Kicking It

HIGH STAKES A Luc and Lindsey Story BY CHLOE NEILL

It was the curls that killed me. Those dirty-blond, tousled curls. They practically screamed to be run through by manicured fingers.

The manicure wasn’t the problem. Tonight I was sporting a complicated matte black and charcoal pattern that varied from nail to nail. It probably would have been more appropriate on a socialite than on a veteran guard of a House of vampires, but I’d decided a long time ago not to give up style for fangs. It was part of my credo, my firm belief that immortality should be dressed up and flaunted like a deb at her debut. I’d been a vampire for more than a century, and I was proud of my genetics. And from my blond hair to my favorite stilettos, I tried to show it.

But that was neither here nor there.

The problem was the curls, and the vampire they belonged to. Luc, the Captain of the guards of Cadogan House. I was a guard, which meant he’d been my boss for years. My colleague. My friend.

Now he was my something-more-than-that.

I was still trying to put a name to what “that” was.

Luc wasn’t having the same trouble, which was why he stood in front of me in my smallish dorm room in Cadogan House holding a glossy black shoe box and a pair of the sexiest boots I’d ever seen. Buttery black leather, nearly knee-high, with pointy toes and stiletto heels long and thin enough to be weapons on their own.

I stared down at them with obvious lust, but kept my arms crossed and my fingers away from leather I knew would be as smooth as silk. “You bought me boots,” I said for the fourth time.

“If the shoe fits . . . ,” Luc said with a crooked grin, which was just as effective as the curls.

“I don’t need boots.”

He gave me a flat look. “Since when did that stop you from buying anything? You have five pairs of black heels.”

“And I’ve explained this a hundred times.” I counted them off on my fingers. “Stilettos, kitten heels, patent, round toe, open toe. A girl needs options.”

“The point is,” he said, “I don’t care if you need the boots. I just want to see you in them. And clothes are completely optional.”

“But you didn’t need to buy me anything.”

“It’s not about need,” he said. “It’s about want. I wanted to buy them for you, so I bought them for you. There’s no expectation, Linds.”

I knew he was telling the truth. It was clear in his expression, in his magic, in the way he looked at me.

I was gifted—or cursed, depending on your perspective—with empathy. It was a rare gift for a vampire, and not always a welcome one. Every bad mood in the House leaked into my subconscious, and I’d had to learn to filter out others’ emotions or risk their overwhelming me.

So, yeah, Luc was being honest, and I could tell.

But it wasn’t that simple.

“Luc—,” I said, but he shook his head.

“I don’t want to talk about it again. I don’t want to talk about moving too fast or not fast enough.” He put the lid on the box, and the box on the bed, only a couple of steps away. And then he pulled his best cowboy move, putting a hand around my waist and whipping me against him.

He smiled cockily down at me. “I’m not afraid of your issues, Linds.”

“I don’t have issues,” I said. “And we need to get downstairs. Maybe we should talk about this later.”

“You’re a walking issue,” Luc said, nipping at my earlobe before releasing me. “Fortunately, you’re also a hottie and a very good guard.”

“I’m the best guard you’ve got.”

He shrugged carelessly, obviously trying to rile me up. “You’re all right.” He walked to the door, opened it, and gestured into the hallway. “Let’s go.”

Cadogan House was several stories of European opulence and vampire drama. Situated in the Hyde Park neighborhood of Chicago, it was home to nearly ninety vampires. Or, more accurately, ninety vampires and the psychic stew they cooked up on a nightly basis. Their happiness, their sadness. Their angst. Their fear. I lived in a cauldron of vampire emotions, in a neighborhood of human emotion, in the third-largest city in the country.

Collectively, there were a lot of emotions out there.

I’d been a vampire long enough that I’d learned to turn down the volume, but each person’s mood still bobbed like a buoy in my brain. Little tricks kept me sane. For lack of a better word, “stuff” helped filter out the extra noise. That’s why my room looked like I’d been hoarding souvenirs from my hundred and fifteen years as a vampire. The knickknacks, pillows, posters, and other odds and ends worked like insulation, which was also the reason I spent so much time in the House basement.

Granted, I worked down there, too, but that was mostly a coincidence.

The first floor of the House held the offices and public rooms, and the second and third floors were primarily dorms. But the basement was where the magic happened. Luc’s Operations Room was there, as were the old-fashioned, wood-paneled training room and, my personal favorite, the House arsenal. Weapons galore . . . and even more insulation.

