Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
They couldn’t remain in the hotel suite. Besides the damage done, it was an exposed location. Seamus had come for them once. He might return.
Roger drank two blood bags. The cold food barely dented his hunger, but he gained enough strength to push forward. Though his anger was a steady presence, he had to approach his situation with clarity and precision. Lives were counting on him.
In theory, he could attempt anything. He could stride up to the gates of Seamus’s mansion and plead for Zack’s and Takashi’s lives. He could abandon the mortals counting on him and run to the farthest corner of the Earth. He could carry on with his attempt to take the Great Lakes Coven from Seamus.
His choices hadn’t felt this infinite since he ran away from his mortal home. What he had done then was escape as far as he could. That path had led him all the way to a dingy tavern in the Caribbean and into Seamus’s fangs.
He had to do better. Vincent, Kit, Zack, Takashi—they all deserved whatever strength he could muster. He had led them into this disaster. He would get them out of it.
There wasn’t time to pack the entire suite. Roger focused on the important parts. He filled a suitcase with clothing for Kit, grabbing what seemed sentimental and in easy reach. Since Carver was gone, Roger didn’t step into his room.
The suite was lush enough to have its own office. Zack had spent countless hours at the desk. Part of his hunter training had been research, and he devoted himself to thorough notetaking. Roger went for the notebooks he’d written about the Great Lakes Coven and other supernaturals. The information would be vital to developing a plan.
But they were gone. So was Takashi’s laptop and Zack’s. Their tablets, too.
Briskly, he crossed the living room to the master bedroom. Memories bubbled, but this time, he stamped them down and remained in the present. His grief would have to wait.
Drawers hung out from the dresser, and the wardrobe door was wide open. The room had been searched, ripped apart, and abandoned. The safe where Roger had kept a wad of cash, along with the bullets and Cal’s handgun, was empty. Takashi had broken the shotgun during the fight, but next to the safe had been a short sword and a crossbow. Both of those weapons were missing as well. Under the bed should have been three duffle bags, but only the one with Callum’s initials remained. One had been Zack’s; the other had been Callum’s weapon bag.
They were hoping to leave me defenseless.
I’ve started with less.
A phone began to ring. Roger sought the source of the sound and discovered it on the floor under the dresser. The screen read, “Dad.”
Zack had mentioned that he’d spoken to his father and sister. After five months, the man was finally giving a damn about his son again.
Roger began to fill Callum’s duffle with necessities. His own journal had been hiding in the bag, and he added a few changes of his own clothes, five sets of Zack’s clothes since he and Vincent were a similar size, and even a change of clothes for Takashi. Much of their jewelry was missing, as was Roger’s.
Absentmindedly, he put his hand to his ear to check his earring. It was a white-gold stud with four sapphires dangling from it. Takashi had given it to him to represent his lovers and his donors. At least he still had it. And he had Zack’s dagger pendant.
The last thing he grabbed was Zack’s smart phone, which had begun to ring again. Roger threw it into the bottom of the bag.
Kit was stable enough that Roger picked them up. He handed off the bags to Vincent, who managed the two pieces of luggage without issue. Then the three of them left the suite.
Their trip took them through the lobby. No one was in it, which was odd for that hour in a vampire hotel on one of the busiest social nights of the year. Others should have been coming and going. Even the concierge desk was empty. Did the staff know what had happened upstairs? Had Seamus told them to clear out before he struck?
Vincent nabbed a taxi from the stand outside before the driver could realize their group was covered in blood. The driver swore something about never picking up at the freaky hotel again but didn’t throw them out of the vehicle.
The problem was where to go. Candide was still hosting the ball at her extravagant donor house, and many of the vampires Roger knew were there. His trusted inner circle had been shattered, except for Nell and Josefina. But they were the leaders of a different domain in Tennessee. Roger couldn’t leave the city without freeing Zack and Takashi first.
Dmitri would have helped him, but Roger’s blood brother and former lover had been captured weeks ago. Until the attack in the hotel, Roger had thought he was probably dead. Anton’s words made him believe otherwise, but that didn’t mean Dmitri could help him. Anton likely had him in the basement of the mansion he shared with Seamus.
