by Jo Penn
Xavier pointed to his right. “Down the corridor there about five hundred meters. There is an intercom. Ask for Alexis. State who you are—formally—and she will immediately allow you entrance. Introduce yourself, Dominic. The staff work hard behind closed doors and will enjoy this interaction. Perhaps you will join Dominic, Trekk.”
Yeah, it wasn’t a question, more an order, which one instantly obeyed with the elegant, ethereal vampire. Trekk grinned, always such a cheerful bugger.
“Sure, Xav, happy to.”
“I will arrange one of my assistants to meet you there and, when you are finished, bring you to the conference room. Excuse me.”
Dominic waved a hand at Glenn, who was hovering and probably anxious with the schedule change.
“Go with Xavier and set up for the meeting, Glenn.”
“Err, right, okay, sure.”
“Hey, bro.” Dominic waited as Xavier turned back, his icy blue eyes warming a smidge. “Keeley here also?”
“No, he is with Ryder in the clinic this morning, and with Drake this afternoon.”
“Okay. See you in the conference room.”
Keeley was Drake and Xavier’s human mate. Always dreamy, fun, a little shy, and caused absolute chaos. Dominic found it important to know where the little human was so as to be prepared for anything. Keeley could turn a bit of fun into a brawl with a few well-placed words. Not that the guy was bad or mean-spirited, he just did it when feeling out of his depth, antsy, or pissed off.
“Let’s go.” Trekk nudged Dominic, which nearly sent him toppling over. “Why are we doing this anyways?”
Had to love the Croggens. The big bear triplets were family to Dominic, as one of them, Tredd, was mated to Dominic’s cousin Trent, who was currently in Zurich working. Each were different, but all were entertaining, big hearted, talented, and loud.
“Good interspecies relations,” Dominic said.
“Yeah? I think it’d be better for interspecies relations if the bastards hadn’t sent their supposedly great chef to the Starters pack a few weeks ago. I doubt I’ll ever be able to look at a baked potato the same way again.”
Dominic grinned. “You bears have the most sensitive stomachs.”
“We don’t tolerate no shit cooking, that’s for sure.” Trekk laughed, which was a bit like the rumble of trees being split in half. “Here’s the door.”
Dominic pressed the intercom. “Hello, this is Prince Dominic Sanchez of the Sanchez pride and Trekk Croggen of the Starters pack of Milson Valley. We would like to speak to the admin staff if possible. Thank you.”
“You’re so diplomatic and shit,” Trekk teased once Dominic released the button.
“And you Croggens have no frigging subtlety.” Dom chuckled.
“Sure we do. We just don’t see the point of it. Bears don’t do subtle.” Trekk pushed the door open as it buzzed. “Look at that, it’s a whole other world.”
It certainly was. A very busy and efficient office was behind the coven wall, and it looked like it took up a lot of space. A handsome female vampire appeared before them and bowed.
“Your Highness. Mr. Croggen. I am Alexis Livingstone. How may I assist you today?”
Using some charm, his soothing gift, and some humor, Dom soon had the vampire eating out of his hand. Though Trekk really won her over with his big bear build, his winks, and his bashful ways. Alexis was shrewd and happy to introduce them around, show them what the coven administration staff did, and soon Dominic was wandering through desks and offices nodding, chatting, and listening to how mundane tasks were performed until he smelled something that sent his tiger from slumbering to roaring in a millisecond.
Tilting his head to the left, he drew in deeply. Oh man, that was an amazing scent!
Trekk stared at him and sniffed the air. “What?”
With a little chuff of appreciation, Dominic let his nose lead him through the large office and along another hall where he poked his head into a large room. Here the smell was faint but lingered. The room was filled with computers, telecommunication devices, screens, and a dozen staff.
“Oh, ah, Your Highness? Is everything okay?” Alexis demanded.
Trekk gave a knowing look before pointing. “What’s this room?”
“The telecommunication office. Here we monitor the front gate for those wishing entrance and man the main switch, as well as direct internal calls and monitor communal rooms.”