Luc and I headed into the training room. The other official guards, Kelley and Juliet, were already there and stretching for a workout, with Merit, the House Sentinel. She wasn’t a guard per se, but the job was close enough that she trained with the rest of us. Merit was a relative newbie to the world of vampires—only ten months out. She was finding her place as Sentinel—and as the Master, Ethan Sullivan’s, girlfriend—but she was still learning the moves. She’d picked up the moves of vampire sword fighting remarkably quickly, probably the perfect mix of Ethan’s vamp-genetics—transmitted when he changed her from human to vampire—and her dance training.

Ethan was also already in the room, shirt off and wearing the same martial arts–style black pants that Luc favored. While Merit, Juliet, and Kelley sat on the edge of the woven tatami mats that covered the floor, Ethan stood in the middle, stretching his arms over his head, flat stomach and abs tensing as he moved.

I couldn’t fault Merit for her taste in men. Ethan was tall, blond, gorgeous, and imperious as fuck. I appreciated the first three, but preferred a little less control freak in my relationships.

Luc slapped me on the ass and stepped onto the mats. “Eyes on the prize, sunshine.”

I rolled my eyes and took a seat beside Merit. With long dark hair and a fringe of bangs across her forehead, she was pretty in an almost old-fashioned way. Regally so, like a princess from a different time. It was probably appropriate she’d been studying medieval literature before Ethan made her a vampire.

“You did good, you know,” I said, gesturing toward Ethan.

“Oh, I know,” she said. “He reminds me at every opportunity. And with much detail.”

Apparently not to be outdone by Ethan, Luc unbelted his martial arts–style jacket and dropped it to the floor, revealing that perfect fuzzy chest, the very bitable nipples, and the lines of muscle at the base of his hips that ached for roaming fingertips.

I gave him a hard time. I knew it. We’d been friends for a very long time, and I didn’t want to lose that connection. In my experience, romance came and went. Attraction came and went. Yes, we spent a lot of time together. And technically, we were exclusive. But I didn’t want to put a label on it, something that would create expectations and lead us to hate each other when we couldn’t live up to them.

I was smarter than that; I wouldn’t let us fall into that trap.

Luc chose that moment to catch my eye and wink, which thrilled me—and made me feel guilty at the same time.

He looked over the small group and clapped his hands to get our attention. Not that that was necessary. His audience consisted of women clearly intrigued by the two bare-chested athletes standing before us, barefoot and ready to rumble. Who wouldn’t pay attention to that?

“Good evening, my minions,” he said, looking us over. “Tonight we’re going to talk evasive maneuvers. Escaping from enemies in hand-to-hand combat, as opposed to trying to get out of House patrol duty on the basis of ‘fang ache.’” He actually used air quotes. He also looked directly at me, because I’d been the one who’d tried the excuse.

Vampires had quick healing abilities, which explained why I’d been freezing my petite ass off on patrol a few minutes after the attempt.

“Now, it’s crucial to remember that evasive maneuvers—getting out of a grapple, breaking a hold—are all about physics. Using your opponent’s body weight and weak spots to your advantage.”

“And if that fails, just knee him in the grapes,” Kelley muttered. I bit back a chortle, but not very well. Ethan didn’t seem to mind.

“A time-tested strategy,” Luc said. “And if an enemy’s attacked you, he’s given up any complaint about the sanctity of his grapes.”

“Grape sanctity,” Merit whispered. “Sounds like the name of the world’s worst sacramental wine.”

“The human body has various and sundry pressure points,” Luc said, raising his hand to gesture, but pausing in midmotion, his eyes on the door.

We all glanced back and saw a girl in the doorway.

She wore jeans, a Loyola sweatshirt, and had a dark gray messenger bag slung diagonally across her body. She was tall and sturdily built, with long blond hair, pale coloring, no makeup—and absolutely no need for it.

I was so surprised to see a human in the doorway that it took a moment to peg her as family.

Human family.

“Ray?” I stood up and jogged to the door, my mind reeling.

Ray hugged me fiercely, enough to make me worry about whatever brought her here. “Aunt Lindsey. Thank God.”

I wasn’t actually her aunt; I’d been a vampire much too long for that. She was my great-great-niece—my sister’s great-granddaughter. I’d kept an eye on my sister’s family as they’d spilled across the country from our hometown in Iowa, including Ray, who was now a student at Loyola, on the north side of Chicago.