There was a vampire he might turn to. The chances were high that he’d spit in Roger’s face and call him a disappointment of a grand-sire, but Nathaniel might take pity on Kit and Vincent at the least. Getting the two of them to safety was his first priority.
Roger had the taxi driver drop them off a block from the Last Deal and handed over a reasonable wad of cash from his wallet. Takashi had teased him that no one used physical currency anymore, but Roger hadn’t been able to let go of the habit, especially since the Wrights had tracked Zack down using his credit card purchases at one point. Cash simply made sense, and he was grateful to have enough on hand to last a short while.
Stepping out into the cold night, Roger lifted Kit into his arms again. Kit remained unconscious, but they curled instinctively toward Roger. I’ll take any good sign I can get. Instead of walking through the front, Roger led the way around to the bar’s back door.
Roger had turned Ezra into a vampire, and about thirty years later, Ezra had turned Nathaniel. In the mid-1770s, Roger and Nathaniel had had a night of drinking where they bonded over drinking songs of the English peasantry. He instructed Vincent to knock the rhythm of one on the door.
It swung open. Nathaniel was a stockier man; his fingertips were blunt from years as a blacksmith in his mortal life. A scar ran through his clouded right eye. Hunters had managed to inflict that on him. Almost eighty years had passed, and his eye had never fully healed. But his gruff attitude was older than his scars. Ezra had fallen in love with his brusqueness.
The love hadn’t lasted, but Nathaniel had.
Nathaniel glanced from Roger to Kit in his arms, then to Vincent, before finally settling back on Roger. His glare was unreadable. “You did what they’re talking about?”
“Depends on what they’re saying,” Roger replied carefully.
“You out-magicked him in a crowded ballroom, then snatched his head pet,” Nathaniel said.
“I threw away my collar, master,” Vincent said quickly and quietly. Only at this point did Roger realize that the boy was still wearing Zack’s bow tie loosely tied around his throat. The fabric had Roger’s crest, a kraken, on it.
“Don’t bother with that master shit around here.” Nathaniel eyed Roger as he said it.
“I told him that before,” Roger said.
“Habit, ma—therfucker,” Vincent replied.
Nathaniel snorted and cracked a grin, which was rare for him. The mirth lasted only the flash of an instant. He opened the door wider and stepped out of the way. Handing off a set of keys to Vincent, he said, “I’ve got an apartment upstairs. Aluminum key opens the door at the top of the steps here, brass is for my door. It’s third floor, door on the left. Quick and quiet as you can.”
Vincent took the keys and headed up the staircase just inside the door.
Roger stepped inside and was about to thank Nathaniel, but Nathaniel shook his head sharply. He hooked his thumb over his shoulder toward the door leading from the kitchen to the bar. “Place is full up. I’ll come up in an hour to check on you. Should be slower then.”
The kitchen wasn’t empty either. Determined not to fall for false safety again, Roger dipped down into his deeper senses.
Something odd was going on with how he could perceive the world. His hunger remained where it was, the burning, grating sensation in his throat, but he could feel out the others in the room. But not their emotions, what they were.
It was like running his hand across fabric and discerning the shape hiding underneath. The woman coming to the window and gathering an order was a shifter; the boy washing dishes was human; Nathaniel was a vampire, and so was the cook, a Black girl who looked like a teenager, working the grill.
Nathaniel shivered and narrowed his eyes. “What was that? No. Never mind. Get going.”
Withdrawing his new odd sense, Roger trucked up the stairs behind Vincent. They made their way up to Nathaniel’s apartment. It was a humble place compared to the lap of luxury that Roger had been living in for two and a half centuries. Yet there was a comfort in the lack of ostentatious furniture. Nathaniel’s couch had a threadbare corner on an armrest, otherwise it was in fine shape. The chair next to it didn’t match, but it was low and solid. Two large bookcases held scores of books. Most of them were paperbacks, and many had well-worn spines. A few beer bottles were strewn across the coffee table, along with a copy of Over My Grave , one of Ezra’s books written under the pen name HT Moss.
The kitchen was connected to the living room, with only a small table to declare it a new space. One counter was crowded with bottles of alcohol. The sink had a few dishes in it. Altogether, the small open area was about the size of the master bedroom of Roger’s hotel suite.
