Chapter Twenty-Two
For all the marbled and gilded and heavy, red-curtained luxury of the entranceway, the Anderson residence was practically austere.
Not from lack of wealth, but a minimalist aesthetic that said they didn’t need to showcase things when they had floor-to-ceiling windows on one side of the enormous two-story penthouse suite that overlooked the park.
The sort of wealth that needed no explanation.
Black-and-white photographs of abstract views of the city were printed on towering canvas and aligned against one long wall. They were almost eerie, painting a picture of a dark city from below and on high. A perspective that left Kierse unsettled.
“Mom! Dad! I brought my friends over,” Lyra called as she strutted into the penthouse on stilettos as sharp as knives.
A woman appeared at the top of a long, winding staircase.
She was all sharp edges with porcelain-white skin and Hollywood waves down to her shoulders.
She wore a black, long-sleeve silk gown that trailed behind her on the steps.
She was all vampire elegance with a breezy walk, pushed back shoulders, and blood-red lips.
Fangs were visible when she saw her daughter and a smile split her face, softening her on all fronts.
“You’re home,” she said, drawing Lyra in for a hug.
“I did what Dad asked.” Lyra released her and gestured to them. “Mom, these are my friends, Kierse and…”
“Graves,” she said stiffly.
“Hello, Reyna,” Graves said with a smirk. “It’s been a long time.”
“A lifetime,” she said.
“You were decidedly more human last we met,” Graves said as he took her offered hand with a gloved one of his own.
“Wasn’t exactly my choice,” Reyna said.
“So I heard. I’m surprised you made truce with the Syndicate considering Roland Batiste is running it.”
Something sharpened in Reyna at those words. “The Syndicate might have started this, but I assure you that I finished it.”
“We both did,” another darker voice said from across the room.
“Dad,” Lyra said. She strode across the room and threw her arms around the still-darkened figure. Lyra was whispering, but everyone in the room had advanced hearing, as she said, “Don’t be too scary.”
Lyra’s father stepped out of the shadows he was made for.
He towered over his already tall daughter, broad, square-shouldered, and almost bulky with muscle even in his tailored tuxedo.
His hair and eyes were as dark as the night he belonged in and his skin as pale as the sun he so rarely saw.
He kept his hand on his daughter before moving to Reyna’s side like a protective shadow.
His brow darkened as his eyes fell on the threat in the room—Graves.
Graves slipped a possessive, gloved hand around Kierse’s waist. It said everything he hadn’t voiced. What happened between them?
Reyna cleared her throat. “Anyway, I have my daughter and my husband at the expense of my humanity. It could be worse.”
“Indeed,” Graves said evenly.
“Now introductions, please,” Reyna said cheerfully.
“Daddy,” Lyra said. “You know Graves, of course. This is my friend Kierse. Kierse, my parents, Beckham and Reyna.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Kierse said with a real smile. Lyra seemed so chill compared to her scary father and imperious mother. “You have a wonderful daughter and a really beautiful home.”
Beckham moved behind his wife. His hands went to her shoulders as he pressed a kiss into her dark hair. “Thank you. Lyra is our whole world.”
“She really is,” Reyna said.
“Can you try not to be so dramatic?” Lyra asked. “I’ve known them for a while. Graves gave me back that picture from your collection. Can we all just make peace?”
“I don’t see why you would still be upset with me,” Graves said with a smile. “After all, you won the war.”
Reyna winced as she stepped out of her husband’s hands. “That’s right. We won.”
“Enough talk about the past. We’ve moved on. This is the problem with vampires,” Lyra said. “Never can move past when you died.”
“Lyra,” Beckham snapped.
“Anyway, is Quint here yet?” Lyra asked. “I can’t believe you invited him.”
“Alexander isn’t here yet,” Reyna told her, a knowing look crossing her face.
“And we didn’t invite him,” Beckham said. “The Syndicate sent him.”
“I’d rather deal with Alexander than his father.”
Beckham’s eyes went dark. “I’d like to deal with his father personally.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Lyra said with a hand wave.
Reyna stepped toward Kierse. “Why don’t I get you a drink? Wine?”
“Sure,” Kierse said gratefully. Reyna managed the tension well. “I’ll help.”
She left Graves alone with Beckham Anderson, leaving the brooding alpha males to duke it out. Kierse followed Reyna into the kitchen, where she withdrew a bottle of cabernet and poured them each a glass.
Kierse took a sip. “Oh, that’s good. Wow.”
Reyna looked down into the swirling red liquid. “It’s my favorite vintage. Beckham bought the winery so we’d never run out. Even during the war.”
