by Isabel Wroth
“That’ll work itself out,” she told him confidently. “I haven’t finished piecing together Cecilie’s spirit, and until I do, whoever is pulling Etienne’s strings won’t make a move to hurt me. We’ve got time. Another month, at least.
“I know you’re a master tactician and all, so I’m curious: has the idea of just walking in there and taking the direct approach crossed your mind? Let them know upfront that you’re aware one of them stabbed you in the back?”
The reminder that Kerrigan was in jeopardy deflated his arousal, and a glance up at his face revealed anger he quickly tried to conceal.
“I did consider it, yes, and I may still opt for the direct approach. Experience has taught me to start slow when hunting for a traitor. It is a marathon, not a sprint, and playing our hand too early may only give him reason to try and act against us.”
“You’ve all been together so long, won’t they know how to evade detection?”
“Possibly,” he conceded, lifting his arms again so she could slide the black belt through the loops of his pants. “But as you say, we’ve been together long enough, battled together, killed together, survived together. It is difficult to conceal our true natures from one another. Almost impossible.”
Kerrigan finished buckling his belt and tugged his vest down, straightened and smoothed his tie, and stepped back to admire the beauty of a lethal predator in such a handsome suit.
“Is there anything you need me to do to help make this easier for you? Aside from not mentioning Etienne, your rubies, staying safe, and sticking close.”
Kerrigan took his hands when he held them out to her. A rush of warmth spread through her when he raised her knuckles to his mouth with a smile that made the skin around his eyes crease.
“Be yourself and listen to your intuition. That’s all. Now, do I get to dress you?”
“If you want,” she managed breathlessly, familiar now with the heat smoldering in his gaze. “I need to shower first.”
“I’ll be here.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
They walked into the lobby of the building he’d purchased forty years ago, and Maksim felt a pang of nostalgia for the familiarity of it. In his absence, nothing in the way of decor seemed to have changed.
The security was certainly tighter, and there were cameras perched in practically every corner to ensure there were no blind spots or places for an intruder to hide. In front of each elevator or access door, a shifter stood guard.
The assistant who greeted them upon their entry to the building led the way into the elevator, offering a cool, professional smile as they followed, pushing the button for the fifteenth floor.
The assistant didn’t make small talk on the quick ride up, informing them as she opened the door to a library that acted as a meeting room, they were right on time for their appointment.
“One of the senior staff will be with you shortly. May I offer you any refreshments?”
Maksim didn’t recall the woman’s face, and she didn’t seem to know him, so he reasoned the human woman must have been hired after his disappearance.
“No, thank you.”
Maksim wouldn’t allow Kerrigan to eat or drink anything in this building until he knew how well they would be received. Perhaps not even then.
The door shut behind the assistant, and Maks turned to watch Kerrigan shed her Victorian-esque wool coat. Somehow she’d managed to find lipstick and mile-high heels both in the same tantalizingly dark shade of red.
The black dress she wore beneath clung—from her elbows to her knees—to every curve of her body, both demure and wildly erotic. Maksim supposed it was because he knew what delights lie beneath the thin, silky fabric.
The only blight to the otherwise beautiful picture she made was the necklace his maker’s ghost had taken residence inside.
As he watched, Kerrigan reached up and rubbed her thumb against the two inch black diamond spear dangling from the end.
It looked habitual, and Maksim couldn’t help but wonder if that’s how Austmathr sipped at her energy.
Certain they were being watched, Maks couldn’t outright say it left him seething mad to know any part of his sire survived or that he’d be purchasing Kerrigan a new necklace at the first opportunity; the last thing he wanted was for any of his brothers to get hold of Austmathr’s spirit and use it to wreak untold chaos.
Kerrigan swirled the chain around her fingers before letting it drop. Amusement in her expression when she looked his way, and nothing about her posture or her scent suggested she was nervous. She was poised and calm, slowly moving around the small library of first editions.
“How long do you think they’ll make us wait?”
Maksim put aside thoughts of her jewelry for another time, fighting the urge to loosen his tie as his body responded to the sight of her stroking her fingertips down the book spines.
“However long it takes for them to compare the fingerprints on file with the ones I left on the pen and the counter downstairs. When that fails, I suspect they will begin comparing the security images with their own memories. They’re likely listening to us now.”
Kerrigan gave a nod of acceptance, circling around to seat herself in the glossy leather wingback in front of the fireplace facade. “Of course.”
His Bride had phenomenal instincts, keeping quiet despite the fact he could see questions brimming in her gaze.
She picked up her mobile and started to play a noisy game, her toe bobbing to indicate her boredom, only looking up to briefly track the movement of Maks unbuttoning his coat and sliding his hand into his pocket, setting his opposite elbow on the corner of Kerrigan’s chair.
A few minutes later, Kerrigan put her phone away and flicked a silver strand of hair off her forehead. She looked up at him with a quick smile and ever so slightly lifted her chin toward the door. He heard nothing from inside the soundproofed room, but seconds later, the door opened. In no time, the library was flooded with shifters and vampires.
The shifters he didn’t recognize, but the four vampires, he knew well, and each of them positively vibrated with outrage.
