Chapter 31
Max
While Star has made it abundantly clear—in her irresistibly bossy way—that I should stop obsessing over the dead-end stack of Live & Lurk applications, I awoke the evening after our hunt and went straight to my office to continue my work.
I may have a fixation problem…
The only reason I’d been able to sneak away at all was because my mates were sleeping in, thanks to the alcohol and Selene-knew-what-else lacing the blood they’d gorged at the club.
In contrast, I’d only drunk enough to enjoy our game—had a higher tolerance than the younger vampires anyway—and had chosen to sleep in my own coffin for this exact reason.
No, I wasn’t proud of my deceit, but I couldn’t help feeling as if some vital clue was right in front of me, if only I could catch it.
What am I not seeing?
My cell phone abruptly vibrated against my desk with an incoming call from Billie. I grimaced, not only because the noise may have awoken my mates, but because I knew my “elder millennial” employer preferred emails and texting—even in-person meetings—over the dreaded phone call.
Each generation is stranger than the last.
“Good evening, boss,” I crooned in a last-ditch attempt to charm her into breaking her own rules. “Are you calling with good news?”
Or bad news, depending how you look at it.
“No, Max,” she sighed, as no-nonsense as ever. “I’ve already told you, I can’t share security footage or any identifying factors of my clients unless either a crime has been committed or you feel your lives—so to speak—are in danger.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to insist we were in danger, but I couldn’t bring myself to do so. The threat was technically unproven, and—more importantly—admitting I even felt that way was inching far too close to vulnerability for my liking.
“So, none of the creatures who’ve recently applied in person matched the descriptors I gave you?” I huffed, desperate for any indication that my instincts weren’t as damaged as I was.
Billie sighed again. “None of my recent applicants have been either,” she paused to read my rambling email out loud, “a grotesque caricature of Count Orlok—complete with a cartoon Transylvanian accent—or a bleach-blonde Valley Girl with sloppy makeup and a misguided vendetta.”
It was my turn to sigh. It was hard not to believe this latest round of psychological warfare had Vlad’s greasy fingerprints all over it.
Add to that the fact I hadn’t seen the werewolves burn Heather’s decapitated body—a loose end I’d regretted to this day—and the possibility was there for him to raise her from the grave once again.
Would reviving that screeching harpy be worth it for him to continue tormenting us?
Or was driving us out of his “turf” enough?
Adding to my paranoia was the news—from Cash, via Chaz—that Vlad had abruptly left Los Angeles a couple of months ago. Of course, I’d slightly panicked, but I’d been reassured by the werewolf that his pack was “handling it.”
Whatever that means.
Joining a local Maine coven might have helped reassure me, since our new leader could check if my old nemesis had registered with another chapter. Unfortunately, our experience in L.A. had only strengthened my resolve to never answer to anyone else again.
Aside from Billie, of course.
And my mates…
Guilt twisted in my chest for the way I was behaving, but the thought of something happening to Damon and Star felt worse than a few secrets.
I can’t let down my family again.
“Conor mentioned offering you security assistance,” Billie added, her voice softening. “But it sounds like you prefer to do that supernatural alpha thing where you believe no one can protect your mates like you can.”
Well, that was uncalled for.
Factual, but uncalled for.
“That, and I find Conor creepy,” I huffed. “Every time he looks in my direction it feels like millions of eyes are watching me from every angle.”
Billie snorted, clearly finding my distress amusing. “Right. Well, let me know if you discover any new clues in those photos, and at least get that werewolf of yours to guard the property during the day.”
Oh, yes.
Because Chaz is so very threatening.
We said our goodbyes and I tiredly reached for the envelope from Opalite once again. Star had been the one to get in contact with the Nevada Historical Society and verify not just the validity of photographs but that at least two postmark stamps from the town were known to exist.
Three, apparently.
I already knew the United States Postal Service wouldn’t be any help in the matter—based on lesser issues in the past—so there was nothing left to do but pore over every single photo once again.
Almost every photo…
There was one photograph I’d removed from the collection, and the reasoning I’d given Damon—that his proverbial gallows were on full view—was only figuratively correct.
But I did it to protect him.
After listening for any indication that my mates were stirring, I quietly slid open the top drawer of my desk and reached for a stack of envelopes toward the back marked “BILLS.”
Maximum protection against snooping.
Within the stack, tucked between actual utility statements, was the photograph, and I carefully slid it out of its hiding place.
My gaze trailed over the faded image, chest aching at the subject. Even in sepia, it was clear her hair was like spun gold, her sweet smile and wide, doe eyes welcoming weary travelers into her arms, for a price.
I’d originally planned to destroy the evidence—to burn it in the fire pit until not even ash remained—but I couldn’t. While my mate had reacted as expected to the photograph of his mother and her fellow doves, this was the family he truly missed.
Pearl.
I could still remember the first night I met the delicate dove at the House of Eternal Moonlight—how I’d feigned interest in her services to get closer to Damon.
My plan had been to compel the information out of her once we were behind closed doors, but the instant we reached her bedroom Pearl had gifted me with a knowing smirk.
“Got your eye on our faro dealer, have you?”
I’d laughed and admitted she was correct, so we’d spent our allotted hour together with her telling me every adorable, embarrassing story about my future mate while I massaged her aching feet.
Before paying her handsomely for her time.
She’d also advised me to speak to the Madam first—since nothing could happen without Roulette’s permission—but when Damon seemed less than pleased over my interest the following evening, I’d headed upstairs with Pearl again.
