by Kayleigh Sky
He nodded. “Okay. I’m in.”
And a dull echo deep inside him reverberated like the clang of a steel door slamming shut.
18
Strange Motive
Zev stood at the window and stared into the courtyard where the detective ducked into the back seat of the waiting car. He’d find the killer before…
Before it was too late.
It’s already too late.
Zev’s heart froze like a stone in his chest, icy as winter. His mind flew back to the last winter of the war and a soggy backyard where he’d hunkered in the dark, gaze sharp, hunting the heat flare of the human he’d waited for.
Asa.
A face appeared in the windowpane in front of him, alive and flushed, so close his numb fingers rose, seeking the creature’s warmth. But it was just Moss, because Asa was long ago dead.
Yet…
I felt him.
A remembered terror—one that wasn’t his but had dragged him out of a dark sleep on the night of Acalliona’s murder—swept over him again, and he shivered.
“Are you cold?”
Moss came up behind him.
“No. The fog is burning off.”
“Just in time for the sun to set.” A soft chuckle rumbled in Moss’s voice.
“The witching hour,” he murmured.
“Relax,” Moss said. “You’ve honored your promise to Rune.”
Always and more than that.
Resting his fingertips against the leaded glass, he watched a strip of fog drift away as the car carrying the human cop pulled through the gates and disappeared.
19
In for a Penny
The faintest of blues edged the skyline and the streets were quiet. This was the time Otto usually crawled home from whatever bar he’d gone to that night. His father had settled on a favorite place to drink and that’s where Otto and Maisie could always find him, whereas Otto went from bar to bar because he didn’t want to be anything like his father, a cop who’d given up.
Otto had a second chance.
Don’t blow it.
The voice of the female vampire followed him up the walkway.
“Good night, Detective.”
“Good night,” he said.
Inside he fell onto his bed and dreamed he had fallen into a crack in the earth.
20
The Messenger
Jessa hid his detective novel in the inside pocket of his jacket like the gun his PI hero carried. This book was called Frolics in Frisco, and Jessa loved the reckless PI, Jackson Stork. He was big—like Otto. Dark-skinned and pale-eyed. Biracial—a crossling—like me.
Now all he had to do was sneak away from Mal’s birthday party and get back to his book. He’d left off at the part where somebody had just sent a dozen dead roses to Gloria Tilson. Was it her stalker? Jessa was pretty sure it wasn’t the killer. The killer was cold and methodical, and a dozen dead roses was pretty dramatic. Something a spurned lover would do.
He gazed across the veranda. A few couples wandered off into the woods. Others still sat at the table in the dining hall behind him, talking and eating and drinking. He looked back at Mal. She wore a shimmering red dress that clung to every pale curve. Brightly wrapped gifts were piled on the credenza against the far wall. The table was laden with meats that seeped blood, potatoes crusted in salt, and mushrooms. Mushrooms in pates and strudels and soups. Mushrooms in condiments pickled and spiced. Mushrooms stuffed and wrapped and candied. A few dishes were made with Jessa in mind. Carrot soup. Roasted asparagus. Salmon in a dill sauce. Tonight though…
Tonight he’d eaten meat. Blood red. Usually he only ate it because Wen liked it. He needed Isaac, but he didn’t want Isaac coming to him. He thought he’d explode if he didn’t get away from the castle. He wanted to drink coffee at a coffee shop and eat a banana muffin. Or go to a movie, which he never got to do. Or go dancing again. Or play cards with Isaac in the common room with the giant palms rustling around them. Anything but spend another day at home.
Even the gardens chafed him.
He slipped outside, heading for the veranda steps. A glitter of stars splashed the sky, and underneath, lanterns glowed like golden fireflies. An orchestra played, and a few couples danced on the lower patio. Jessa circled the fire pit toward a maze of boxwood bushes, but a low voice stopped him before he’d gone more than a few feet. “Prince.”
