by Liz Meldon
“No, you didn’t,” Claude agreed after a few long seconds of tense eye contact. “I made that decision, but I wasn’t there yesterday to see you. I had my own plans… It was purely coincidental.”
Delia went back to her bagel, considering it a shame to waste something so scrumptious, and once again ignored the indignant voice at the back of her head telling her to thank him instead of snarl at him. Claude hadn’t needed to lift a finger for her yesterday. He could have let her get attacked and drained, but he hadn’t. The thought made her chest tighten and her eyes water. Maybe she was the sappy idiot, not the butterflies.
“So?” she forced out, mouth full of bagel and cream cheese.
“So…” He shook his head and sat back in his chair. “So, Delia, what would have happened if I hadn’t been there?”
“I would have figured a way out of it,” she said stubbornly after she swallowed, but even she could hear the lie. “It’s not like I wasn’t armed.”
“The stake?”
“Which is where, by the way?”
“Probably still on the ground,” Claude told her, and he scoffed when she fixed him with another glare. “I’m sorry that I was more concerned with your well-being than gathering your discarded vampire-killing tools.”
Delia’s head drooped a little as she chewed her next bite. When she was done, most of the fire was finally gone, because deep down she knew he was right. She’d been foolish—again—and had put her life in jeopardy—again—all because she wanted someone at HQ to pay attention to her—again.
“I was just doing my job,” she repeated, her words so quiet she wasn’t sure he’d heard. The lengthy exhale he gave told her that he did. “He was following this high school girl. I stopped him, asked to see his clan ID, and then he ran. So I chased. And then he challenged me. I was doing what I thought was right in the moment.” Delia looked to Claude, subdued. “Did you get him?”
His hand closed to a fist, then wrapped around his mug. She watched as he took a sip, and when he set the cup back down, dark red liquid stained his lower lip until he licked it away.
“If by get him you mean pummeled his face to nothing with a brick, then yes,” Claude muttered, “I got him.”
She almost thanked him. The words hovered at the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed them down with the last bit of bagel and a final swig of tea.
“Tracy said humans aren’t allowed in the main house,” Delia blurted, suddenly feeling the need to say something. She had been quiet for long enough earlier, wrapped up in her body’s pain and her mind’s frustration and her jumbled feelings. Now that Claude had called her out on being a moron, albeit in a nicer way than she deserved, sullen silence didn’t seem appropriate anymore.
“They once were,” Claude mused. Delia shifted in her chair to face him, but her eyes took to wandering the expansive hall instead. In her peripherals, however, the unearthly blue of Claude’s gaze was unflinching. “But I found they got into too much mischief during the day. I’m one of a handful in my clan who can withstand the sun, and with their vampire companions sleeping, usually the humans went wandering.”
It didn’t surprise Delia that someone would want to explore the Grimm manor. Tracy and Claude had referred to it as the main house, but it was anything but a house. A castle, more like, with slate-grey stonework on the outside and tasteful wood flooring on the inside.
The style of the décor changed depending on the room: the entrance hall had been sparse and overwhelming, with old silk tapestries strung from the wall depicting gruesome medieval scenes—not to his taste, Claude had noted when Delia made a face—while the dining hall had a glittering chandelier and gold finishing everywhere, designed to impress rather than unnerve. The whole room dripped with opulence, from the polished silverware to the extravagant gold candelabras spaced out along the table, each with what she guessed were real rubies embedded in the elaborate bases.
And all she had seen were two rooms. From the outside, Claude’s “main house” seemed to go on forever.
“So what’s the deal with the humans here?” she asked, feeling the need to wear her hunter hat. She squared her shoulders, then winced as pain shot from one side of her to the other. “Are they registered with the League, or…?”
Claude shook his head and sighed like the question exasperated him. “The humans here are friends, boyfriends, girlfriends, family. We found some couples have… extracurricular activities that make it tiresome for the human to go home right after. Instead of dealing with taxis and town cars at all hours, I built the guest suites so they could stay if they wished. Unlike most clans, we do not claim ownership over the humans who stay.”