“What do we do?” Vincent asked as he shut the door behind Roger.
“We clean up Kit, then you, then me. After that, the two of you try to get some sleep.”
Since stitching up Kit, Vincent had remained in a more methodical demeanor. He no longer radiated an intense fear. He set down the luggage in the living room and began to investigate the apartment. Poking around in the kitchen/living room didn’t take him long, even though he gave a cursory glance through the cabinets.
Roger carried Kit into the bathroom and flicked on the light with his elbow. Luckily, Nathaniel had a tub, which suited Roger’s purposes. He set Kit down in it and began to undress them. Their beautiful dress was already ruined, but he carefully removed it and the tuxedo half-jacket. After stripping them, Roger turned on the faucet to begin filling the tub.
A soft shimmer danced across Kit’s skin, and their foxlike features melted away into their human ones. Their breath became ragged on the ends, and their eyes fluttered open. They croaked, “Wh-what happened?”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Roger murmured as he leaned in closer so they could see him without straining. “We’re safe now. You’re still healing. Try not to move.”
“Hurts.”
“I’ll find something for the pain.” Roger planted a kiss on their forehead and then stood.
A medicine cabinet sat above the sink. Its door had edges like it’d held a mirror at some point, but Nathaniel had removed it. Most vampires didn’t like the reminder that they lacked reflections.
Inside were a few packaged toothbrushes, a stack of soap bars, and a top shelf lined with opaque prescription bottles. The maker’s logo belonged to Coldwell Apothecary, a small chain of mage-run pharmacies. Mundane mortals didn’t know about the stores’ secret magical offerings.
Vampires and shifters shared a weakness to healing, and both had quickened healing speeds, but certain herbs could dull a vampire’s pain while harming a shifter. Zack and Takashi would’ve known which of these drugs would hurt Kit. Roger swallowed the drop of grief before it could swell and drown him. “Vincent, come here, please.”
The apartment was so small it took Vincent only seconds to arrive at his side. “Yes, master?”
“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?” Roger said sternly.
The thin layer of Vincent’s calm cracked, and fragility seeped into his blue eyes. He stepped to the side of the doorway, as if he intended to duck behind the wall if Roger moved the wrong way. But his voice was firm as he said, “You claimed me.”
“To protect you from him. When we get through this night, we can talk about what you need from me, but I will never demand anything of you, Vincent. I didn’t get you out to make you my boy.” Roger handed him the bottles. “Do you know if any of these would be safe for Kit?”
“He goes to Coldwell’s? Classy.” Vincent took the bottles from him and sorted through them. “This one is like emergency anti-anxiety, this one’s a daily antidepressant. No wonder Nathaniel always seems so well-adjusted. He’s actually doing something for his mental health.”
“You know him?” Roger asked.
“Only by reputation. Met him a couple of times. He’s kicked me out of his bar for being too young. Other vampires claim he’s ‘weak on mortals,’ but that just means he’s not a dick.” Vincent started putting away the bottles that wouldn’t be of any use.
That brought him into close proximity with Roger. With the remnants of fear-filled sweat dried to his skin, Vincent smelled delicious . His heartbeat began to echo through Roger, overwhelming the sound of rushing water from the bathtub. And though Roger had dismissed the idea of keeping him as a pet, he was a beautiful boy. The left side of his neck had a few scar marks from previous bites. Did he ever enjoy it?
Doesn’t matter. He is weak and he is hurt, and I will not be the monster Seamus forced me to be. Never again . Roger cleared his throat and took a step back. If Vincent realized how close Roger had been to giving in to his hunger, he didn’t show it. After a quick pause, he continued putting away the bottles they wouldn’t need, leaving one out.
“What of my reputation?” Roger asked.
“You want to know what the coven says or what Seamus was saying behind your back?” Vincent held up a bottle. “Give them one of these every six hours.”
“Can you get me a glass of water?” Roger said. He’d left Vincent’s question unanswered on purpose. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to know either answer after all. Before the attack, he would have needed to know both. He would’ve turned to Takashi and wondered if he could confirm whatever Vincent had to say.
But he was on his own.
