by Rye Brewer
“Do you have money?” I asked. “American money?”
“I always carry some American currency in my wallet,” he confided. “Granted, it’s not much. It was just in case you ever needed me while here for a meeting of the League. Back then, I was able to rely on private jets which could get me over here in next to no time. I wouldn’t have needed to take a cargo ship.”
I could’ve wept at how simple and sweet that gesture was. He’d carried American money in case I needed him while traveling in the States. “Thank you,” I whispered, as I had so many times during our journey.
He flagged a cab, and I gave the driver the address upon climbing into the car. It had been so long since I’d taken a cab or seen the city. Not since the massacre in my hotel room, while in town to meet with Marcus.
That seemed like another life. Like another me. I could hardly remember why I’d gone as far as I had. Power? Most likely. I’d always longed for power. I’d always sought to hold myself above all others—but it wasn’t enough just to know I was better. They had to know it, too.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, as I nestled beside him with my head on his shoulder.
“Nothing in particular,” I lied. “There are a lot of memories tied up with this city.”
“I haven’t spent nearly enough time here,” he observed.
“We have all the time in the world now. If this is where we decide to set down roots.”
“Who’s to say we need roots?” he posed.
I chuckled in spite of myself. “I don’t know. It strikes me as a pleasant idea, having a home with you. A real home, not one home of many which we visit in passing. One central place, one touchstone where we can return time and again and be ourselves. Together.”
“Hmm…” He seemed to think this over as the driver took us through lower Manhattan and on toward Central Park.
I felt more myself among familiar places. Stronger, relaxed. We were out of danger. I was sure of it. The sense that we were being followed had faded over the week it took for the ship to cross the ocean. There was no way for any of his family or the Bertrands to know we’d crossed on that specific ship, or that we’d taken a ship at all.
He had even gone so far as to sink his boat upon reaching Marseille, all in the name of covering our tracks.
“They wouldn’t dare step foot in Manhattan after what Dietrich did,” he assured me in a low whisper, as if reading my thoughts. “There are enough like you in the city who are well aware of my brother’s… activities while he was alive. Our kind is hardly welcome here.”
“Which means this is not the place for you to stay,” I murmured with a sinking heart. Damn that Dietrich. He’d destroyed so many lives.
“I am not my brother,” he replied, a note of steel running through his voice. Determination. I imagined him silently daring all comers to challenge his presence in the city.
I pitied anyone foolish enough to dare. But at the same time, I realized how outnumbered Anton was. How outnumbered we both were, because after all, I was on his side.
By the time we reached the building in question, the sky was lightening at an alarming rate. I was quick to exit the cab while Anton settled the fare, fleeing to the safety of the lobby.
The concierge didn’t recognize me. A look of confusion crossed his face. That was easy enough to fix.
“You know me,” I compelled him, looking into his eyes.
He nodded.
“But you haven’t seen me. If anyone asks.”
He nodded again.
“I further hope you can grant entrance to my good friend and myself, as this is a surprise trip and I did not bring my key.”
Anton joined me then, giving me added strength just by standing at my side. I stared at the man.
Another brief flash of confusion which quickly cleared itself up. “Of course. We stop at nothing to please our most valued residents, naturally.”
He disappeared behind the marble counter, and I let out a slow, silent breath.
“Here we are.”
I took the electronic key with a smile and a murmur of thanks before leading Anton to the private elevator which only stopped at the penthouse.
“I might have known you would rent the penthouse,” he said once the doors closed and we were alone again.
I leaned against the wall, sliding one hand beneath the oversized coat I’d appropriated from one of the ship’s crewmembers.
The bag of blood was still in there, tucked into one of the pockets lining the inside. I chuckled at the difference in my appearance—the dung-brown coat, the khaki pants and work boots, also taken from the ship’s smallest mate and still three sizes too big.
A chiming sound preceded the opening of the doors, and I breathed a deep sigh of relief when greeted by the surroundings as the apartment revealed itself.
Anton let out a low whistle upon stepping from the elevator. “I don’t know why I hadn’t expected this,” he admitted, looking around.
It was impressive, to be sure, with an open living room/dining/kitchen floorplan which allowed for a view of the city thanks to the windows lining the outer walls. They were almost entirely glass, those walls, and treated especially with my needs in mind.
I had a few things in mind. First, I went straight to the kitchen and hoped against hope to find at least a single bag of blood inside. It had been ages since I’d stepped foot in the place, but the blood would keep almost endlessly so long as it was kept sealed and chilled.
It was. I closed my eyes.
“Thank you,” I whispered to no one in particular at the sight of three full bags, concealed in cartons, waiting for me. I pulled the spare bag from my coat, opened and drained it in one smooth movement. It strengthened me almost instantly, warmth spreading through my chest and to my limbs within moments.
“How long have you had this apartment?” Anton asked, still admiring the view. At the sight of a shining grand piano in one corner, his eyes widened, and a smile came to his face.
