Chapter 30
EIRA
Rafe Navarro’s gaze is still on me when his shoulders tighten, then ease.
The lazy smirk returns.
Valentin has answered him without moving his lips.
Mind-speak.
I know it because I’ve watched Malachi do it. Watched Aaron freeze for that half-breath when he receives instructions. Watched Valentin’s eyes sharpen when he speaks in silence.
I want to tell them it’s rude, but I don’t know whether I’m supposed to reveal to another Five Blood vampire that I know they can communicate without spoken words.
So I do the only thing I can.
I snark anyway.
‘Wow,’ I say sweetly. ‘It’s like watching two overgrown cats hiss at each other without actually hissing. Do you both do that often?’
Valentin cuts me a sharp look.
I shrug.
‘I trust you brought your own teleporter,’ Valentin says to Rafe. ‘Malachi will supply the location.’
Rafe’s brow arches. ‘Straight to business? Not even a hello or a blood-whiskey first?’
Valentin’s tension spikes, grip tightening at my waist. ‘This isn’t a social call.’
Without thinking, I lean subtly into him.
My hip presses against his. My body soothes his fury while my mind screams, What are you doing?
The effect is immediate. His grip eases a fraction as his breathing steadies. He glances down, almost surprised I dared.
Then he jerks his chin at Aaron. ‘Let’s go.’
Space folds.
The Tower vanishes.
The alley snaps into place around us, ward-burnt geometry still scarring the ground, the air still carrying the aftertaste of violence. Tezra’s body is gone, but the brutality remains, soaked into brick and shadow.
Two heartbeats later, Rafe and his guard arrive.
The Don of Chicago crouches by the sigil, leather coat pooling around him. Humour drains from his face as he inhales, long fingers hovering above the scorched marks without touching.
Valentin watches him like he’s watching a lit fuse.
Rafe rises at last. ‘You were right. They’re mine.’
The words drop hard. Both sets of guards brace without moving.
Valentin’s eyes go obsidian. ‘They?’
‘Yes. Three of mine,’ Rafe says. ‘Sired. Unseen for more than eighty years.’
My stomach drops. ‘Sired?’
Rafe’s gaze flicks to me. ‘Yes, hunter. One was favoured. Old. Clever. He disappeared.’ His mouth twists, almost with regret. ‘Last I heard, he fled to Ireland.’
Valentin goes very still.
Rafe nods. ‘Yes. To our brother. I never felt our bond sever but I have wondered if he still lived. At the very least, this answers the question.’
Ireland.
Ciaran O’Rourke.
Even I know that name. Faith, bloodlines, wild magic and a temper notorious enough to make other monsters lower their voices.
Valentin’s voice is quiet. ‘His name.’
Rafe’s smile returns, thin and dangerous. ‘That comes at a price.’
The guards sharpen around us.
I fold my arms. ‘Can someone explain why it takes three old vampires to kill one teleporter? Tezra was strong, sure, but three seems like overkill.’
Rafe studies me, amusement returning by degrees. ‘Those three were close. If they drank from each other recently, they may be muddying the trail. Making it difficult to tell which one struck.’
‘Convenient,’ I mutter.
‘Deliberate,’ Valentin says.
Rafe’s smile widens. ‘I’m prepared to continue this over a drink.’
‘That will not be necessary.’
The world folds again.
Polished stone replaces cold alley filth, and we’re back inside a private salon in the Tower.
Rafe strolls in as if he owns the place. ‘Call O’Rourke. Perhaps he can get to the bottom of this.’
Valentin’s face is a mask, but frustration tightens the corner of his mouth.
‘Don’t expect warmth,’ Rafe adds cheerfully. ‘Or I can parley on your behalf. He has always been… partial to me.’
‘Leaving me in your debt?’
Rafe shrugs. ‘There are worse fates.’
Then his gaze slides to me. ‘One night with her would settle—’
He doesn’t finish.
Valentin is on him in a blur.
Rafe hits the wall with Valentin’s hand locked around his throat, the glass panel behind him spiderwebbing with a crack like a gunshot. The Black Twelve move instantly. Navarro’s guards mirror them.