“Huh.” Delia pursed her lips and nodded. “And how do the other clans feel about that?”
From what she’d read on local clan politics, the Grimm clan didn’t factor in all that much. At the time, she hadn’t been able to help wondering why.
“The other clans have no say in how I handle my affairs,” Claude told her with a lopsided grin. “I am their king, after all.”
“What?” Delia sat up a little straighter. “I call bullshit on that. There are no kings—”
“At one time there were,” Claude insisted, his smile growing when she repeated her previous sentiment. Bullshit. “I’m quite serious. Kings were once chosen to govern regional clans. However, as the American colonies moved away from their British overlords, so too did the American clans put less and less stock in their kings. Now, I trust them to govern themselves, even if I technically retain the title.”
She almost asked he if was sure he could trust the clans to govern themselves, given how reckless and violent the Donovan clan had been lately, but then thought better of it. Asking would be like giving away League secrets. Anything discussed at meetings shouldn’t be discussed with Claude Grimm.
Nothing should be discussed with Claude Grimm, but here she was, chatting casually over breakfast. Delia retreated into her seat, wishing she had more willpower to ignore him.
King of the clans. King of the regional clans. After all these years as a hunter, Delia had had no idea there were kings now or at any other point in history. She knew of clan leaders who ran their vamp houses with an iron fist, but never of one vamp who had dominion over them all—and it wasn’t like Delia hadn’t done her reading. Early in her career, she’d spent hours in the archives room at HQ, poring over texts and study aids in a way she had never done at school. She’d wanted to be on top of her game, to prove that she was serious about giving herself over to this life; now, suddenly, it was quite apparent that she still had so much to learn.
But then again, Delia was a mid-level grunt. Nobody shared the juicy, need-to-know details with grunts.
An unwelcome bitterness flooded through her.
“Delia?”
When Claude’s fingertips brushed along her arm, she flinched, then twisted out of his reach. “What?”
“I lost you for a second there,” he said with a chuckle. He was one seat closer to her now, with only a single chair between them as a buffer.
“I was…” She licked her lips. “I was just revelling in the fact that you’re technically a king.”
“Well, I’ve gathered there’s much your High Council of simpletons won’t share with you.” Claude shrugged when she frowned at him. “They treat you all like children… I’m hardly surprised you know so little.”
“Great,” she muttered. Now even the enemy knew that hunters like Delia were basically just physical entities. Enforcers. Clearly she wasn’t the brains behind the operation—not even close. And she didn’t want to be. She wasn’t clawing her way to the top, nor did she want to be groomed like Kain to take over on a High Council position.
She just wanted some fucking respect.
She wanted not to be the butt of a joke in front of seventy of her peers.
Fingertips brushed against her skin again, but this time she didn’t flinch back. Slowly she lifted her eyes to Claude, a flicker of her ey
ebrow asking a wordless question.
“Do you want me to take you home?” he asked, gently, like he was speaking to a lost child. Only she wasn’t a lost child. Just a somewhat broken adult, one who needed some time alone with a tub of ice cream, a bottle of wine, and trashy TV to nurse her bruises—on her body and on her ego.
So she nodded, then rose from the gilded table and headed for the door without a word.
*
“I can’t believe you drive a soccer mom minivan.” Delia laughed, unable to help herself. She’d wanted to comment on it the second Claude drove up to the stone porch at the front entrance of the main house, but it wasn’t until they hit the familiar downtown streets that she had any will to talk at all. She sat in the front seat, belted in and arms crossed.
“It’s discreet,” Claude told her almost happily, slowing to a gentle stop at a light. They were only a few blocks from her apartment building now, and with the end nearing, Delia’s anxiety dial inched ever upward. There they were, the two of them seated beside one another while the radio played easy rock tunes. It had been nice, actually. Quiet. Relaxed. Just what she needed after the night she’d had—and she didn’t want it to be over.