I pulled back just enough to get a glimpse of her face. Even if I hadn’t been empathic, it wasn’t difficult to catch the concern there. “What’s wrong?”

She seemed to suddenly realize she was in a room of vampires who were watching her curiously. “Could we talk somewhere?”

“Of course.” I glanced back at the group, planning to tell Luc I was stepping out. But they were already surrounding us like paparazzi around a starlet.

“Who’s this?” Luc asked, hands on his hips.

“This is Ray—,” I began.

“Rachel, actually,” she interrupted, apology in her eyes. “I prefer Rachel these days.” There was pink in her cheeks, but her shoulders were square. Whether Ray or Rachel, she was definitely my niece.

“Rachel is a relative,” I explained. “One of my sister’s descendants. What are you doing here?”

“I’ve got a problem, Aunt Linds. And I think you’re the only one who can help.”

With apologies to the training group, Luc, Rachel, and I reconvened next door in the Operations Room. Rachel sat in a chair at one end of the large conference table, the messenger bag in her lap. I sat beside her, and Luc edged a hip onto the table across from us.

“Any niece of Lindsey’s is a niece of mine,” he said.

“Great-great-great-niece,” I clarified.

“That just makes you sound older,” Rachel said with a grin. It was my sister’s grin, or the hint of it that had managed to make its way through the generations. The look clutched at my heart, filled me with longing.

“So why haven’t we met you before?” Luc asked.

“I try to keep the family out of our drama,” I said, smiling conspiratorially at her. “It’s like a vampire soap opera around here. The Young and the Fanged.”

“That’s kind of the thing,” she said, tracing a nervous finger across the tabletop. “Something happened, and I’m not really sure what to do about it. And I think it falls in your territory.”

“Start at the beginning,” I suggested.

She nodded, fidgeted in her seat. “So you know I share a house near campus with my friends Emily and Georgia, right?”

“Right,” I said, although I wasn’t sure I remembered Emily and Georgia. Like most girls her age, she had a fluid roommate situation. But that wasn’t the point, so I nodded.

“I just finished a really massive lab project. I didn’t even leave campus for twenty-four hours. I got back home last night, and when I did, I found this.”

She opened her messenger bag and pulled out a magazine, which she placed on the table.

It was a copy of the Chicago World Weekly, a gossip magazine. With vampires being at our most popular, the Weekly kept paparazzi stationed outside the House and followed us around town. In this particular issue, my face stared back at me, my eyes hidden by dark glasses, and I was wearing stilettos and jeans that couldn’t have been any tighter or more flattering.

But the denim was hardly the point.

Someone had scattered thick red ink across the page, so it looked like my body was riddled with bullet holes. And scratched across the bottom of the cover was a message:

Dearest Rose:

Madmen know nothing, but I know everything.

Come home, Rose.

I pushed down a bolt of recognition—and fear. That was a name I hadn’t heard in a long time, hadn’t expected to see again, and shouldn’t be seeing now.

I pushed the magazine closer to Luc for his review.

“Where did you find this?” I asked her.

“On my bed,” Rachel said, nibbling her lip nervously. “In my house. Why, Aunt Lindsey? Are you in trouble? How did they know we were related? And who’s Rose?”

“I’m not in trouble,” I firmly said. “This is from someone trying to cause trouble. Someone from my past. They left it with you because they knew you’d come to me, and they knew I’d pay attention.”

“What kind of trouble?” she asked.

“I’m not sure. Not exactly.” But it was serious enough that they’d mocked up a magazine and delivered it to my niece. I made a quick decision. “How did you get here?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again, confused by the sudden change in topic. “I drove. Emily let me borrow her car. Why?”

“Because I want you to stay at the House for a few days while I deal with this.” I put my hand on hers, could feel her trembling with fear, and that killed me. My past, my issues, shouldn’t be used against her. That wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t how the game was played.

“Get your car warmed up,” I said. Her chaotic emotions—fear for herself, concern for me, and a small stitch of intrigue—bobbed at the edge of my consciousness. “Pull up right in front of the House’s gate. I’ll get my car and follow you back to the house. You can drop off Emily’s car and pick up some clothes.”

Rachel was a good girl—a smart girl—and she knew when to get moving. She rose and nodded, slinging the messenger pack over her shoulder. “I’ll be out front.”

I waited until she’d disappeared into the hallway before looking back at Luc.

“That damn magazine cover,” I said, a headache beginning to throb behind my eyes. “I should have known it would lead to something nasty. I should have been more careful.”