“You can play if you wish,” I offered, “though I can’t promise it’s in tune. As for the apartment, I’ve had it since the mid-eighties.”
“That long?” He sat on the bench and opened the lid with almost reverent care before running skilled fingers over the keys.
It sounded fine to me, and he smiled in obvious pleasure before launching into a lovely, soothing melody which served to further relax me.
It was good to be home, even if this had never truly served as a proper home. Nothing ever had, really—even my beloved Paris had been little more than a stopping point between trips elsewhere. Yet I felt more myself than I had in weeks, easily.
I went to him, standing behind him with my hands on his shoulders and taking pleasure in the ease with which he played. His fingers flew over the keys with such grace, such confidence. Yes, coming here was the right decision.
“Someone comes in once a month to dust,” I explained, allowing the music to carry me away from the stress of our escape. We were safe, truly and for good. Finally.
“You don’t worry about them finding out your identity?” he asked.
“I’ve made arrangements.” I sat on his lap, my arms winding around his neck. “We have to be careful. It’s one thing to want to move forward and leave behind our mistakes, but another to forget the people those actions affected—and the grudges they might hold against us as a result. I have no choice but to think about that.”
“Agreed.” He kissed me then, and that seemed to seal the sense that nothing could touch us now.
We were safe, we were together, and the world stretched out below us.
“What do you think?” I spun in a slow circle to show off the black Chanel dress I’d chosen for our first visit to the Bourke high-rise. “Not too much, I hope?”
Anton merely leaned against the bedroom wall, arms folded over his chest and a wry grin spreading across his handsome face. “No, not too much. Though I feel like a bit of a slob now.”
I t
ook in his cargo pants and long-sleeved t-shirt. The best he could arrange while on the ship. “We can stop someplace for a new outfit,” I suggested.
“And just what would we use to pay for it?” He raised an eyebrow. “Remember, we can’t use any of my cards. Margaux will be on the lookout for that.”
“I can access my accounts now. My special accounts,” I reminded him. “Everything is locked in my study—my credit cards, bank cards, everything.”
“They’ll be looking for you, too,” he murmured.
I cocked an eyebrow. “They’re looking for Genevieve. Not for Jemima Benedict.”
“Who’s Jemima Benedict?”
“Me, of course.” I spun again, laughing this time. “You can’t possibly imagine that I don’t have more than one name under which I’ve traveled and done business all these years. Jemima Benedict owns this apartment. Jemima bought this dress, these shoes, everything.”
“I don’t understand.” But he was smiling, if tentatively.
“Anton.” I went to him, taking his beloved face in my hands. “You know me. You know what I’ve done, what I’m capable of. Do you believe it behooved me to live under my true name? When I was in Paris or with my clan, certainly. I even visited the city under my real name more than once—most recently while staying at the St. Regis. Otherwise? You’re looking at Jemima.”
“And Jemima has an abundance of money?” he asked, still skeptical.
“Jemima has several very clever investment brokers working on her behalf,” I assured him. “When last I checked in on her, she possessed several million dollars, much of it tucked away in hidden accounts. Darling, we are in no need for money.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” he gasped.
“I didn’t want to get your hopes up. After all, we might have arrived to find the apartment ransacked. It would’ve been just one more of many hardships. Now, we can breathe. I still want Jonah’s assistance—we’ll need protection from the Bourkes if we’re to move with any degree of freedom—but aside from that, we’re self-sufficient.”
“I don’t much like the thought of living off you,” he grumbled. “What does that make me? Nothing better than a gigolo.”
“We both know that isn’t true. Besides, if you wish to turn your hand to some occupation, I have no doubt you could make a success of it. You can do anything you want. I know that for certain.”
It was so much easier to be confident while wearing a Chanel dress and pumps. There was something to be said for the trappings of wealth, trappings to which I had become accustomed.
“Come,” I bade, holding my hands out to him. “We’ll go shopping now that the sun has set. After we outfit you, we’ll go straight to the Bourke place. Unless you would rather go as you are. I leave it up to you.”
He wanted to argue. I could tell. But vanity was not so easily overcome, and he possessed a great deal of it. I would never hold that against him, as I possessed more than my fair share as well.
“All right,” he agreed with a sigh. “If only to get out of these old rags. But nothing too expensive.”
He smiled. “We can’t go on bended knee while looking like we just stepped off the runway.”
25
Jonah
The meeting of the League loomed over me, like an ax held up by nothing more than the thinnest thread. A thread which had begun to fray.
Why did it plague me so? Perhaps because the meeting had already been put off more than once—first by Landon, Lucian’s son, who was currently looking for his brother.
I knew where Vance was, though I would never give him or Philippa away. Not for anything. Let them decide when they wished to show their faces again—if ever. They were entitled to this, after all they’d been through.
Then, once Landon had all but given up hope of tracking his brother’s movements, a great amount of fuss and drama had erupted at the Carver mansion. It seemed two thieves had ransacked Marcus Carver’s hidden supply of blood. So well hidden, I’d heard, that not even Will had thought to search for the hidden room his father had installed decades ago.
