsuckers never have anything good to eat in the house,” she replied, sweeping past me with her mate close behind. “Second… I’d rather not walk in on you three fucking on some random surface—since you’re always fucking.”
“Ohmygawd, I am so sorry, Mags!” Star came flying down the stairs, looking even more disheveled than when I’d left her with Damon, and reeking of sex. “I totally forgot to tell the guys you were coming over tonight.”
“Case in point,” Mags snickered, turning to her mate. “Although, it would be pretty hypocritical of us to judge such sinful behavior, huh, Conor?”
“Quite,” Conor replied in his Irish lilt that may or may not have been part of the disguise, his sharp gaze sliding to meet mine. “Present company knows, holy altars are the perfect height for blasphemy.”
How the hell does he know I know about that?!
“I know everything,” he smoothly replied to my private thoughts before turning his unnerving focus to Star. “Is that one of Damon’s creations?”
“It is.” My mate performed a sassy spin, although she held down the skirt as she did so—to keep the scandal to a minimum.
Not that it matters with this crowd.
Mags gasped in appreciation. “Girl, tell that fuckboy of yours to make me one, stat. I want mine sluttier though. More cleavage.”
“Unfortunately, more cleavage doesn’t fit my vision for this particular design…” The fuckboy in question sauntered down the stairs, looking far more put together then our mate, while smelling just as tempting. “But I have been sketching out a dress that gives Slutty Nun vibes.”
“Sold!” Mags cackled, imitating the bang of a gavel before smiling sweetly at Conor. “Reminds me of how I was dressed when we first met.”
A fake priest and a fake nun…
Maybe their third is a fake angel.
“Come pick out some tea, Sister Mags,” Star teased, grabbing her wrist—their genuine friendship warming my cold, dead heart, as always. “I also had Chaz buy some of those weird potato donuts you like.”
“Holy Donuts? Girrrrl…” Mags groaned orgasmically as Star dragged her toward our pointlessly enormous kitchen. “I hope your himbo groundskeeper grabbed the chocolate sea salt one…”
I huffed a laugh as I passed Damon and headed back to my office on the second floor, wanting to retrieve the last stack of work-related paperwork to send back with Mags.
I wonder how the “himbo” would feel, being referred to as a groundskeeper?
Chaz was the werewolf who’d first helped us escape Los Angeles, by instruction of his eldest brother, and úlfr pack leader, Cassius.
He’d certainly fulfilled his duty, traveling the country with us for a few decades before we all decided to settle down in Maine.
The shifter was more of an extended family member at this point, and while he did live in what was once the groundskeeper’s cottage on our property, he’d chosen that over the main house, specifically because he’d, “overheard enough banging for one lifetime.”
Maybe we do fuck too much…?
Impossible.
If anything, we should be fucking more!
I wrenched my focus back to the task at hand, even if it was a struggle. It didn’t help that my office smelled divine, but with both my mates downstairs, I managed to gather up the various Live & Lurk applications scattered around my desk.
While technology and encryption had come a long way since the invention of computers and the internet, I preferred to do my initial scan of applicants with hard copies and a red pen before emailing my recommendations to Billie.
No names were included on these applications—only case numbers—but supernatural status was disclosed, so that local placements could best fit each creatures’ needs.
Of course, this meant I could connect the dots to who we placed where if I wanted to, but my employer knew I would never dream of risking this safe haven she’d created.
Especially as we are technically still fugitives ourselves.
Similar to how Damon and I had once needed to go on the run in the Old West, my mates and I had left the West Coast abruptly, and under equally unpleasant circumstances.
Attempted murder that ended in an actual murder.
And more blood on my hands.
I felt zero regret over the deaths of Opalite’s redneck officers of the law or Star’s odious ex-business partner, Heather, but there was still a loose end from the more recent altercation that loomed in the back of my mind.
Vlad.
The self-appointed leader of our old coven in L.A.
had taken full advantage of my admittedly sloppy first attempt at disposing of Heather to put Star in danger.
That didn’t end well for the temporarily resurrected Valley Girl—especially as she’d still been nothing but a human—but before that, Vlad had referred to her as his third.
And if he’d intended to turn her, he already saw her as his mate.
With Chaz as our daywalker chauffeur, we were able to cover our tracks fairly quickly, but it was the complete lack of any sign we’d been followed that bothered me most. Vlad didn’t seem like the type to let old grudges go, and he’d made no secret of his distaste for me before Heather’s demise.
The last thing I wanted was for my mates to ever suffer because of me again.
I refuse to let death take my family away from me again.
I shut my eyes against the sudden vision of my childhood hut burning to the ground with everyone I loved inside.
Unbeknownst to my mates, I’d spent the last almost five hundred years carrying my regret, convinced that if only I’d returned from my hunt sooner, my birth family might have stood a chance. Instead, I’d stumbled upon their lifeless bodies, and the fanged monster who’d already drained them dry.
When I’d attempted to kill him, he’d easily overpowered me—dragging me out to the field surrounding the hut, incapacitating me, then making me watch my family burn.
Before making me a monster like him.
I’d once fantasized about finding the one who’d made me against my will, but now acknowledged I had very little chance of succeeding.
Far too much time had passed to accurately track him down.
Not to mention, I would need to start by traveling back to the place where my nightmare began—the unified country now known as the Philippines—and even the idea of doing that nearly sent my body into the same stasis vampires attained during daylight hours.