“You know what this is,” Luc said, his voice infinitely calmer than mine. But that was his job, after all—responding to crises.

“Just an idea.”

He looked at me for a moment. “This is about New York,” he concluded. “When you were still ‘Rose.’”

I nodded. I’d been born in Iowa, but the Midwest hadn’t been exciting enough for the vampire who’d made me, Delilah. She preferred the freedom and excitement of New York. New York vampires had rejected the Greenwich Presidium, our former European overlord, and the House system it spawned. In Delilah’s opinion, life was better with freedom. So I’d learned how to be a vampire in a coven that didn’t care about anyone else, human or vampire. We partied until dawn, drank bathtub gin in speakeasies, danced with writers and artists. I took my immortality to heart, and I tested the boundaries.

Luc and I had known each other long enough that I’d given him the flavor of my past in the Big Apple, told him about Prohibition, gangsters, jazz.

“I still can’t imagine you as a baby vamp in New York or otherwise. You have an old soul.”

“I have an old soul because I’m old,” I said. “I mean, you know, for a twenty-nine-year-old.”

“Of course,” Luc said lightly, but his eyes were narrowed with concern. “And the threat?”

That, I wasn’t ready to talk about. Wasn’t ready to think about. “It’s a long story, and I need to get going.”

“Then you can tell me on the way to Rachel’s house.”

“That’s not necessary,” I said, my tone clipped. I was shutting down, and I knew it. Shutting down and shutting him out, preparing to focus on the task at hand.

But Luc insisted. “Going without me isn’t an option.” He stood up and grabbed his coat from the back of the chair behind his desk. “Let’s go.”

“Tell me the story,” he said, when he’d gotten permission from Ethan for Rachel’s temporary residence at the House and we were on the road, skirting Lake Michigan as we drove north.

I hesitated. My past wasn’t exactly clean and shiny, and I didn’t like to talk about it. Rehashing the history wouldn’t do any good for anyone, as that magazine proved.

“It still affects you,” Luc said, with his uncanny ability to understand what I was thinking, what worried me. The skill was as irritating as it was relieving.

“It shouldn’t affect me,” I said.

Luc snorted. “That’s all well and good, sunshine, but I’ve got a glossy, paint-spattered magazine that says otherwise. Explain, or I’ll have to call Helen and ask for your personnel file and get all the gory details. And you know she’ll give it to me.”

Helen was Cadogan’s warden, a woman who had very specific taste in vamps. Luc was on her good side; I never had been. That made him right about my personnel file.

I nodded, keeping an eye on the road—and on Rachel’s taillights in front of us. “The first line of the note—‘Madmen know nothing’—is from ‘The Tell-Tale Heart.’”

“The Poe short story?”

“The same. It was also the password for our favorite speakeasy.”

Luc nodded. “The Sapphire. That was you and the flower girls, right?” He’d taken to calling them that, the vampires I ran with. Violet, Daisy, Iris, and me, Rose.

“This has something to do with them?”

“They died,” I quietly said after a moment. “They got caught in the cross fire of a gangland feud.”

“Bullets don’t kill vampires,” Luc said.

“A couple of bullets? No. That’s not what this was. It was excessive. It was the first real violence I’d seen, and there was so much of it.”

“That’s when you came to Chicago,” he said.

I nodded. “Took a train and started over. And with your gentle and modest instruction, I learned discipline. I learned self-respect. I tried to put the past behind me. I guess that was naive.”

“Thank you for telling me that,” he said. “For letting me know.”

He sounded sincere, and he felt sincere. He hadn’t given me any reason to doubt him. But trust was a funny thing, and not something I knew much about. Not something I was ready for.

The question was, Would I ever be ready?

The girls’ house looked like most of the others on the block. Two short stories and a front porch held up by thick square columns. It had probably been built during World War II, when families lived here. Now it was home to three college-aged girls and, on one side of the porch, a well-used gingham couch.

We got out of the car and followed Rachel up the steps and into the living room, which had wooden floors, mismatched furniture, and plants that looked like they received as little sunlight as I did. The house smelled of age and fruity perfume.

“My room’s back here,” she said, leading us through a narrow hallway.

Rachel’s room, unlike the rest of the house, was spotless. Small bed. Nightstand. Bookshelf. Large chest of drawers with a mirror on top in a style that matched the rest of the furniture. Wicker baskets held well-organized odds and ends, and the bed was neatly made.