Dominic tuned the woman out. Focusing on what his nose was telling him, he followed it to one of the chairs and sniffed deeply. Receiving some frowns and looks from the staff there, he simply ignored them.
Dom pointed at the chair. “Who was sitting here?”
A vamp curled his top lip. “That really is not your business, shifter.”
“You will be respectful to Prince Dominic Sanchez of the Sanchez pride, Challis.” Alexis’s voice was like a whip and had all the staff jumping to attention and bowing. “Answer.”
“Yes, ma’am, my apologies, Your Highness. Ah, Michael was there.”
“No, no, it was Chane,” another said. “He manned the intercom for me while I got the coffees.”
Challis gaped. “For real? But, like, wasn’t he in the gardens doing that contortion thing he does?”
The other vamp now shrugged. “He was walking by, so I snagged him.”
Dominic growled a little. “Where are they? Forget it, I’ll find them myself.”
He dismissed one scent, it wasn’t the one he was interested in, and followed the one that made his senses come alive and tingle. His tiger snarled, wanting to get out and hunt. Unfortunately, the scent led all through the administration offices, into a staff kitchen, a locker room, and then outside. Here, the scent was lost on the breeze. Though Dom’s nose was good—he was a high-grade tracker—it was not as good as his cousin Baron’s, who was one of the best in the pride, nor his younger cousin Marco’s, who might even surpass Baron when he had finished training, but it was still damn good.
The scent, though, was gone on the wind.
Chapter Two
The Armstrong witch and wizard coven in Milson Valley was an extensive, beautifully constructed, regal manor house that had, over the one hundred odd years since the coven took up residence, been modified, extended, updated, and renovated at least every ten to fifteen years. The latest renovations had taken place four years ago when the new second-in-command of the coven was here a year and decided that they needed more space. There were, the second decided, more and more witches and wizards requesting membership to the coven, and soon they would run out of space.
Apparently there was yet another new addition taking place, a little housing development farther down by the lake on Armstrong land.
Chane Taunton found the coven fascinating. He had visited many different creatures’ homes over the years, and was always quite taken with the magical ones, such as the witches, wizards, and fae. Witches and wizards were friendly creatures, though a touch reserved upon first approaching. They were intelligent and dedicated, always creating with their magic and potions, and could hold a grudge longer and deeper than Chane had ever believed possible.
To this day, he knew of a witch who still refused to lift a curse on a gargoyle because the creature said her potion smelled funny, resulting in her losing a contest. The gargoyle had since smelled funny four hundred years later, and no amount of reasoning, coercing, threatening, begging, and tricking could shift her grudge.
The Armstrong coven was vast and always busy. It was beautifully decorated, charming with its period features and antique furniture with modern accents, as required, and for a bit of difference. Presently, Chane sat as he had been instructed to do in the visitor waiting area along with four others. A human, a fae, another a djinn. Though two of those creatures were magical themselves, there were, after all, different kinds of magic and skills, different levels and types. Witches and wizards used their magic and potion-making skills to heal and aid in enhancing life, even goals, by pro
viding what the creature required on the inside to implement accomplishment. The magical creatures were in high demand by others who paid either in barter or money for what they needed.
He sat and watched, noted numerous happenings, and waited his turn. Chane could be patient when necessary. He’d been taught patience, meditation, inner reflection, and many other useful, interesting tools that provided him with direction and assistance during his long life.
“Mr. Taunton?” A youngish witch glanced about the waiting room, clipboard in hand.
Chane smiled and rose, slipped his satchel over his head and approached. “I be Chane Taunton.”
She blinked, a lovely smile blossoming on her pretty face. Witches and wizards all tended to be very slender to emaciated-looking. This was said to be due to the fact they used so much fuel in their magic. They were also never overly tall. As Chane was five foot eleven, he did not feel the young witch’s height was short, but others might. He had at least a head and a half on her.