My mates would say I need therapy…
Star had been the first one to explore personal development, through books while we were on the road, then through online articles once we were settled in Maine.
Once she’d discovered Billie’s network included a revenant demon offering licensed therapy sessions in exchange for the negative energy drain, she’d enthusiastically signed on.
“You’d both be perfect for the program,” our third had teased. “Enough baggage to keep Dr. Sylvie fed for years.”
I’d simply waved her off, but soon after, Damon had joined Star at a session before booking ongoing appointments of his own.
Despite my own aversions, I was proud of my notoriously reserved mate for seeking out professional help for the “baggage” he still carried, and positive results were apparent after only a few short months.
When I commented on the noticeable change, he’d shyly asked if I would ever give it a try.
My knee-jerk reaction was to immediately say no, but I’d paused to at least consider it.
When stasis threatened to overtake me once again, I’d swallowed down my panic, smiled wide, and assured him I’d get there someday.
Maybe.
Damon had narrowed his eyes at that, knowing me far too well, but he hadn’t argued. Instead, that little shit went straight to Star, who had no problem pestering me with constant updates on her own therapy journey and not-so-subtle hints that I was always welcome to join her at the next session.
That she occasionally brought it up while my dick was inside her only proved what a clever temptress she was, but so far, I’d remained firm in how I coped.
Burying my baggage as deep as possible.
To my credit, I had opened up a bit more to Star and Damon, especially when it came to stories of my past—of who I was before. What I didn’t talk about was the day everything changed, but I had made it clear I couldn’t fully regret the turn my life had taken, because it led me to both of them.
My two eternal companions.
The thought of my mates snapped me back to the present, and to our visiting guests. I quickly collected the scattered applications into a mostly neat pile before heading back downstairs to join the others, more than happy to leave all thoughts of the past far behind me.
Everyone was comfortably seated in what would have been the “parlor” in Victorian times, but we’d turned it into what humans nowadays called a “den.”
Star and Mags were seated on the emerald-green velvet couch, chattering away while Chaz—who’d apparently caught wind of our visitors, social butterfly that he was—talked Conor’s ear off, whether the not-so-holy man wanted it or not.
Damon was fussing with his phone, no doubt posting the provocative photos he’d taken of Star earlier, but his attention snapped to me as soon as I entered the room.
As much as I tried to hide beneath a sunny exterior, my mates were attuned to my moods, and I could already tell this one would be expecting me to talk about whatever was bothering me once we had the house to ourselves again.
Or send Star to do his dirty work for him.
I wasn’t truly upset about their prying.
The hardest years of my life were those between when I was made into a vampire and when I met Damon, because I’d had no one to rely on.
It probably had something to do with how I was originally raised in a communal village, but I wasn’t about to ponder that connection in present company.
We’ll leave that for the future, hypothetical therapy.
“Ohhh… is that the last round of apps?” Mags asked, quickly standing and taking the haphazard pile off my hands before nodding her chin at a much neater stack placed on the side table.
“That’s why we were stopping by tonight.
Billie mentioned you were flying through candidates and needed more work to do. ”
Did she now?
To be honest, I did enjoy the challenge of not only matching applicants to openings, but allowing my tech-savvy mates to help me hunt down wayward supernaturals over the wilds of the internet—to convince them to come to Maine, where they could finally feel safe.
And I didn’t mind the meddling, or the visits to our house. Over the years, Billie and Oren, along with Mags, Conor, and their mysterious yet benevolent mate had all managed to worm their way into our family of three.
Three plus… Chaz.
“Could you have handed me a bigger mess, Max? Jesus!” Mags loudly complained as she slapped the file folders and errant papers down on the coffee table and began reorganizing.
True to form, she immediately forgot her grievances.
“Is that Hugh Hefner smoking jacket one of your designs too, gunslinger?”
Damon blushed—a delightful habit he’d maintained, when he had enough blood in his veins—before tipping his “modern cowboy goth” hat her way.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m dipping a toe into the leisurewear market, and since Max was already living in off-the-rack robes and kimonos, I figured he could use something more custom. ”
Happy to oblige.
Gunslinger.
“Yeah, he’s also created this killer dressing gown for me,” Star cut in, her blue eyes sparkling with pride as Damon blushed again. “Black, of course, but it’s long and sheer with poofy ostrich feather trim on the hem and sleeves. I love gliding around the house pretending I’m a rich widow—”
“Oh! I think this is actually your mail…” Mags interrupted, handing me an oversized, yellowed envelope that must have gotten mixed in with the folders.
Not that we get mail very often.
Or ever…
My gaze was still on Star as she resumed narrating her “rich widow” escapades to her friend, but when I glanced down at the envelope in my hands, the borrowed blood in my veins turned to ice.
“What is it?” Damon asked, quiet enough that the women didn’t pause their conversation, but I could feel Conor’s gaze upon me as well.
That nosey asshole is probably in my head as we speak.
The urge to tell Damon it was nothing—to shove it deep in my smoking jacket pocket before burning it in the fire pit—was strong, but I knew it wasn’t my decision to make.
If there was one thing I’d learned over nearly one hundred and fifty collective years with my mates, it was that we dealt with problems together, like a family.
Although this one might break us apart.
“It’s addressed to ‘The Lunas,’” I began, willing my voice to remain calm despite the circumstances. “And the postmark shows it was sent from Opalite, Nevada.”