by Sarah Piper
It was hard to carry on with odds like that.
“Okay,” I said, let’s strip all this down and get back to basics. We can’t tackle all of this at once.”
“Emilio’s right,” Gray said. “Right now, our primary objective is still Haley and the others. We need to find Jonathan. The rest will have to wait.”
“Agreed,” Asher said.
“So now that we’ve got a lead in Raven’s Cape,” Ronan asked, “what’s our next move?”
“The hunter likes to play games?” I said, grabbing the whiskey and topping off everyone’s glass. “Good. We’re going to give him one right back. First step? Baiting a trap.”
“What’s the bait?” Asher asked.
“Not a what—a who.” I raised my glass and touched it to each of theirs, then sent a silent prayer to Darius in New York, hoping his negotiating skills were as sharp as when he’d practiced law. “The gutless vamp who betrayed him.”
Twenty-Two
DARIUS
Tonight wasn’t the worst of my immortal life, but it certainly qualified as a top-ten cock-up.
After leading me around by the fangs all week, Grinaldi had finally summoned me to his estate for our meeting, only to shuffle me off on one of his staff for a tour of the grounds, followed by a dinner during which Grinaldi didn’t appear and I did not dine, and a game of billiards with his eldest sired son, Francisco, who’d barely spoken as I proceeded to embarrass him at the table.
By the time he bowed out of his entertainment responsibilities, I was so out of sorts I nearly called off the meeting altogether.
But of course, one thought of my little brawler back home, and I knew I’d wander the grounds of this ridiculously sprawling compound for a decade if it meant securing even a shred of information that could help us track the hunter—that could help us keep her safe.
Now more than ever, we needed to locate the Grinaldi-sired vampire whose blood was responsible for Sophie’s death. Not only were we counting on him to reveal the hunter’s whereabouts, but the rogue was a critical component in Emilio’s latest plan to draw the hunter out of hiding.
I was still in the billiards room, gazing out the window at the lush, moonlit woods that surrounded the property, when my host finally deemed me worthy of his time.
“Darius Beaumont,” he said as he entered the room, his tone and expression as neutral as his home was ostentatious. “It has been some years, friend.”
I took in his polished appearance, but the immaculately-trimmed gray hair, tailored Italian suit, and French cologne did nothing to hide his age. He’d been close to seventy when he’d been turned, trapped forever in a body that had already outlived its prime in his own era. Despite his immortality, Vincenzo Grinaldi looked bone-tired, the brutal savagery of time wearing him down as a river wore down a canyon.
“Indeed it has, friend.” I briefly lowered my eyes, a silent acknowledgment that this was his home, and I was his guest.
No matter how badly I wanted to wring his neck.
“Shall we relocate to the south parlor?” he asked, already turning toward the hall without awaiting my answer, and neither apologizing for nor explaining his lateness. “I’ve taken the liberty of inviting some fresh… cocktails.”
I followed him into an intimate but gaudy room with gleaming white marble floors, deep mauve walls, and uncomfortably old-fashioned upholstered furniture better suited to a Victorian woman’s bedchambers than the home of the most powerful vampire family on the eastern seaboard.
But keeping his guests in a constant state of unease seemed to be Grinaldi’s primary driver, and to that end, the room was perfect.
I sat on a dainty floral-print settee as he settled into an intricately-carved rocking chair across from me and called for our “cocktails” to present themselves. Two nude women entered the room on silent footsteps, one kneeling at Grinaldi’s feet, the other at mine.
Both had pale, milky skin and waist-length dark hair that covered their small breasts. Their faces were painted heavily; I suspected it was supposed to make them look older, but it had the opposite effect.
The woman before me, who couldn’t have been a woman by more than a year if that, extended her arm toward my mouth and bowed her head.
My stomach twisted. Old traditions or not, the practice was horrific.
“Cin cin,” Grinaldi said, sinking his fangs into the mirror image of the woman at my feet. Briefly, I wondered if they were sisters.
Neither of them made a sound.
Both trembled in fear.
Using my influence, I sent the woman before me what I hoped was a gentle reassurance. She seemed to relax.
When Grinaldi finally had his fill, he shooed the woman away.
His mouth stained with her blood, he grinned at me and asked, “Will you not partake?”
“Thank you,” I replied. “But no. I do not wish to sully the taste of my last drink.”
He held my gaze a moment, considering. It was extremely rude of me to refuse his offer; I hoped he found my excuse plausible enough to let it go.
“Very well,” he finally said. He clapped twice to draw the woman’s attention, then shooed her away in the same manner as the other. She exited without a backward glance.
Unfortunately, I knew my polite refusal to drink from her hadn’t spared her any pain—it only postponed it.
I tried not to think about that.
When we were finally alone again, Grinaldi said, “I understand you’ve taken a witch under your protection. Could this be the ‘drink’ who has spoiled you for all others?”
“It is,” I said.
There was no point in denials with Vincenzo Grinaldi. The man was, among other things, a brilliant judge of character. Of course, that only made our current predicament that much more puzzling. How had one of his own clan managed to betray him?