The address wasn’t directed toward him, but he looked back anyway and spotted Rune on the far side of the fire. Rune separated from the others standing with him and joined Uriah, who gestured toward the castle and said, “A courier wishes to speak to you. I put him in the library. My apologies he wouldn’t speak to me.”
“From whom?”
“Dinallah.”
“I see.”
Jessa’s pulse kicked up. Anything excited him nowadays. Rune smiled when his gaze met Jessa’s. “Enjoying yourself, blossom?”
“I wish you two would quit calling me that.”
“It’s an endearment.”
“You sound like Mal.”
Rune threw an arm around him, dragging him away from the path that led to the maze. “You weren’t trying to run off, were you?”
“Of course not.”
Rune sighed. “Not that I blame you. But sometimes we have to put on a good show, so stick close by.”
At the veranda steps, he let Jessa go and disappeared inside. Jessa followed him as far as the entrance hall. A form took shape in the shadowy passage from the kitchen and appeared at his side. Wen smiled at him and took a sip of his champagne. “Where did you get off to? I was looking for you.”
“The gardens. Well, almost the gardens. A messenger arrived for Rune. I wonder what it’s about.”
Wen frowned into the entrance hall as though the study door now held curious revelations for him. He was casually dressed for Wen—gray slacks and an untucked short-sleeved shirt, cream with pale blue stripes. In Wen, the line between human and vampire was as thin as a wisp of fog. But Wen was a social climber, and vampire blood counted for him.
Blood Jessa didn’t have.
“I’ll find out,” said Wen.
Well, that was no fun. Jessa wanted to be the one to find out. He pictured himself hiding in Rune’s armoire like Jackson Stork, spying into the study through the keyhole. Not that he had any chance of getting in there now.
He chewed his lip, side-eyeing Wen’s stare.
“What are you getting up to?” Wen asked.
“Nothing.”
“Just let me handle it.”
Why?
But he bit the word back. It wouldn’t do any good to remind Wen that he wasn’t a damsel in distress. Wen had visited him too many times in his sick room, bound to him when Jessa was twelve and already devouring the stash of romances forgotten in the closet. At twenty-six, Wen had just begun construction on Comity House. He’d been patiently waiting for Jessa for eleven years now. Guilt stabbed Jessa in the belly, and he tasted blood on his bitten lip.
Wen frowned. “Why are you so tense?”
“It’s a courier from the King.”
Wen rolled his eyes. “Melodrama for no reason most likely.”
“Or something important.”
It plainly irritated Wen when Jessa disagreed with him, and his frown deepened. “Leave it to me.”
“Maybe it’s a secret job.”
Wen chuckled. “A secret job? You are imaginative. Mapmakers don’t usually operate in secret.”
Jessa shrugged. “It’s mysterious though. Maybe he won’t tell you.”
Wen’s brows drew together at that, outright irritation flashing in his eyes now. “You must not think much of my status in the family.”
“That’s not true. Nobody talks to me either.”
That was probably the wrong thing to say, putting Wen on the same level as Jessa, and the distaste in Wen’s eyes at the comparison chilled him.
“Excuse me,” he said.
“Where are you goi
ng?”
“To get a drink. I’ll be right back.”
Jessa skipped the champagne and went for a brandy. The aroma rising from the swirling liquid as he walked soothed him. He’d gone too long without feeding. His nerves frayed. His thoughts fogged. The world hardened and froze. He ached for the soft skin of Isaac’s wrist against his lips. It never occurred to him to feed from the neck, though he knew some vampires did it. On the days Isaac came from another client, the telltale puncture marks sometimes lingered on his skin. Jessa hated feeding then, though logically he knew Isaac wasn’t being hurt. Wen would never risk the health of his donors by over-scheduling them. He’d hired a doctor to take care of them after all.
But those marks… They stirred something in Jessa, something that made him shudder yet tingle low in the belly at the same time.