Virico had died a Roman and was born a vampire in the Catalonian Fields. Dhiraj, a Saracen in Anatolia was born a vampire during the second Crusade. Aubin, a French crusader himself, died only a few years later and was born a vampire in Egypt.
Each of them had been painstakingly collected by Austmathr during the greatest battles he could find, and then, there was Thomas.
Maksim knew Austmathr would have despised Maksim’s choice of firstborn, favoring seasoned men with bloody, vicious reputations for death and mayhem. He would have seen Thomas as weak for having succumbed to an illness.
“Who are you?” Thomas demanded. Virico, Dhiraj, and Aubin all glaring daggers through Maks, clearly believing he was an impostor.
Maksim expected their skepticism, but oddly not the anger he felt in response. Twelve years was the blink of an eye to a vampire.
He’d raised Thomas from the time he was a boy and spent centuries alongside his brothers. Were they really so easily fooled by the change in his eye color and mismatching fingerprints?
“Guess they aren’t as observant as you said they were, Maks,” Kerrigan said with a rather obvious note of sarcasm.
His Bride distracted him from the feelings curdling inside him, giving him a moment of calm to respond.
“It seems so, love. It’s a sad day when my own progeny doesn’t recognize me.”
“Oh, I dunno,” she replied breezily, the toe of her shoe really bobbing now. “Whichever one of them called in so many shifters clearly does. Ivy’s dad pulled a stunt like this a while back. We decided we were all flattered to be considered a threat, and I think you should be too. I’m guessing it was Spartacus who suggested the muscle.”
Maksim couldn’t help the dark chuckle when Kerrigan lifted her fingers in a wiggly little wave.
“Virico, actually. Yes, it was most likely him. Hello, brother.”
“My brother Maksim is dead,” Virico shot back immediately, but there it was, the flicker of doubt as he glanced at Thomas. How very curious.
Thomas took an aggressive step forward, thrusting his finger forward like a lance.
“I don’t know who you are or where this witch found you, but my maker disappeared twelve years ago and died not long after. I felt our bond sever, and your presence here is nothing but an egregious offense to his memory!”
The outrage seemed genuine; with the way Thomas spat the word ‘witch,’ he might as well have substituted a B in there and let the scathing curse fly.
Maksim straightened from leaning against Kerrigan’s chair and made an aggressive step of his own. “How nice to know you hold my memory in such high esteem, but you will watch your tone—”
“Enough! Tell me who you are and explain your motives for this insulting charade, or I will make you.”
Thomas jerked his chin, and the air moved against Maksim’s back as one of the shifters lunged forward.
The male was quick, managing to actually get a grip on Kerrigan and jerk her from the chair before Maksim could react.
The knowledge that the shifter could have killed Kerrigan instead of simply taking her by the arm, that he touched her at all, sent Maksim into a killing rage the likes of which he hadn’t experienced since he was a fledgling.
He grabbed the wingback and sent it flying at the shifter closest to him, driving the bastard back with enough force to send him through the wall and into the next room.
The shifter who dared lay hands on his Bride? His arm tore away from his shoulder like an overcooked chicken thigh, the series of crackling pops as his spinal column detached from his skull so satisfying, Maksim was tempted to keep going. To rip through all of the ridiculous, overly muscled fools who might try to take Kerrigan away from him.
“DO NOT. TOUCH. MY BRIDE!” The bellow tore from him like a battle cry, daring them, any of them, to come near her.
The need to tear into the carotids pumping rich, hot blood was so intense Maksim could almost feel the cacophony of pulsating heartbeats in his mouth.
“Stay back!” Virico ordered, his voice rising above the snarls and growls of the shifters. “Get away from the woman!”
Scents became sharper, the musk of feline, wolf, and boar thick in his nose, overpowering the coppery tinge of blood that clung to his vampire brethren from whatever meal they’d taken tonight.
He could kill them too. Everyone in the building. Anyone Thomas thought he could put between them in order to protect himself. Anyone Thomas thought was strong enough to separate Maksim from his mate.
“Maks, can you help me with this, please?” Kerrigan’s calm request cut through the rage.
If she’d sounded frightened or upset, things might have escalated badly, but she was right where he’d left her, her lip curled in distaste as she held her arm out away from her body.
Her arm, with the dead shifter’s hand and arm, still clenched around her elbow.
He was at her side instantly, digging his fingers into the tendons of the disarticulated hand to force it open.
Maksim flung the arm away, hearing it splat against the fine hardwood floor, uncaring that the blood would stain.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, ashamed now that the beast within him, driving him to kill, maim, and tear bodies apart retreated with her closeness.
Maksim cupped Kerrigan’s arm in his hands as gently as he could, examining the dark red marks left on her pale skin.
She actually snorted, laying her hand over his. “You’re not the one who should be apologizing to me.”
Maksim knew in that moment, his Bride truly was one in a million.
Kerrigan’s shoulders were back, her chin lifted at a proud, defiant angle, standing there like a queen amid the carnage he’d created, and nothing he could sense or see suggested she was frightened or angry.