“Oh my—Oh! I mean, hello! I am Misty, please follow me, Mr. Taunton.” She tripped over her foot, righted herself, blushed furiously, and then led the way out of the waiting area while somehow managing to walk in front and look back at Chane. “Have you recently relocated to Milson City?”
“Oui.”
She sighed and smiled. “Wonderful! Oh, ah, you’re with the Durand vampire coven?”
Technically, he was a guest or visitor, not affiliated and not a member. Occasionally, when deciding on another coven to join, vampires would first visit for a brief time and see if they were a fit, while other times it was just a change of scene or they were visiting with a specific member of a different coven. Chane didn’t fall into any of those categories.
“Oui, je visit.”
She frowned, then nodded and smiled while waving an arm out like a theater performer displaying a new prop.
“That’s great. Hopefully you will decide to stay…” She looked puzzled, noticing his cloak. “Oh, ah, you’re a monk?”
It was a common thought, but it was dishonest to allow others to misinterpret. Chane tried to think of the right words in English. Though his English was excellent, occasionally he was muddled and struggled to find the correct terms and words.
Some creatures did not agree with Chane regarding his English. In fact, some of his best friends were known to adamantly disagree, saying his English-speaking skills were appalling. They would have to agree to disagree.
“Je non monk tomorrow.”
When the witch looked completely confused, he went over his words, smiled, and nodded. Yes, he had gotten it correct.
A throat cleared behind them. Chane turned and inclined his head to the second-in-command of the coven, Lord Mason Armstrong.
“I think what Mr. Taunton means is, Misty, these days he is not a monk.”
“I say this,” Chane murmured, waving a hand for emphasis.
“Oh. Oooh!” She brightened and beamed up at Chane, touching his arm. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Taunton. Please, if you need anything, call me. I will do my best to help in any way.”
Chane took the card the pretty young witch held out and gave a small bow. “Merci.”
For a moment, it was awkward. Misty simply stared at Chane, who in turn smiled, but was waiting to see where he was meant to go for his appointment. Was he meeting a witch or wizard here? Was he to wait?
Thankfully, Lord Mason stepped in and hurried Misty away by reminding the witch of her duties.
“This way.” Lord Mason held open a door to a room that Chane felt was similar to a doctor’s office.
Lord Mason Armstrong was vampire Prince-mate Xavier Armstrong Dalton’s cousin. Xavier was taller, had dark hair, and was stunning, whereas Mason was five foot twelve, very slender—almost skinny really—but toned. They looked very similar with their icy blue eyes and features, and both were very attractive and had similar mannerisms.
“We have not met.” Lord Mason waved at a seat, indicating Chane should sit. “I am Mason Armstrong.”
“Chane Taunton, my lord.”
“Please, no need for my official title. I had actually requested to meet you. I placed the request with one of Prince Misha’s many assistants, unfortunately it may still be sitting in a pile awaiting his attention.” Mason smiled. “You are an herbalist, Chane—apologies, may I address you as Chane?”
“Oui, s’il vous plaît.” Chane frowned and thought of his English. “Years gone I be herbalist, as you say.”
“Let’s speak in French, or Korean, if you prefer?”
As Chane was born in a small vampire coven in Korea to a Korean mother and a French father, he spent half his time between the two countries for many centuries before moving onto other European covens, and finally the States. As such, he found it easier to converse in either of his native tongues—Korean and French.
Relaxing, Chane nodded. “I was an herbalist many years ago, Lord Mason. I dabble still, but do not participate in coven duties in this regard.”
“No, I had read that. Misha actually drew my attention to your skills. I would like to have you come to the Armstrong coven and to share your knowledge with me and my assistants, Chane.” Lord Mason turned to a computer on one of the desks and tapped a few keys. “I will have one of my assistants make set times for these sessions. Are you free tomorrow at ten in the morning?”