The whole room becomes claws and murder held one breath from detonation.
Rafe, infuriatingly, grins. ‘Way to show your hand, brother.’
Valentin’s voice drops low enough to raise every hair on my arms. ‘Think of laying a hand on her and you will discover how slowly I can remove yours.’
Rafe’s brows lift. ‘Are you sure she is merely hunting on your behalf?’
Valentin says nothing. The silence answers too much.
Rafe’s grin widens. ‘Or is she hunting you?’
Valentin bares his fangs and shoves him clear across the room.
Rafe lands on his feet, smooth and unbothered, adjusting his collar as if dismemberment threats are a social inconvenience.
Valentin straightens his cuffs.
The Twelve stand down at some silent signal, returning to lethal stillness.
‘This meeting is over,’ Valentin says. ‘You have until midnight. After that, your presence in my territory becomes unwise.’
‘So hostile,’ Rafe drawls. ‘After all I’ve done.’
‘It is because of the help you offered that I’ve extended your stay. Otherwise you would be gone before sundown.’
‘And your sireds will be watching every move?’
Valentin does not answer.
When Rafe’s gaze shifts to me again, Valentin steps smoothly into his line of sight.
Absolute. Possessive. Wordless.
Rafe’s grin turns delighted.
And then the air changes again, quietly and sharply, as though words are too crude for what comes next.
Valentin
Goodbye, Rafe.
He ignores the dismissal.
Not quite yet, brother. I gather you’ve heard from Vale recently too, Rafael says into my mind, as if we are discussing stocks instead of murder blood.
I keep my face impassive. Lord Dorian speaks too much.
That he does. But he has… interesting opinions about what you are hiding.
Speculate as much as you wish. Out of my sight and out of my city.
His amusement curls through the link like smoke. So it’s true. Something in New York’s making you snarl.
When I do not answer, his gaze flicks again to Eira, and I feel the old, ugly possessiveness tighten.
Do not test me further today. She is mine.
Rafael’s satisfaction is palpable. Noted. I’ll be in touch with the price for the names.
When he is gone, the Tower feels fractionally less crowded, though the tension remains lodged beneath my skin like a splinter.
Eira exhales. ‘Well. That was… dramatic.’
Her eyes are bright, cheeks faintly flushed with adrenaline and the lingering burn of being looked at.
‘Do not mistake his theatrics for harmlessness,’ I say.
‘I wasn’t,’ she replies. ‘But I also wasn’t expecting you to go full feral.’
A muscle tics in my jaw. ‘He provoked.’
‘He breathed,’ she corrects.
Amusement threatens but dies just as quickly as Malachi’s mind brushes mine. But he holds his tongue. Aaron watches Eira with that careful stillness.
‘So we have missing sireds breaking cover, a connection to Ireland, old wards, someone pruning the edges of your search. All meaning what, exactly?’ she asks.
‘Someone is either going out of their way to get my attention or to make trouble.’
‘Or throw stumbling blocks in your way?’ she adds.
I dismiss my vampires and rise, needing motion more than speculation. ‘I have a club to visit,’ I say. ‘You’re coming with me.’
Eira blinks. ‘Club. As in… music and drinks?’
‘As in my territory,’ I reply. ‘As in I need to be seen. Need to listen. Remind people what it costs to stir my city.’
Her eyes narrow. ‘And you’re bringing me because…?’
‘Because you are useful,’ I say blandly.
She scoffs. ‘Charming.’
My gaze drops to her mouth, then lifts again. ‘A useless insult since I cannot lie. Get ready. Ten minutes. Do not keep me waiting, little hunter.’
She hesitates, then that feisty courage snaps into place. ‘Fine. But if anyone offers me a blood cocktail, I’m leaving.’
‘I would not permit it.’
She rolls her eyes. ‘You really love that word.’
As she peels off towards her apartment, I watch her go and feel the echo of Rafael’s grin like a knife turning.
Because I know what my brother sensed when he looked at her.
And I know what I’m going to do about it if he or anyone dares to take even one step closer to my hunter.