The taste of his jealousy had eased the sting of rejection, but then the dainty dove encouraged me to corner him in his attic room regardless, insisting we were “meant to be.”
And then, she’d drawn me a tarot card.
The Moon.
“Trust your intuition with Damey.” The nickname for her surrogate brother had slipped out while she’d interpreted. “And don’t let him scare you off with his grumpy kitten routine. Things aren’t always what they seem…”
When I’d stood to leave, Pearl had hurriedly added, “But don’t rush him, neither! Let things unfold as they will, Max, and perhaps you can use that time to gaze inward and face fears of your own.”
I’d had little desire to examine my inner workings—and even less for acknowledging any fear—but I knew I could be patient.
If nothing else, eternal life teaches you that.
The last time I’d seen Pearl was on the night she died, as I strolled into the brothel to pick up Damon for another debaucherous night on the town.
“Why, Mr. Luna, what brings you to our fine establishment this evening?” She’d giggled as she took my arm and led me down the hall—past the Madam’s office where she’d later perish—and to the back stairwell leading to the attic.
“Just patiently biding my time, as I was strictly told to do by a terrifying, fortune-telling witch,” I’d teased, earning me her real laugh, not the demure one she put on for her clientele.
“Oh, you two rascals were made for each other, I swear!” Pearl had become suddenly sly, glancing down the hall as if checking that we wouldn’t be overheard. “I felt compelled to draw another card for you—earlier tonight.”
My interest had been piqued. “Do tell, witch. I need all the prophecy I can get.”
She’d shook her head, as infuriatingly—intriguingly—stubborn as her younger brother. “No, sir! This is a message you’re not ready for yet. In the future, perhaps…”
With that, she’d swept away, back to the front of the House, and I’d been left wondering for nearly a century and a half what that tarot card could have been.
Too bad I’d respected the human enough at the time not to read her thoughts…
Needless to say, I was entirely incapable of destroying this last visual reminder of all my mate had lost, because that loss would destroy him the most.
And what I wouldn’t give to see my parents and sister again.
Closing my eyes, I willed my mind to produce a vision of their faces, but too much time had passed since their untimely deaths. All I had—all I would ever have—was my own reflection in the mirror to remember the bloodline that stopped with me.
I have to show him the photograph.
“Max?”
As if conjured by my guilty conscience, Damon’s raspy voice had me blindly tucking the photo away and hastily closing the drawer, all while spinning in my chair to face him.
“Evening, pet.” I smiled cheerfully, drinking in his deliciously disheveled state. “Sleep well?”
He cocked his head, his long, silky locks trailing down his bare chest. “Are you continuing the exact thing Star told you to stop doing? She’s going to be angry…”
My smile morphed into a smirk. “Maybe I like her angry.”
Her anger is delicious.
Damon scoffed good-naturedly and glided closer. “She’s right, you know. There are no new clues to find—”
My mate trailed off as he froze mid-step, his gaze fixed on something on my desk.
Shit.
Fearing I’d accidentally left the damning evidence out in the open, I slowly turned, breathing out a sigh of relief to see it was only the photograph with Damon’s mother.
He reached over my shoulder and carefully picked it up before half-perching on the edge of the desk.
“I think I’d like to hang this up,” he said, making tears prick my eyelids. “Maybe we could get a custom frame for it?”
That he even thought he needed my permission almost had me confessing my sins—almost—but I’d been meaning to ask him something about that particular group of women.
The investigation continues.
“Were any of these doves still around when you were living there?” I carefully watched his face, in case it became clear he was not ready to talk about his previous life just yet.
Even though he’s told me talking about it helps…
Damon smiled fondly, sending a fresh wave of guilt washing over me at the reminder of how far he’d come on his healing journey.
And how they both have asked me to join them.
“When I was very young, yes,” he murmured, eyes roaming over the photograph. “But it wasn’t a profession one stayed in for long. You either died, or got married… or simply became too old to work anywhere other than your own one-room shack on the edge of town.”
Or became the Madam to lord over the next crop of doves.
“Maddie was the oldest dove on the roster when I met you,” he continued, setting down the photograph and growing thoughtful. “I wonder what ever happened to her after the House burned down and Opalite was abandoned…”
Ever attuned to the other’s emotions, we both froze.
Don’t even suggest it, Max.
“What if Maddie sent those photos,” Damon whispered, barely audible, as if worried speaking it aloud would summon the stern Irishwoman to appear in my office.
“Maddie would be long dead, pet,” I firmly stated, hoping I sounded confident. “And with how much she despised vampires while living, I highly doubt she would have ever agreed to—”
Oh, no…
“You compelled that superstition out of her, Max,” my mate carefully replied before his brow furrowed. “Then again, you also compelled away any memory of us… Does becoming a vampire erase any prior compulsions?”
“I…” I swallowed thickly. “I don’t know…”
Who is our enemy here?
Damon’s gaze drifted to the damning stack of applications I’d also pulled out of the drawer. “I wonder if other vampires might know about such things.”
He… wants to connect with other vampires?
I sighed, realizing safety in numbers might be the best strategy after all. “Yes, perhaps I should move that lone vampire seeking asylum to the top of the pile… and offer to personally welcome them to the Live & Lurk family.”
Damon arched an eyebrow. “Perhaps that offer should come from either me or Star—in person. If you do it, Billie will just get suspicious about ulterior motives.”
Factual and completely called for.
I tamped down my unease about letting my mates out of my sight, even for a quick trip into town. While I may have been overprotective at times, we all knew I prized independence above all else.
So… a compromise.
“Very well, pet.” I forced a smile. “We can be good neighbors to the newcomer.”