“Where did you find the magazine?” I asked.

“It was on the bed. I grabbed it, saw what it said, and got in the car.”

“Good head on your shoulders,” Luc said. He walked to the bureau, perused a few frames. “And what do we have here?” he asked contemplatively, then turned the photograph so we all could see.

There, in a faded black-and-white print that had seen better days, stood the four of us. I walked to him to get a closer look.

“You are a constant surprise,” he whispered, his eyes wide as he looked over the image.

I wore a sleeveless dress that hit my knees, covered in fringe that shimmied and shook whenever I sauntered in it, which I did with aplomb. The string of pearls, long enough to graze my abdomen, had been a gift from a particularly generous gangster. My hair was short and carefully curled into perfect finger waves that framed my face.

A trio of women stood with me. These were the flower girls: Daisy, Iris, and Violet. Our arms were around one another’s waists, our gartered right legs canted for the camera, Mary Jane heels on our feet.

“Where did you get this?” I asked, glancing back at her.

She flushed, just a little. “It was in a box of stuff I got from Mom—old family photos.”

“It’s definitely old,” I said. “It was a long time ago. And we should hurry.”

She nodded, then picked up a duffel bag and began filling it with clothes from the bureau. I watched her dutifully, but could feel Luc’s eyes on me. He was curious—about my past, and what I hadn’t yet told him.

But there was nearly too much to tell.

Rachel closed the bureau drawers and walked to a door I assumed was a closet. “Couple pairs of shoes,” she said, “and I think I’m ready.”

She turned the knob, and I heard the click.

My heart stopped.

“Rachel!” I yelled, leaping toward her and pushing her to the floor, covering her body with mine just as she pulled the door open—and the trigger snapped.

She screamed as a shot rang through the room, the bullet whizzing over our heads and ripping through a framed poster on the opposite wall.

Their sudden fear clawed at me, and I worked to keep my breathing under control. I am a professional, I reminded myself. But that didn’t stop the painful thudding of my heart. I looked up, saw the mechanism in the closet. It was a spring gun, an old-fashioned booby trap designed to injure—or kill—an intruder.

“Jesus!” Luc exclaimed, looking up from his crouch. “What the hell was that?”

“Spring gun,” I said, and his gaze flashed to mine, his question obvious: How did Lindsey know what it was, and that it would go off?

I stood up and glimpsed a hint of gold on the closet floor. Carefully, I moved closer. Beneath the spring gun, in front of a tidy collection of shoes, was a gold coin. I picked it up and smoothed my finger over the embossed image I knew would be there—the outline of a shamrock and the logo of the Green Clare.

I slipped it into my pocket.

“What did you find?”

“A calling card,” I said, standing up and helping Rachel to her feet.

Luc walked toward the closet to inspect the mechanism. “It triggered when she opened the door.” He looked back at me. “You heard it?”

I nodded. “I got lucky,” I said, but we both knew I was lying.

Rachel looked back at me, her eyes wide. Tears were gathering at the corners of her lashes, and her fear and shock permeated the room.

She was in danger because of me—had nearly been killed because of me. She shouldn’t have been part of this. Wouldn’t have been part of this, if the culprits had any sense of honor. You didn’t take your grudges out on innocents.

“Aunt Linds?”

“You’re okay,” I said, wrapping my arms around her.

“They tried to kill me,” she said. “They tried to kill me.” I could hear the shock seeping in.

“And the magazine would have been here for you to find,” Luc said, meeting my gaze over Rachel’s head. “Calling you back to New York.”

I pulled back, just enough to see Rachel’s face. My heart ached, and I pushed the ache down, focusing instead on the task ahead and the journey I was going to have to make. They were calling me back to New York, and I was going to answer.

“I’m going to get to the bottom of this,” I assured her, “and everything is going to be fine.”

One way or the other, everything would be fine.

We drove back in silence, Rachel in the backseat. I checked her constantly in the rearview mirror, as if she could be snatched away. But she stared blankly out the window, the duffel clutched in her hands as if it were her last possession on earth.

Luc decided to call Chuck, Merit’s grandfather and the city’s former head of supernatural affairs. He agreed to talk to his Chicago Police Department contacts, have them clear out the house and find a safe location for the rest of the girls until we addressed the matter.

We parked and entered the House, and Helen met us in the lobby. She had the look of a futuristic military leader. Smart suit. Silver bob, not a single hair out of place. Her hands were crossed in front of her, her heels perfectly shined. I found her creepy.

