Chapter 12
CHAPTER
TWELVE
Cecilia sent her phantom off to keep himself busy while she made her call to Dahlia.
A part of her still couldn’t quite believe the way he just… did what she said. Even as she watched him disappear into a heavily locked room, she half expected him to jump out again and shove her back into the bedroom.
But he didn’t. Sloane slipped into what he called his armory without so much as a complaint, apparently unconcerned that she might take the opportunity to escape. Whether that meant he fully believed she couldn’t escape or that he’d have no trouble tracking her down if she did remained to be seen.
Either way, Cecilia padded into the starkly decorated living space across from the nearly empty kitchen, his sleek black cell phone in hand.
Settling down on the black leather couch, she curled her legs beneath her and tapped the screen.
“Spooky,” she muttered, eyeing the default wallpaper and lack of pass code suspiciously.
When she poked around the apps and contact list, she found nothing.
There weren’t any photos in the camera roll, either — which was a relief, frankly, because she was almost one hundred percent sure she’d find pictures of herself in there.
The phone appeared entirely unused aside from a handful of calls to private numbers over the course of a few months. Knowing he’d had it that long unsettled her more.
What kind of animal owns a phone for more than a day and doesn’t change the wallpaper? She shuddered at the thought.
Thanking her past self for bothering to memorize Dahlia’s phone number in case of an emergency, she held the device to her ear as she waited for her friend to pick up.
Picking at her chipping nail polish, she tried to sort out what she’d say.
The full truth was out of the question, obviously, but lying wouldn’t work, either.
They knew each other too damn well to get away with it.
Before she could come up with a solid strategy, the line connected.
Dahlia’s voice came through the speaker like a breath of fresh air. “Hello?”
“Hey, dork,” Cecilia greeted, immediately wincing at how strained those two simple words sounded.
“Cece? What phone are you using?”
Eying the empty concrete walls of the living room, she hedged, “A friend’s. I lost my phone last night and didn’t want you to worry.”
“Oh.” There was the slightest pause before Dahlia asked, “What friend?”
“You haven’t met him,” she replied, trying hard for nonchalance.
There was a longer pause. In that silence, she could practically hear Dahlia’s eyes narrowing. Beginning to sweat a little, Cecilia cleared her throat. “So, um—”
“What’s going on?” her best friend demanded.
“Nothing!”
Dahlia had many, many talents. She possessed an incredibly sharp business mind, and her confidence could carry her through any room. Cecilia had watched her go from a child of a broken home to a fierce boss bitch of the highest rungs of the vampire syndicate with great pride.
But that also meant that Dahlia was not one to beat around the bush. If anything, she’d only gotten more blunt since she became a queen of the vampire underworld — and that was saying something, because she’d never pulled punches before.
“Bullshit. I can hear it in your voice. And what do you think you’re doing, calling me from an unknown number and saying it’s a friend’s phone but not telling me his name? Cece, you’re about as subtle as a brick to the head. What’s going on?”
Cecilia gently probed the swollen and bruised flesh around her split cheek. “All right, all right, put the claws away, boss. First of all, I’m fine. That’s the most important thing.”
A sharp edge entered Dahlia’s voice when she demanded, “What the fuck does that mean?”
“It means what I said,” she insisted. “I’m, like, so fine. Never been better.”
“I would assume so, but the fact that you’re being so insistent about it implies that you’re not actually fine.” Dahlia made a soft sound of alarm before she snapped, “Did something happen with Duke?”
“Okay, so, first of all—”
“Grim’s tits, Cece! I told you to call me if he started asking you questions!”
“Am I or am I not calling you right now?”
Dahlia’s quick inhale came through the speakers. “What happened?”
“Again, I’m gonna just preface this by saying I’m fine,” Cecilia insisted. “But when I got off my shift the other night, Duke followed me home. I’ll spare you the details but suffice it to say none of us have to worry about him looking for Devon anymore.”