He swallowed a burning gulp of brandy and returned to the hall. Now it was empty, though light spilled from Rune’s study. Prydwen entered, and Rune turned before following. His gaze met Jessa’s, and a wistful smile pulled at his lips before he retreated inside. He pulled the door closed behind him but didn’t shut it all the way.
Jessa approached. Was it left open for him?
He didn’t enter. He didn’t knock. He leaned against the wall and stared at the tapestry facing him across the hall. Angels fell from the clouds, wings in tatters, flames belching from the earth below.
Inside his study, Rune chuckled. “You want to help?”
“If I can.”
Jessa imagined Wen’s stiff glower. He disliked his position and sought any opportunity to make himself useful. Wen needed people to count on him and admire him, and bestowing favors made that happen.
“You can help,” said Rune, “by hearing me out and accepting my decision. I don’t want to leave home with this murder unsolved, but I have a job I can’t keep putting off. I have thought hard about the way we treat Jessamine and have decided some things need to change.”
“What things?”
“I have received instructions from Dinallah about him.”
“About Jessa? I don’t understand. Jessa’s—”
“Yours? Some day. But you aren’t married, and right now he’s my concern.”
“That’s unfair.”
A long silence followed. Finally, Rune spoke again. “I think a lot about the randomness of the last days. The way one building crumbled and another stood. How a child could die beside a child who lived. No rhyme or reason. I’ve done everything I can to keep Jessamine safe but imprisoning him is possibly the cruelest.”
“What? How is it? Jessa isn’t normal.”
“Who is to say that, Wen? Are you sure it isn’t we who are abnormal? In any case, Jessamine is Qudim’s son, and I wouldn’t forget that. I want him to remember it. I won’t be here forever.”
“Bah,” said Wen. “You are young.”
“None of us has a crystal ball. I want you to humor me on this. Jessa deserves better than for us to coddle him.”
“I do my best to be an asset to your family and to our people, but I think I have some rights in decisions regarding Jessa.”
Rune’s chuckle was a rough rasp as though dragged over rock. “This isn’t about what we want. The King wants Jessamine to help the human detective in his investigation of Acalliona’s murder.”
“That’s ridiculous. I forbid it. Jessa has nothing to offer.”
The scrape of a chair sent Jessa’s heart pounding, and his muscles went tight and ready to bolt before he stilled himself and relaxed against the wall again. He was Jackson Stork. Confident and fearless. He pulled in a breath and slowly released it.
Otto.
He was going to see Otto again. Hunger spread through him, an ache in his fangs. He needed to feed. To be strong for what was coming.
The memory of Isaac’s slightly bitter blood bloomed in the back of his throat. What did Isaac know? What was he hiding? Jessa had swallowed Isaac’s fear, an acrid burn that flowed through his veins now, and he wanted to help Isaac.
To be like Jackson.
Jackson’s clients were always beautiful women in peril. Women Jackson fell for but always had to let go. He saved them and went on his way. The perfect hero. So far, Jessa had found six of the eleven book series. He had to read them all. He owed Isaac to know what he was doing. Jessa loved him, and Isaac’s blood had given him a real life again. Nobody else’s had eased Jessa’s exhaustion much at all. Maybe he wouldn’t even be alive without Isaac.
Jessa wasn’t sure why Rune was allowing this, but he didn’t care why either. He just didn’t want Wen stopping him, and he edged closer to the door.
When Rune spoke again, the rumble of threat in his throat stirred Jessa’s memories of Qudim. “Nothing to offer? That was a telling comment, Prydwen. You would do well to think before you speak again.”
“Forgive me. It didn’t come out the way I wanted it to. Concern for Jessa overrode my manners, but I object on record.”
“Why exactly?”
“Drainers aren’t safe.”
“No one is, Wen. We’re all at risk. That’s life. I was wrong to wrap him up like glass. Jessa can help. Ellowyn will accept him. He knows us and can help solve a crime. And doing that will keep him safe.”