“You must be Rachel,” she said with an efficient smile. “We’ve prepared the guest suite on the third floor. You must be tired. I can take you upstairs if you’d like to get settled in.”

“Sure,” Rachel said, but cast a glance back at me.

“It’s okay,” I said with a smile. “It’s a really nice suite. Better than any of our rooms, actually. You’ll be living the high life.”

Rachel smiled, just a little, which was probably the best I could hope for, considering she’d nearly been shot by an enemy of mine.

“Thank you, Helen,” I said, as she guided Rachel to the stairs.

I let them get a head start—giving Rachel a bit of distance—then started up after them.

“What’s next?” Luc asked, falling into step beside me.

“I have to go to New York. If I don’t, this will never be over. I go there and I face this, or Rachel has to look over her shoulder for the rest of her life.”

“You haven’t told me everything,” he said in a tone that allowed no argument, no possibility he was wrong. “Tell me the rest. And no skipping the good parts.”

I waited until we were back in my room, and then I closed the door and locked it.

I moved toward the closet and grabbed a duffel bag from the floor, which I put on the bed and unzipped. On my way back to the closet, Luc took my hand, stopping me.

“Hey,” he said softly when I resisted. “Talk to me, Linds.”

Making eye contact with him felt too intimate. The call at Rachel’s house had been too close, and I was walking a high wire of fear. One wrong move, and I might not be able to keep myself together.

“She’s my last relative,” I said. “The only daughter of an only daughter of an only daughter. I have to protect her.”

“Protect her from what?”

“I don’t know.”

“Lindsey,” he began, but I shook my head, finally looking at him. There was concern and fear in his eyes, and it scared me. Those emotions were heavy, and they weighed on me more than any others. More than happiness, more than joy. I didn’t want the weight of his fear; I couldn’t bear it.

“It’s the feud, I think. With the girls.”

He nodded, crossing his arms. “Okay.”

“Violet—she was the youngest when she was turned. Only nineteen. She fell in love with a human gangster named Tommy DiLucca. He ran booze throughout the city, and he owned the Sapphire. He was in a feud with another gang over territory, over the liquor supply. That group was led by a guy named Danny O’Hare. He was a vampire, and a brute. Violent. Casually so. Tommy torched a truckload of booze from Danny, and Danny got even.”

“He killed them all?”

I nodded. “Humans and vampires both. We—the girls, I mean—were all at the bar. O’Hare kicked open the door, started shooting. Danny was angry. He was offended. He kept shooting until bodies were hardly recognizable. Until the girls couldn’t regenerate.”

“How’d you get out?” Luc’s voice was quiet now.

“The speakeasy had a priest hole, accessible through a trapdoor. That’s how I knew about the spring gun; they were illegal, but the crews used them for protection, to keep the booze safe. There were bottles down there—the old stuff. The good stuff. The pre-Prohibition stuff. I was nicking one when Danny and his men came in the door. I looked out—just enough for a peek—but stayed there until the shooting was done. I knew there was nothing I could do.”

“Of course there wasn’t,” Luc said, and his tone changed. “You think Danny saw the magazine, found out you’re alive, and wants to settle an old score?”

I pulled the coin from my pocket and held it out for Luc’s inspection. He looked it over.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a coin from the Green Clare, Danny’s pub. He gave them out to people he liked. Like a chit they could redeem for a favor. I found it in the bottom of the closet. I think he wants to finish what he started. That’s the only explanation. He thought I was dead, but realized I wasn’t when he saw this.”

“But the magazine came out months ago,” Luc said.

“And it would have taken time for him to figure out how to hurt me. And to find Rachel.”

Luc nodded, pressed a soft kiss to my lips, and released me. “What should I bring with me?”

I didn’t understand the question. “What?”

“What I should pack?”

“You aren’t going. I’m going alone.”

I felt his jarring concern. “What do you mean, you’re going alone? You need backup.”

I didn’t want to talk about backup. I didn’t want to talk about anything, so I didn’t.

I walked to my closet and grabbed clothes from hangers, which I stuffed blindly into the duffel. It didn’t really matter what I packed. It just mattered that I was going, and going alone. There was only one goal: keeping Rachel safe.

“This is my battle. I’ll fight it alone.”

But his emotions only spiked further, driving the headache deeper into my brain.

“Bullshit, Lindsey.”