“A witch of some significance, I’m told,” he said.
I raised an eyebrow, wondering what he’d heard, and more importantly, from whom. The less he knew about her the better.
“A witch of some determination,” I said. “She’s the reason I’ve requested this meeting, and I greatly appreciate your accommodating me.”
“Go on.”
“Her best friend, along with several other witches in the area of Blackmoon Bay, Washington, were murdered with the assistance of a vampire bearing the scent of your clan. We’ve since learned that this vampire was working closely with a hunter. Their motive remains a mystery.”
“A hunter? Nonsense.” Grinaldi waved a hand in the air as if swatting a fly. “The witch-killers disbanded decades ago when the last powerful families died out. None remain.”
“Current events would suggest otherwise.”
“Hmm.” He nodded slowly, pondering the information. Or at least pretending to ponder it. “If that’s true, why is this the first I’m hearing of it?”
“With all due respect, I’ve been trying to reach you for weeks.”
Tension crackled in the air between us, but I would not—could not—back down. Not from this.
He seemed to sense this, finally sitting back in his chair. Slowly, methodically, he began to rock. Back and forth. Back and forth. The chair creaked and moaned under his weight, but still, he didn’t stop. He rocked for so long that I worried he’d fallen asleep. I was about to wake him when he cleared his throat.
“I realize, Mr. Beaumont, that I’ve wasted a great deal of your time. I do not wish to continue. Let us drop this pretense and speak plainly, as old friends ought to.”
“I would appreciate that,” I said.
“As you are already aware, one of our own has betrayed us. We don’t believe that any of the attempted conversions have been successful, but nevertheless, it is against our code.”
“And against Council law,” I added, “considering the attempts were non-consensual.”
Grinaldi shifted uncomfortably in his rocking chair, but he didn’t deny it.
“Have you spoken to anyo
ne on the Council about this?” I asked.
Grinaldi’s eyebrow twitched—the only sign the question had even remotely unsettled him. “If that is a threat, Mr. Beaumont—”
“I assure you, it isn’t. You asked that we speak freely, so that’s what I’m doing. It’s a concern, plain and simple.”
“Yes, but I don’t see how it’s a concern of yours.”
“You’ve got a rogue vampire on your hands, one who’s aiding and abetting a murderer. The witch under my protection is in danger, as are others in Blackmoon Bay and potentially elsewhere.”
“Since when are vampires and witches such strong bedfellows?”
“Since their presence maintains a delicate power balance. Their disappearance could easily create a situation dangerous for humans, which could ultimately create a situation dangerous for all of us.” It had already begun. The episode in front of Black Ruby could not have happened otherwise, and Emilio had been updating me all week on other crimes unfolding in the Bay.
I shared a little of the information with Grinaldi, just to drive the point home.
“So you can see why the Council might have cause for concern,” I said.
“They might have at one time, yes,” he conceded. “But those impotent fools have long since turned their backs on such matters. Frankly, I’m not sure why they insist on perpetuating this charade of power and control when it’s quite clear they’ve lost both.”
I raised a curious eyebrow. The Council was imperfect at best, but they were the closest thing to a government we had. If Grinaldi had insights about their inner workings—especially if something had gone afoul—I wanted to know.
Unsurprisingly, Grinaldi waved away my implied inquiry, turning the tables back on me. “If you wish to bring concerns to the Council, perhaps you should begin with those unfolding in your own backyard.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Word is you’ve been—shall we say—shitting in your own sandbox.”
The image was crass and so far from his normal manner of speaking that I had no doubts he’d heard the exact phrase from someone else.
“I’m not certain I know what you’re referring to,” I said.
He leaned forward in his chair, pinning me with a cold glare. “I’m referring, Mr. Beaumont, to the slaughter of numerous vampires at the behest of your witch. You are supposed to set the example, not give in to your baser instincts.”
My mind was reeling. The fact that word of our recent conflicts in the Bay had reached Grinaldi—and via an unknown source at that—suggested that the situation with the hunter and the witches was only the tip of a much larger, much more dangerous iceberg.
Just like Emilio, Gray, Ronan, and Asher feared.
“I am loyal to family over species, Mr. Grinaldi,” I said, refusing to offer any details beyond that. “Rather than misdirecting me with thinly-veiled threats and vague accusations about which you’re severely uninformed, I would appreciate it if you would answer my questions about the vampire your family seems to have lost.”
“Family over species?” He sneered at me, his eyes full of disdain. “I never thought I’d live to see a greater vampire name a common witch his kin.”
Rage ignited in my chest, pushing me to my feet. “Nor I to see a respected family such as yours allow a rogue to dirty your name and elude your capture, yet here we are.”
He glared at me another moment, then gestured for me to take a seat once again.
“Forgive me,” he said. “It was not my intent to ambush you with rumors and speculation, nor accuse you of disloyalty.”
I narrowed my eyes, scrutinizing his face for any signs of treachery, but finding none.
As strange as it was, I believed him.
“Apology accepted.” I reclaimed my spot on the settee.
“Please,” he said. “Continue. I shall endeavor to be more forthcoming, if you agree to do the same.”