Which was…totally unacceptable.
“If you ever accept my dinner invitation, I promise I’d pick you up in something much nicer,” he added when the light changed to green. Delia tried to smile but couldn’t, her playfulness falling flat. Apparently the one joke was all she had in her.
“I’ll take your word for it.”
It probably wasn’t smart to give him her address. Claude had offered to drop her off at the bus station downtown, somewhere very public where all the transit lines converged. But the thought of walking the twenty minutes from the station to her apartment made her want to cry, so she quietly gave up her address and Claude punched it into the GPS.
“Are you alright?” Claude posed the question as they turned onto her street, and she directed him to stop in the designated loitering zone near the front door of her building.
“Fine,” she croaked. Today had been exhausting and it wasn’t even noon yet, but otherwise fine. “I just need a really hot shower.”
“A bath seems more relaxing.”
“A bath is for people who enjoy sitting in their own filth,” she said, unbuckling her seatbelt and slowly sliding it over her stiff body. Besides, after she freshened up, maybe took a power nap and gobbled some painkillers, Delia had every intention of going back to the alley where she had dropped her stake in order to retrieve it.
Maybe. If she could get off the couch once she sat down.
“Delia, wait…” He locked the doors as she tried to open hers, then unlocked it sheepishly when she scowled. “Sorry.”
“What, Claude?”
“I want to help you,” he said as he put the van in park and faced her properly. “Your combat skills are subpar, and…” He cleared his throat as a painful blush rose to Delia’s cheeks. “I want to help you get better.”
She went for the door handle again. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
“I’ll just keep showing up while you’re on patrol then,” he announced as soon as she opened the door and slid out.
“No.”
“It’s the only way I’ll stop worrying about you,” he continued, leaning across the front seats and popping his sunglasses up on his head. Her breath caught in her throat. It was easier to reject him when he kept those on. “Last night was very telling to me, and I think I can help you improve.”
Delia exhaled heatedly, gripping the doorframe. “And why would you want to help a hunter get better at fighting and killing vamps?”
“Because what you do is dangerous,” he replied, “and many vampires should be sanctioned for the crimes they commit.”
“I…” She definitely wasn’t recharged enough to fight with him about this. So, she shot him a tight smile instead. “Thanks for the ride home. And breakfast. And for… smashing that guy’s face in.”
Her name tumbled through his lips as a groan, and he sat up as she slammed the door, calling out, “Think about it!”
Shaking her head, she waved stiffly at him through the window, then zipped inside her building without looking back. Once she was in the elevator, Delia punched the button to her floor and all but collapsed back against the wall. With a heavy sigh, she closed her eyes to block out the painfully bright white lighting in the ceiling, wishing it was as easy to block out her increasingly concerning thoughts—about her job, about her abilities, about Claude.
And while she had grand plans of soaking her aching bones in a steamy shower the second she got inside, it seemed once again she was doomed to fail. With the shower running in the background, Delia decided to quickly check her League email, waiting for the water to heat up.
About thirty seconds later, she was passed out on her unmade bed, dead to the world.
CHAPTER 6: Too Much Family Time
“Well, that’s a shiner if I ever saw one.” Delia crossed her arms and grinned as Devin sidled up to her, sporting a very noticeable black eye and a sheepish grin of his own. All around them, hunters headed for the meeting room again, having received an emergency mass text to attend a meeting that night, schedules be damned, and to prepare for a lengthy session.
“Vamp got the better of me a couple days ago,” Devin admitted as he stopped in front of her. At Delia’s prompting, the much taller man crouched down so she could get a proper look. She made a face, resisting the urge to poke at the very bruised skin.
“Looks painful.”
“It is.”
“Did you get him back?”
“Tenfold,” he said, straightening. “One less unregistered son of a bitch running around Harriswood, that’s for sure.”