I froze and slid him a glance. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You’re a good guard—a smart guard. You know better than to head off to New York to deal with someone who obviously is crazy and wants to kill you.”

“It’s too dangerous,” I said.

“And I call bullshit again. You know I can handle myself, and I’d be an asset. You’re shutting down. And that’s cowardly.”

I stared back at him, absolutely furious. “You’re calling me a coward?”

“I wasn’t, actually, but now I am. You know why? Because that’s exactly what you are. A coward. You’re pushing me away because you’re scared. Scared you’ll lose me. Scared you’ll lose yourself. Scared you’ll lose our friendship.”

“That’s a decent reason to be cautious.”

“You aren’t being cautious. You’re in denial.”

“We’re going to fight about this right now? Right now?”

Luc threw his hands into the air in obvious exasperation, the move sending a shock wave of magic through the room.

“When else would we fight about it, Lindsey? I thought we were over this. I thought I’d finally managed to scale the wall you’ve built around yourself. But apparently not. Because you want to go to New York—knowing you’ll have to face something big and nasty—by yourself. Because you don’t want me there with you? No,” he said. “No, you expressly want me to stay. You can’t even fathom taking me with you.”

“This isn’t about you. It’s about me.” I slapped a hand on my chest. “Me.”

“No,” he said, sadness in his eyes that made my stomach ache. “It’s about us.” He looked down, the pressure in the room changing so quickly I nearly took a step back from it. “I’ll tell Ethan you’re leaving.”

“This isn’t about us,” I persisted, but once again, we both knew I was lying.

“Good-bye, Lindsey,” he said. And then he turned and walked out of the room, leaving the door ajar.

I blinked back tears, and blew out a breath to compose myself. It didn’t matter what happened here, with him. Getting back to New York and taking care of business—that’s what mattered.

I crouched, flipped back the rug that covered the hardwood floor, and pulled up a board I’d loosened many years ago. In the cavity, I’d kept a few mementos from my time as a vampire, including a folder containing information about Danny O’Hare and the Rookery, the neighborhood where he and Tommy DiLucca had held court. The Rookery held a good chunk of the city’s supernatural populations, and according to my research, it hadn’t changed much over the decades. Whether because of the sups’ magic or the humans’ fear, the Rookery and its occupants had been left to their own devices.

The neighborhood still housed the Green Clare, which according to state records was still owned by “William Daniel O’Hare.” It’s not that I’d expected O’Hare or anyone else from the Rookery to look for me after all these years—they hadn’t known I was alive, after all—but I was a Cadogan guard. Luc had trained me to anticipate and prepare, however unlikely the threat might be.

Tears threatening again, I zipped up my duffel and pulled the strap over my shoulder. “Take care of business,” I murmured to myself.

I kept repeating those words all the way downstairs, to the front door, down the sidewalk, and out the gate to the waiting gypsy cab.

Not once did I actually believe them.

Lights—red, white, amber, green—blurred through the fog as the cab sped toward the airport. I rolled the window down a crack, just enough to feel the stiff breeze on my face. That didn’t diminish the guilt about the fight or the lingering sense that I’d been wrong about the whole thing, but what was done was done.

And it seemed like Luc and I were done.

I wiped my cheeks, rolled the window up, and crossed my legs. I was a Cadogan vampire, a fashionista, a fighter. A woman who’d seen more in a decade of life than most humans saw in a lifetime. I didn’t need another warden—or someone who validated my existence.

And that’s what I kept telling myself.

I made it onto the plane—the last one out of Midway for the night—just before they closed the doors, and slid into my seat in first class. I’d saved enough money over the years that I could afford the upgrade. I’d checked my duffel, as it held the only weapon I’d brought with me, a small dagger that would fit neatly inside a boot.

Only half the seats on the plane were filled, and their occupants looked exhausted and slept soundly, heads pressed against windows or against the headrests of reclined seats. As they slept, I stared out the window, wide-awake and grieving. I watched the dark earth pass beneath us, cities glowing like amber circuits in the dark.

The airport was empty when we landed, except for a few stranded passengers and shop staff refilling their stock in preparation for the next day’s flights.

I grabbed a cab and headed toward the Rookery. It was a narrow, dark, and dingy rectangle of blocks near the East River, as close as New York came to Gotham. The cab dropped me off on an ominous-looking corner, steam rising from subway vents and the scent of smoke and decaying buildings filling the air.

The smell of the place hadn’t changed much, either.