“That sounds like something Graves would do.”
Reyna’s eyes flicked back to them. “They’re more alike than either would give credit for.”
“Usually those kinds of people hate each other the most.”
She laughed softly. “A true assessment.”
The elevator dinged again, and Lyra straightened all at once. The little actress could play whatever part that suited her, but Kierse could see that she was uncomfortable with Quint—no, Alexander’s upcoming appearance.
“So, what’s their history?” Kierse asked.
“She didn’t tell you?” Reyna said.
“No. Just that they hate each other.”
Reyna barely smothered a laugh. “That they do. Well, I won’t share her business, but our families have not always gotten along.
Still don’t exactly. Him being here is an affront to Beckham’s reign.
He hasn’t been challenged in a long time.
Let’s hope he doesn’t try to pop his head off like warm champagne. ”
“Now we’re talking about a party.”
Reyna finally did laugh. “I like you. How did you get involved with this?”
“Stole from the wrong monster. You?”
“Tried to save my family.”
“Yeah. Same.”
They took their wineglasses back to the men as six feet of well-muscled vampire strode out of the elevator like a New York City penthouse was the last place he belonged.
His dark hair was windblown and pushed back from his face.
He wore a leather jacket over a black T-shirt and jeans and held a motorcycle helmet against his side.
His eyes shifted color in the light from blue to violet as he swept them across the assembled group.
He was startlingly handsome as most vampires were, but despite his dressed-down attire, he held himself like he’d been born and raised to an affluent lifestyle.
He didn’t balk at the sight of Graves or Beckham.
But he didn’t control his face when he saw Lyra the way he commanded the rest of his body.
“Alexander,” Reyna said, stepping forward with a warm smile that cracked at the edges, “you smell like smoke exhaust.”
“New York City just smells,” Quint said.
“It’s good to have you back in the city even if you’re here on Syndicate business.”
He nodded his head in acknowledgment before holding his hand out to Beckham. “Sir.”
Beckham shook hard. “Alexander.” He gestured to Graves. “This is my associate, Graves and his partner, Kierse.”
Quint shook Graves’s hand and then Kierse’s before his eyes landed on Lyra. “What are you doing here?”
“Last I checked, these are my parents.”
“You don’t live at home.”
“Keeping tabs on me, Quint?”
A growl lodged in the back of his throat. “Again with the nickname.”
Reyna covered another laugh. “Why don’t we sit down about that business? It was good seeing you, Alexander. We’ll be with you in a minute.”
His eyes shifted between them. “Fine. I’ll wash up and get a drink.”
“Lyra, show him around,” Reyna said.
Lyra looked like she’d rather gouge out her own eyes but started walking toward the kitchen regardless. “You’re A positive, right?”
“So glad that you remembered,” Quint deadpanned.
Beckham wrapped an arm around his wife, but his eyes were on his daughter. As if he didn’t quite want to leave her alone with the enemy.
“It’s just Alexander,” Reyna assured him. “Come on.”
Beckham nodded and gestured for them to follow him to a different room. The sitting room was only slightly more cozy with black leather couches, chairs, and a glass coffee table at the center.
A row of bookshelves distracted Graves upon entering, and he stepped up to them, looking disappointed by what he saw. “So many business texts. Do you only read nonfiction?”
“I hide the romances in our room,” Reyna told him.
Graves grinned. “I’d like to see that.”
“Graves doesn’t think a house is complete without a sufficient library,” Kierse told them as she took a seat.
“I remember,” Reyna said, her eyes on her taciturn husband, who had walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and was broodingly looking out at the city beyond. “Becks.”
His head tilted slightly, but he didn’t look back at her. “Tell me why you’re here.”
Graves’s smile might as well have been the one that Kierse wore while in a heist. This was his idea of a good time.
Whatever had happened between the three of them had been intimate, delicate, and dangerous.
Just the way he liked it. He was having fun riling Beckham up, in his element as he began to work his magic.
“Gregory Amberdash is holding a party this weekend. Did you get an invite?”
Reyna scoffed. “We don’t associate with the Men of Valor. What a ridiculous name they call themselves. Cowards, all of them.”
Kierse couldn’t agree more.
“You know we weren’t invited,” Beckham said, still facing away. “Stop playing your games and get to the point.”
“Becks,” Reyna said even softer.
“We’ve had enough war for several lifetimes, Reyna. I don’t want to stand here and get dragged into another one.”
“We’re not trying to drag you into a war,” Kierse argued. “We’re trying to prevent one.”