Oh, there was a light of fury in her eyes, but it wasn’t directed at him. She took his hand without hesitation and stood by him when he turned to face his shocked little family.
Before, Thomas had been so sure Maksim was an impostor. Now, he looked worried that he might have been wrong.
“By the blood that binds us, you will beg forgiveness from my Bride. On your knees!”
Maksim pointed to the floor in front of him, watching shock flash across his progeny’s face before he dropped to the floor.
It was involuntary, the bond between maker and progeny forced Thomas to obey and was all the proof he and the others needed to confirm Maksim was who he said he was.
“Miss Gray, I deeply regret any distress I may have caused you. I am not in the business of harming females, and it was beneath me to imply I would hurt you in exchange for information. Please allow me to make amends.”
It was only the fact that Thomas gave a genuine apology that kept Maksim from tossing his one and only progeny out the window of the fifteenth floor. Kerrigan was gracious with her acceptance but not above reminding Thomas he was responsible for the dead shifter and his unconscious friend.
“Of course. Please tell me neither one of the shifters my mate was driven to protect me from was named Garth.”
Still on his knees, Thomas frowned and glanced up at Virico.
It continued to confuse and unsettle Maksim that his elder brothers were deferring to the vampire on his knees, who was barely more than a baby in their culture.
“Garth has the night off,” Virico confirmed. “You know him?”
Kerrigan made an easy sound of relief and gathered her coat and purse. “Not directly. His brother-in-law is an ally of my coven, and I’d hate to have to make the call to explain what happened here and risk losing that friendship. Now, would any of you care to hear about where Maksim has been for the last twelve years? Or do you want to piss him off again and enjoy the show?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
After dismissing the extra muscle and moving to a nearby conference room, they sat like civilized people, and Maks explained the circumstances that led him to be captured by the Silver Wives. The vampires across from them were silent throughout, listening attentively, and Kerrigan struggled to remain passive when Maks failed to mention it was her necromancy skills responsible for restoring his ability to see, feed, and use all ten fingers to touch.
He’d left out a few other details that made it seem as though her skills were limited to summoning ghosts and made it sound as though Vivica Price had been the one to stab him instead of Kerrigan.
She trusted he’d done it on purpose and with good reason, smiling demurely whenever she became the focus of the Austmathr clan’s attention.
Kerrigan considered herself fairly good at reading people, but none of the vampires expressed anything other than confusion or anger.
Well, Thomas looked decidedly uncomfortable, but that could stem from his previous performance or the humiliating result where he’d been forced to drop to his knees in front of every subordinate in the room.
Shifters didn’t respect weak leaders, and from the looks on the faces of the ones who’d witnessed Thomas apologize for his decision… it’d be all over the building in a matter of hours.
Unless Thomas was the best boss in the whole world, his one impulsive mistake might cost him all his shifter employees now and in the future.
Maksim hadn’t apologized to any of the shifters for killing one of their own. He’d done it in defense of her, and he’d done it in a way that ensured the rest of the shifters would think twice before obeying an order from Thomas.
If anything, Maksim’s actions would make the shifters respect him.
Maks definitely hadn’t been thinking that deeply when he’d gone ballistic, though. If she was honest with herself, the eruption of violence and the speed at which he’d carried it out, scared her.
He’d warned her, straight up, that he’d be different and what he’d do to ensure her safety. Of course, Kerrigan had believed him, but until she’d seen him actually carry
through on his promise, she really hadn’t understood what Maks was capable of.
Always, from the first night they’d met, he promised she would be safe with him. It lulled her into this false reality, into seeing him as the handsome man in a fancy suit who lavished her with love and attention.
Kerrigan hadn’t ever seen the predator until tonight.
She’d been frightened right up until the moment the dust fell from the ceiling in response to his bellow, daring anyone else to lay so much as a finger on her.
Kerrigan was sure he would have kept going if she hadn’t specifically asked him to help her. That he put aside his anger to do so was all the proof she needed to know where his priorities were.
As far as she was concerned, he could lie to his brothers all day long, and Kerrigan would nod, smile, and go along with whatever he said. It gave her the time she needed to study the vampires across from her.
Aubin had sandy blond hair and blue eyes so pale they were only a shade or two darker than the whites of his eyes.
The blackness of his pupil swam in shallow waters, and she hadn’t seen him blink yet. Not one time, sitting there as still and unmoving as a statue, not breathing, not blinking, not a single muscle in his face twitching to convey his thoughts or emotions.
Aubin was creepy as hell.
Dhiraj had a close-cropped beard on his handsome face, his black hair flowing free around his ears, with eyelashes so thick and black it looked like he had eyeliner on.
He wore a simple white button-down but managed to look like a sheik of the desert. He appeared curious and open, listening intently to Maksim speak, but his thumb tapping on the tabletop suggested impatience.
Virico sat with his elbows braced on the arms of his chair, his fingertips pressed studiously together. He was another blue-eyed beauty, with thick, feminine lips.
His hair was the lightest shade of orange she’d ever seen, just barely red, cut in a wide mohawk. Put him in a leather kilt and strap angel wings to his back, and the unsuspecting might believe he was the god, Eros.