“Very well.” I folded my arms across my chest. “Since it would seem you’re not of a mind to do it yourself, I plan to track down your rogue vampire and bring him to justice myself.”
I thought he might forbid it, or at the very least attempt to dissuade me. But Grinaldi did neither, saying only, “Her, Mr. Beaumont.”
My eyes widened.
“Yes, the rogue you seek is a female,” he said. “Should you find her, I trust you’ll return her to me alive?”
His comment came out more like a question than a demand, and I pressed my advantage.
“So you can let her run wild again? Sink those fangs into a few more witches in my community? I don’t think so.”
“I can assure you that will not be the case. We simply prefer to handle our affairs internally, as I’m sure you’re well aware.”
I was. The punishments for betrayal and disloyalty in the Grinaldi family were legendary.
I considered his request. Given the fact that his rogue was directly tied to several murders and Grinaldi had yet to report her to the Council, he was in no position to negotiate.
However, there might come a time when I needed a favor, and Grinaldi—for all his faults—was a powerful ally to have in your corner.
“Once I’ve finished questioning her,” I said, “and I’ve deemed that she’s answered those questions truthfully, and she has done everything in her power to help us locate the hunter responsible for the deaths in my community, I will return her to you alive, assuming I find her in that condition to begin with and she does nothing to warrant immediate… termination.”
“I have your word?” he asked.
I inclined my head, lowering my eyes. It was all the promise he needed.
“Her given name is Fiona Brentwood. I don’t know what she calls herself now.” Grinaldi relaxed into his rocking chair, much more forthcoming now that he believed he’d handed his problem off to me. “She’d been living in Westchester when she’d first captured my youngest son’s attention four years ago, but she was originally from a small town near the Catskill Mountains called Phoenicia.”
Phoenicia.
Gray’s hometown.
“She was born twenty-three years ago,” he continued, “but was turned at the age of nineteen, not long after she and Everett began dating.”
I nodded, doing some quick mental math. I’d already assumed the rogue was a somewhat recently-turned vampire. The older members of Grinaldi’s family had always been loyal.
But her age put her at just two years behind Gray. With both of them being from the same town, they’d almost certainly known each other in school.
Which meant that Grinaldi’s rogue also knew Gray’s hunter long before she’d been turned.
“May I ask who turned her?” It wasn’t the most critical piece of information, but it might help me understand her a bit better. And if I could get inside her head, I might just be able to predict her next move. “Was it Everett?”
Grinaldi stopped his rocking, his fingers tightening over the arms of the chair, his eyes never leaving mine.
I was beginning to regret asking the question.
“In any case,” I continued, hoping to redirect the conversation and regain the ground I’d just lost, “I suppose I’ll start with—”
“I turned her, Mr. Beaumont.” He finally broke his gaze, turning toward the window at the other end of the room. “And lest you think any less of me than you already do, I assure you—she wanted it.”
My mouth soured at his words. How many vampires had used that as a justification for turning the lives of innocent humans—particularly young women—into horror shows? Into nightmares from which there was no escape but death?
I shook free of the thoughts. I wasn’t here to save Fiona, or any of the others he’d turned during his long reign. I was here to save the witches rotting away in some prison we’d yet to locate. I was here to save Gray, a woman who’d come to mean more to me than Grinaldi—with his endless parade of servants and “cocktails” and sired children lining up to do his bidding—could possibly
understand.
“And your son?” I prompted.
I hadn’t really expected him to divulge additional details, but he continued without hesitation.
“He has not spoken with me since.” A flicker of sadness crossed his features, aging him another ten years in an instant. “Everett did not want this life for her, but she wanted it, and she believed it was her decision to make. It had been a source of contention between them for months—all of us, including the staff, had heard their many battles, and we all began speculating on when they might finally part ways.”
“When did it happen?” I asked.
“About six months into their relationship. She’d been living with us by then, and I found her in the study late one evening, reduced to tears after a particularly brutal argument. When I tried to comfort her, she told me that he’d finally broken up with her—that he’d told her if she wanted to become a bloodsucker, she’d have to find another vampire to turn her. He wanted no part of it, and no part of her.”
“So you offered to turn her?” I asked.
Ignoring the question, he said, “She was quite fragile, you see, and I’d grown rather fond of her. I worried she might harm herself or stumble into the clutches of a vampire who would take advantage of her desperation. I tried to reassure her that her stay in our home was not contingent upon her relationship with Everett—she was welcome to remain as long as she wished, and no harm would come to her under our roof.”
“Obviously, she took you up on your generosity.”
Grinaldi nodded. “She seemed content for some time. She had her own quarters, and Everett went away to university that fall, so she didn’t have to worry about running into him. But a desire rooted as deeply as hers does not merely fade with time, and it wasn’t long before she fell into a dark melancholy.”
I leaned forward on the settee, enraptured by the story. It was quite obvious my assumptions about Fiona’s turning had been wrong; Grinaldi was speaking of her not as a plaything or an insignificant human, but as a daughter-in-law.
One he cared for, deeply and sincerely.