“Spare me the details? Spare me the details?” Dahlia’s voice moved through an impressive range of flat, incredulous notes and hysterical peaks. “Cecilia Marcella Warren, you do not get to spare me the details!”
“Listen, it’s fine. He’s not a problem anymore. My friend took care of it and I’m safe. It’s all good.”
It sounded like Dahlia was moving when she hollered, “Felix! Who’s on guard duty for Cece?”
“You had someone guarding me?” she muttered, disconcerted by the apparent number of people who’d been watching her. Not that it surprised her, really, but it was never comfy hearing she’d had more than one stalker, well-meaning or not.
From a distance she heard Felix’s response, but she couldn’t make out what he said.
“Duke followed Cece home last night,” Dahlia explained to her husband. “And no one checked in? I didn’t get a single alert!”
“…hard to find good fucking help in San Francisco,” Felix sighed, much closer to the phone. There was a shuffling sound before he said, “Cece, you’re on speaker. Are you all right?”
Even more certain now than she was before that she shouldn’t mention anything about exactly how she’d been rescued, she exclaimed, “I am so fine!”
“What happened?” There was a snapping sound before Felix called out, “Milo, get ahold of Nash. We need Ginny to pick up Cece.”
Standing up abruptly from the couch, she paced toward the wall of windows.
The rapidly darkening sky was a velvety plum, and the fog that rolled in over the water between wherever the Battery was located and San Francisco was a pale lavender that reminded her of Sloane’s skin.
It was pretty — and completely lost on her.
Clutching a fistful of her hair, she cried, “Oh my gods, no, you do not. Milo, I’m canceling that order!”
As nice as it sounded on paper to stay with her best friend for an undetermined amount of time in her swanky mansion surrounded by hunky single vampires and being waited on hand and foot, Cecilia just couldn’t do it.
Dahlia and Felix were just starting their lives together.
The thought of intruding on her best friend’s hard-earned happily ever after made her stomach sink with shame.
“Cece,” Dahlia dragged out, “you’re staying with us. If you don’t want to be in the house, we’ll put you in a hotel. You can even stay with my dads! They’d love to have you. But you aren’t staying there if Duke—”
“Duke is dead!”
At last, silence reigned.
It was Felix who broke it. In an impressed voice, he asked, “Did you kill him?”
Scoffing, Dahlia answered, “Of course she didn’t kill him.” Half a beat later, she asked Cecilia, “You didn’t, did you?”
The sound of a heavy door opening down the bare gray hall prompted her to turn away from the window. Gaze immediately settling on the towering form of her masked savior, she said, “My friend took care of it.”
Felix hummed. “Your friend, huh?”
“She won’t tell me his name,” Dahlia muttered.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Cece, what’s his name?”
Before she could answer, Felix jumped in to demand, “Is he a vampire? If he’s a vampire, I’m really gonna need his name. You know, for business reasons.”
Giving Sloane’s visor an exasperated look, like he was going to commiserate with her over pushy family, she answered, “His name is Sloane. He’s not a vampire. He’s more than equipped to keep me safe. I—am—fine.”
The elf in question cocked his head as he prowled closer. That robotic voice noted, “You sound like you require assistance.”
Dahlia made an interested sound on her end of the line. “Is that him? What’s up with his voice?”
Unable to handle her family and Mr. Slit-My-Throat all at once, Cecilia put up a hand to stall his approach. He froze at the entrance of the living room.
Relieved and a little nonplussed by his easy obedience, she said, “I’m getting off the phone now. I just wanted you to know I’m fine and that you shouldn’t freak out if I don’t text you back.”
“Cece, don’t you dare hang up—”
She ended the call without preamble. Exhausted by the circus, she padded over to the frozen elf and pressed the buzzing phone into his chest as she passed him. “I’d put that on silent if I were you,” she dryly informed him. “Or maybe just throw it in the ocean.”
Accepting the phone, he asked, “Where are you going?”
Sighing, she answered, “To shower and think about my life choices, Sloane.”