Chane was puzzled. “There is a mistake I feel, Lord Mason. As I said, I dabbled years ago, but was no more trained than a junior monk to make ointments and identify plants. I apologize if my dossier stated I was a qualified herbalist—”
“Wait, please.” Lord Mason leaned forward, expression serious, earnest. His French was also superb. “You worked, and still dabble, as you say, with plants. You know plants. For two hundred years, you perfected healing lotions and ointments, and you even were one of the monks who founded natural treatments for a number of creature illnesses. You also produced your own ointments and lotions. I want your knowledge, Chane. Here, I dabble in everything. Witches and wizards utilize everything nature has to offer. Over two hundred and fifty years ago, you learned how to substitute one plant or ingredient for another. You, along with the others in your teams, knew what to look for and how to determine what worked best. These days there is too much artificial. We need to grow our own, and we need to be able to substitute from nature.”
Chane studied Lord Mason, seeing clearly the passion, determination, and strength the creature had, his beliefs. The man could and would do, probably already did, an astounding amount of good; just like his cousin, Xavier.
“I understand. I have a few of my old texts and notebooks. I will provide you with these, though if I could… No, I do not require them any longer. You are free to have and keep them.”
Lord Mason narrowed his icy blue eyes. “Thank you, I accept. I will copy and store the originals in the preservation room, which you may utilize as you wish. I will expect you here tomorrow at ten for our first session.”
Chane smiled a little and inclined his head. Lord Mason was very perceptive. “I must decline—”
“I insist, Chane.”
It was not often—oh, okay, it was daily—that Chane slipped from his calm, neutral way. But then he was a vampire, and they were notorious for being testy, snarky, and easily offended, and personally, Chane could get downright pissy at others. Now, he lowered his head a little and glared at the wizard, crossed his legs, and tapped manicured nails on the arm of the chair where he sat.
Mason smirked. “Yes, I do insist, Chane. Why do I not put a personal call through to my cousin, Xavier, or his cousin, Crown Prince Misha Durand? Who is family to me also. Or shall we leave it at that and slot you in for tomorrow morning?”
Chane’s light brown eyes flashed with irritation, his top lip curling up ever so slightly. Not liking this turn of event, he decided to end the discussion swiftly, and as he was prone to do, switched between languages when annoyed.
“Non. It be impossible.”
“Very possible. You see, I fight for what I want and need, and didn’t get to this position just because I am family. I can see you will not be moved. I have noticed that the older vampires get, the testier they become. Except Queen Bethany. She is just lovely.” Lord Mason picked up the phone, hitting a few numbers. “I am curious. Why are you in Milson City?”
“Tourist.” Chane averted his gaze, turning slightly and eyeing the shelves behind glasses of small bottles. “I am here to see a healer.”
“Hmm, I was informed. Ah, hello, cousin.” Lord Mason chuckled, paused, and then continued. “Yes, I can do that. Now, I have Chane Taunton with me. I have requested he teach me and my assistants his knowledge of plants and medicines. Alas, he has refused. I have endeavored to find a resolution and incentive, always good for interspecies relations, but he is adamant. Perhaps you could persuade him?”
Chane was far too old, too self-focused, and had his own agenda, which must not be interfered with, to be swayed by creature politics. He might be living in the Durand coven in Milson City at present, but he could rectify that. Though that did leave him vulnerable, but so be it.
Lord Mason laughed. “Sure, sure, I will try. Hang on, Xavier.” Mason held the phone aside. “Chane, Xavier said to mention Archie.”
For a moment, Chane was confused, but then it quickly clicked, and he hissed in French. “Clarify.”
“Very well. Xavier, Chane has requested clarification.” Mason listened and nodded, brows rising. “I see. Thanks.” Again, he put the phone aside. “Specifically, Archer Taunton has requested visitation with the Durand coven here in Milson City. He can be refused.”
Chane shrugged. It might be best that Archie was refused. The man kept following Chane from coven to coven, interfering, wanting to protect and help. Hmm, this might work to his benefit.
Chane relaxed and waved a hand absently. “As you wish. Refuse him.”
“Oh, did I forget? He is already here without permission to leave his previous coven and will face regulation charges. These can be settled without prejudice if you offered your assistance and perhaps remained in one place long enough for Archie to fulfill his duties and commitments.”