I should have worked with Dmitri. I should have struck in the middle of the day and burned the bastard to ash . Roger knelt beside Kit and turned off the water. The water had risen over their hips. Not wanting to soak the stitches, he let a little of it out before hunting down a washcloth and a bar of soap.
Vincent returned with a glass of water, and Roger coaxed Kit into taking the pill.
“So which do you want to know?” Vincent asked, once more hanging on to the doorframe rather than standing in it.
“Fuck it,” Roger replied. “Fuck the coven, and fuck Seamus. I don’t need to know.”
“Can I … can I say it?” Vincent’s voice dropped to a whisper.
Roger frowned. “Say what?”
“Fuck … you know .” Vincent leaned his head against the doorframe. “You seem cool, but he’s your sire.”
“He’s my nightmare,” Roger said. “The only good of becoming his sireling has been immortality.”
“Really?”
As gently as he could, Roger began to wash Kit clean of the blood clinging to their skin. “I didn’t realize until tonight how utterly I had been fooling myself, but it’s true. He … he forced me into the worst version of myself. While I don’t hate everything about that side of me, at least not tonight I don’t, I can see him for what Zack named him in the Chateau. Abuser. Rapist. Murderer. And so much more. Nightmare is the only word that sums him in entirety. I intend to wake up.”
“But you like being a vampire,” Vincent said.
“I do. I have watched the world evolve and yet can trace some things back to their roots within my own experience. I have been able to nurture artists and witness technological advancements that would’ve seemed like magic when I was a mortal. And I could be much more than what I’ve been.” Roger frowned to himself as he continued cleaning Kit. Though he’d begun to write his long life down in a journal, he hadn’t opened his emotions like this, not even to himself. The truth of his words felt like a ray of sunlight, but he had lived in the dark too long for that to remain comfortable. “Anyway, yes. You can say fuck Seamus. You can wish him ill. You can tell me how you’d love to stake him down in the middle of the desert, douse him with holy water, and then stand back while the sun slowly rises to fry him inch by inch.”
“Thrown into a vat of molten silver blessed by a dozen different religious leaders, which is then used for solar panels,” Vincent replied quickly. A bead of desire—a pressure of a will for vengeance and violence—rolled out from him. It was compressed and small despite the eagerness in Vincent’s voice.
God, why had Roger never cared about what happened to those outside of his care? Because you were too busy guarding your own. He cleared his throat. “That’s a good one.”
“Should I have not said that?” Vincent asked.
“It’s not you.” Roger sank onto his ass, his back hitting the toilet. The bathroom was tiny, not much larger than a coffin, really. The weight of the night, of his life, continued to press on him. No wonder Dmitri had struggled with his depression. The reality they’d both lived in had no beacons of light, only the joy they made.
A joy that was often ripped away.
What were Seamus and Anton doing to Zack and Takashi? What did they have planned? Were they going to kill them? Takashi belonged to Nell’s bloodline, and though she had released him from her coven, she still cared for him. Would they use that? Or would that protect him from the worst?
For Zack, the answer was too easy. He was descended from two lines of infamous vampire hunters, the Wrights and the Gladwells. If Seamus wanted to hurt Roger and Zack and all those hunters, he would turn Zack into a vampire. Force the blood upon him. Zack had told Roger that he never wanted to become an immortal. What if he didn’t have a choice?
But that lacked poetry, and Seamus always looked for the severest cut. He had taken Zack and Takashi to punish Roger for his humiliation. He would hurt them in order to continue hurting him.
“Fuck Seamus,” he said because the only rope he could hold on to in this storm was his anger. His rage. His grief would swallow him and leave him inactive. He’d spent too long waiting for the right time, the right action, the right idea. He couldn’t afford to waste more.
“Are you … all right?” Vincent asked slowly.
“I’m weaker than I thought.”
“Nate’s got some blood in the fridge.”
“He’s Nate now?” Roger asked with a wry grin.
Vincent almost blushed. Roger could see the slightest pinking of his cheeks around the growing bruises of his right eye. “Nathaniel’s a mouthful.”
“Mm. Please get me a bag.”
“On it, ma—therfucker,” Vincent replied.
Roger finished bathing Kit and wondered how long it would take to wash the blood and pain from his own soul. I have eternity to find out.