She congratulated him, wishing she had her own victorious story of slaying a violent, nomadic vampire. Instead, she asked Devin about his weekend. Hers had consisted of a single patrol shift from 4AM to 9AM on Sunday, a sad attempt at a run, and then eating fast food on the couch and trying to forget the fact that Claude Grimm had rescued her from certain death—well, maybe-certain death—only a few days prior.
Otherwise, she had been nursing her battered body and wounded pride. So far, only the former was making much of a recovery. The latter still had a long way to go.
She heard her name as they were about to enter the meeting space, which buzzed with excited conversations beyond the doorway. Both she and Devin stopped just shy of it, moving aside as a few others pushed by to get a good seat. Behind them, Kain jogged toward her—a light, half-walking jog, like he wasn’t putting any effort into it. All that changed once he was within an arm’s reach, and Delia yelped when he snatched her wrist.
“Where the hell have you been?” he demanded, only to be shoved back by Devin, who positioned himself between her and Kain in seconds. Delia frowned as she shook off the shock. Kain had been calling her all weekend. In fact, he’d called at least once a day since the last meeting, but she hadn’t wanted to talk to him.
“Back up, man,” Devin warned. Physically, he was an imposing figure to a guy like Kain, who was tall in his own right but not nearly as broad. Still, the Irishman outranked her friend. Kain looked him up and down once, then honed in on his black eye.
“What’d you do, knock your face on a barbell?”
“Okay, okay, okay,” Delia said, pushing between the two muscular figures with a groan. “This isn’t a schoolyard. Stop it.”
Devin looked at her like she was being the unreasonable one, and maybe she was, but she didn’t need there to be yet another scene involving her for all her coworkers to gossip about before the meeting even started. Shaking her head, she let out a soft sigh and nodded to the door.
“I’ll meet you inside, D.”
Devin’s scowl deepened. “D, I should—”
“Just save me a seat, okay?” She tried to grin, like this was no big deal, but she was stuck in some invisible force field of tension between Kain and Devin that wa
s making her stomach turn. When Devin tried to protest again, she added, “Actually save me a seat this time. Here. Put my purse on it.”
She had to all but shove it in his hand to get him to actually take it.
“Go on then,” Kain called after him once Devin stalked away stiffly, hackles up. “You carry her purse.”
“Stop it,” Delia snapped, then smacked him hard on the chest as he laughed. He doubled over dramatically, but once he was upright again, still wracked with chuckles, his usually fair face had a tinge of red to it.
“Oh, come on, he can take it,” Kain muttered. He rolled his eyes when she glared. “What? He’s a big boy.”
“A big boy who will literally put you through a wall one day if you push the right buttons.” She rubbed her wrist where he’d grabbed her. “What the hell was all that about anyway?”
“You,” he said, crossing his arms. “I’ve been trying to reach you all weekend, and I know you haven’t been working. Not really, anyway.”
“Okay, stalker.” They moved closer to the wall as more hunters filed down the hallway, the noise from the nearby room becoming deafening with the latest arrivals. She shook her head and mirrored his stance: arms folded and shoulders back. “What? Are you mad I didn’t answer your calls? I was having me time.”
“Yeah, well, me time didn’t happen to include Claude Grimm, did it?”
“Oh my god, say it louder!” She pushed at him again, only this time it was obvious just how little impact she had on him. “I don’t think the entire League heard you.”
“But it didn’t, right?”
“Can you fuck off with that?” she grumbled. Heat flooded her cheeks. “No, it did not include Claude Grimm. Seriously, Kain…”
Well, Claude Grimm hadn’t been the entirety of her ‘me time’ over the last four days, but he’d definitely been on her mind for much of it, sleeping or awake.
“Look, I only ask because I was worried, alright?” Kain lowered his voice, features slipping into a frown. “I know we took the piss out of you at the last meeting, you know, about the volunteering and stuff—”