Edging closer to the study, Jessa leaned the side of his head against the wall and stared at the wedge of floor visible through the parted door.
“I don’t want that filthy human near him.”
Jessa cringed at the sound of Wen’s hiss. It was pure vampire. Ancient and dark. But the one that followed was the sound of chaos and destruction. “I don’t care what you want,” Rune whispered, his voice a wisp of menace gliding through the dark. “I care about my family. You are not that.”
“I—”
“Shut up. I want you to know this about me, Wen. I don’t hate humans. Jessamine is half human.”
“I didn’t—”
“I loved Dawn.”
“Of course.”
“No. No, of course. I’m peaceable. I gave up almost everything for peace. I brought my family low for peace, but not lower than yours. I’m letting Jessa do this because I think he can. I’m watching you now, Wen, and I will flay anyone alive who harms me or mine, drain him, and spit his blood upon the stones. Now go!”
This time Jessa fled to the gardens outside where the air chilled his sweaty skin. Puffing faint plumes of vapor in front of him, he crunched along a gravel walkway that circled around to the front of the castle where the lights spilled gold on the driveway. He weaved through the cars parked along the shoulder and strode down a grassy slope to a stone patio around an oak tree surrounded by a wooden bench. Here, the mountainside dropped away, and the lights of Comity winked in the dark.
Jessa patted the book still hiding in his jacket pocket. He needed to finish it and read a few more. Would investigating a real murder case be like his books? Best to stay away from romances for a while. He needed to keep his head clear of his fantasies about Otto.
Mine.
No. Wen was his.
Wen forgets half of who you are.
But it didn’t matter. At least not for now. Wen wouldn’t let him do anything like this once they were married. It would be back to making jewelry and living in his books. But for a reason he didn’t understand Rune had given him this opportunity at a real life. A chance to help Isaac and forget he was just a drainer.
The lights below winked like flares drawing him on, and his grin stretched wide on his face.
I’m coming down there.
Wen be damned, Jessa intended to solve a murder.
21
Ambivalence
So far, no trio of vampires had reappeared at Otto’s door to knock some sense into him. So far, Otto had dodged his promises and let the Acalliona case freeze colder than his useless heart.
Four days watching snatches of TV before his signal cut off. Four nights driving aimlessly until every night found him sitting outside of Comity House, wondering which window belon
ged to Isaac.
Wondering what the hell had turned his blood into sludge. He’d done nothing since the vamps had let him out by his front door.
Not true.
Okay, he’d gotten his badge, pager, and gun back, and maybe that was the problem. The surreptitious stares and sneers of guys who didn’t need a vampire king to fix things for them.
He’d been out, and now he was back in, and what if he fucked it up?
Four days of doing nothing. Of wallowing and feeling sorry for himself and never once thinking of Maisie or…
Jessa.
Four days until he ran out of coffee.
Well, fuck.
So far, he’d stayed sober. But tonight…
Tonight, he grabbed his keys and jacket and headed out again.
At midnight the only thing open near his house was Denny’s, a minimart, and the Captain’s Chest. Otto circled the block three times before parking his car at the curb and storming toward the bar. The sooner he got a drink in him, the sooner he’d have no more reason to try not to drink. Staying sober didn’t give him any more balls than being drunk. The thing he needed to do was figure out a murder that got more tangled with every new clue and looked less like a tryst with a blood whore gone wrong. Too much rode on Otto getting this right.
Like a prince.
A freckled, friendly—fanged—prince.
He slammed open the door of the bar, grunting at a sudden resistance, and pushed harder.
“Goddamnit!”
A figure staggered away from the entrance, swiped a hand down its face, and barreled toward Otto with a glare. Fortunately, the guy was about as drunk as Otto planned to be before the night was over and got all of two clumsy steps in before Otto flashed his badge in the guy’s red face and said, “Fuck. You.”
Blustering, the guy bellowed, “You coulda broke my nose.”
“Whatever,” Otto muttered.