In their escape, the thieves had not only sealed more than one vampire in ice, but had then brought down the tunnel which Anissa had once used to come and go while avoiding detection.
I could only guess she had something to do with that. Who else would’ve known where Marcus kept his secrets but the assassin he’d taken pains to train? How little he’d known, the fool. She had proven to be part of his demise, starting from the night she’d refused to murder me.
Little had he known that when sending her out to hunt me, he would bring us together.
Will had settled things to his satisfaction, though I could hardly imagine him being truly satisfied at the loss of so many clan members. He would be a force to reckon with when we got together, as would Landon.
As would they all.
I ran my hands over my hair, then over the black button-down shirt, I’d chosen for the occasion. I was a leader. I was their leader. They would make it official once a vote was cast.
Strange how the thought inspired little confidence, but I knew all too well why my heart wasn’t part of anything I put my hand to. My heart was in Hallowthorn Landing. Knowing Anissa must have had a hand in planning the invasion of the Carver mansion told me she could not have been in bad shape, but that did little to ease my mind.
I wished she would settle down and cease stirring up trouble, especially when we were in completely different realms, and I had no way of reaching her. Was it too much to ask that she keep her safety in mind when she jumped headfirst into foolhardy plans?
I longed for her. It was like a physical pain in my chest, the need for her presence. She kept me centered, reminded me of the bigger picture whenever I lost my way and became too involved in myself. She reminded me of something so much more important than petty politics.
Family was all that mattered, which meant building a better world for anyone who came after me. Including children, should we be blessed with them.
“You have to get her back with you before you can think of that,” I muttered to my reflection in the bathroom mirror. “Then, you can start thinking along those lines.”
She would’ve laughed if she’d heard me talking to myself.
Nothing was the same without her.
I checked the time. Only a few hours until the meeting, which meant I could no longer use thoughts of Anissa as a distraction from what awaited me. There was no putting off what had to be done. I could wish for her all I wanted, but it would get me nowhere.
The buzzing of the intercom filled the air, making me flinch. I’d grown accustomed to the silence, being the only one left in the penthouse. Gage was somewhere in hiding, as was Philippa. And Scott? I hadn’t the first idea. Wherever he was, I hoped he was happy or at least would soon be.
My footsteps echoed around the living room as I crossed to the panel near the door. “Yes?”
“Mr. Bourke.” The voice was familiar, one of our long-time guards. “I have a couple down here who wish to see you.”
A couple? The only two couples I knew who might visit involved my siblings, and they wouldn’t need a guard to grant access. “Who is it?”
“She says her name is Genevieve, and you would know her. You last saw her at headquarters. She’s here with—” His voice dropped to a whisper. “A wolf.”
One of the shifters she’d promised. Her timing couldn’t possibly have been worse. Still, “Send them up right away.”
What made her choose that very minute to arrive? To make my life more difficult, naturally. To add just one more element to an already tense situation. I hadn’t the time—nor, at the moment, the patience—for any promises I’d forced her into making.
When one of them knocked, I called out from in front of the balcony doors. “It’s open.”
In she walked, and behind her was a creature who was most definitely not entirely human. He was massive, for one, all but filling the doorway with his
broad shoulders. He moved like an animal. Smooth, graceful, somehow compensating for his size rather than plodding through the space like a beast.
Yet it was Genevieve who drew my eye, as ever, though not for the usual reason. She normally wore something dramatic, slinky, perhaps something which exposed a bit of cleavage or was cut low to reveal her entire back. Her long hair was normally over one shoulder, so she could toss it dramatically when she felt the moment called for drama.
To see her in a little black dress and modest heels was almost too much to fathom. Her hair was pulled into a sleek bun. She might have been on her way to an event.
“I regret to inform you I don’t have much time,” I started off. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I was just preparing to leave for a meeting of the League. I’ll be coursing there shortly.”
“Oh.” This seemed to rattle her, which was another surprise. She didn’t normally get rattled. Had her time in the dungeon changed her that drastically?
“I can spare a minute or two,” I said, shooting an apologetic glance at her guest. The nature of their relationship was clear as day from the way he hovered over her. This was not a mere acquaintance of hers. I looked him up and down then, and asked, “I assume you’re the shifter I asked Genevieve to bring?”
“I am. My name is Anton De Clerq.”
My eyes narrowed at the familiar name. “A very powerful family.”
“They are. They’re also no longer any concern of mine.” He clasped his hands behind his back, his chin high and his chest thrust out. “I’ve disassociated myself from them, and I’m sure they’ve publicly disowned me by now.”
“We need your help,” Genevieve added.
I couldn’t have been more surprised. “You need me? What could you possibly need me for?”
“We need an ally here in the States,” she explained. “I don’t dare go to the League for help, nor to my clan. Anton’s family will be searching for him. I have my—a place—here in the city, but we already received strange, lingering looks from some on our way over this evening. I’m more than likely paranoid, but—”