It was late, and the sun was nearly on the rise. I would be nearly unconscious, and completely vulnerable to the sunlight, which meant I needed to find a place to rest.

According to the Web, the closest hotel was six blocks away. It was called the Wellington Arms, and a sign above the door read ALL SUPS WELCOME.

The hotel’s name was much more regal than its interior. The lobby was small and shabby, but clean. A man with chopped hair and a piggish face that only a mother could love sat behind a beat-up counter, watching hockey on a portable television with an antenna three times its size.

A bell on the door rang when I entered, and he glanced up and looked me over. “Welcome to the Wellington Arms,” he said, his voice nasal and accented. “Where all your wildest dreams come true. Can I interest you in the bridal suite?”

I reached the counter and dumped my bag on the floor. “You have a bridal suite?”

“Don’t this look like the kind of establishment that has a bridal suite?”

His voice was flat, utterly sarcastic, and I grinned for the first time in hours. “Not exactly. It looks like the kind of establishment that’s got bedbugs the size of my ass, though.”

He perked up an eyebrow and leaned over the counter just enough to take in said ass. “Eh, you’re small. That may not do ’em justice. I assume you’re looking for a room before the sun rises.”

“You assume right.”

“Fancy vamp like you can’t afford a nicer place?”

“Fancy vamp like me doesn’t need a nicer place. How much?”

“Hundred for the room. One fifty if you want a view.”

“Of what?” I wondered, thinking of the steaming alleys and rusting fire escapes outside.

“Our quaint neighborhood and its lush surroundings. Cash only.”

Fortunately, I’d grabbed some at the airport. I took six twenties out of my pocket and laid them on the counter. His eyes widened.

“One hundred for the room,” I said. “Twenty for your refreshing approach to service. An additional twenty when I leave if you never saw me come in.”

He grunted, but he was already sliding a trapezoidal plastic key fob and brass key across the counter. “You weren’t so fancy, guy might think you’re from around here.”

I snatched the key and lifted my hand from the cash, which he transferred to his pocket. “Guy thinks too hard, he loses his tip. Which way?”

He grunted, bobbing his head toward a dingy hallway to my left. I hefted my duffel and made my way to the room.

Like the office, the room was shabby but surprisingly clean. The floor was hard tile, the furniture and decor from an era when disco was king—lots of yellows, oranges, and greens thrown together in wild floral patterns. I wondered if there’d been a Mrs. Wellington Arms who’d picked out the furnishings while her husband minded the front desk. If so, she might have been a vampire, because the floral curtains were lined and carefully clipped together to keep out the sunlight.

I washed my face and brushed my hair and teeth, but kept my clothes on just in case my day was interrupted. I set the chain lock on the door and found two glasses by the sink, which I propped carefully in front of it. They wouldn’t strengthen the door, but they’d make enough of a racket to wake me up if somebody tried to force it.

Luc, I thought, would be proud of the slightly paranoid preparations. But that idea only made me more miserable.

“Task at hand,” I whispered to myself. “Focus. Complete the mission. Then go home and deal with whatever’s left.”

Speaking of home, it seemed a good idea to let somebody know I’d actually made it to New York. I picked Merit; she seemed the most drama-free option. I climbed into bed and adjusted lumpy pillows behind my head, then sent her a message.

IN NY, I texted. BEDDED DOWN.

It took her only a second to answer. GLAD YOU’RE SAFE. ANY NEWS RE: O’HARE?

I guessed word had spread. NOT YET. HE’S MY FIRST VISIT TOMORROW. GOT LAY OF LAND TONIGHT; OVERVIEW.

A few seconds passed before she responded.

AND LUC?

I could practically hear the hesitation in her voice. She wouldn’t want to raise an uncomfortable subject—that was Merit—but she was still a friend, and would have worried.

My fingers paused over the letters, loath to confess the truth. WE DECIDED NOT TO PURSUE RELATIONSHIP.

That sounded entirely logical. So I stuck with it.

But Merit wasn’t buying. YOU’RE ALREADY IN A RELATIONSHIP.

DEFINITELY NOT, I texted back, but an uncomfortable warmth spread through my chest. An emotional foreboding.

ARE TOO, she texted. YOU LOVE HIM. YOU RESPECT HIM. YOU SPEND ALL YOUR TIME TOGETHER—WORKING OR OTHERWISE. THAT’S A RELATIONSHIP.

That wasn’t true, I thought. Couldn’t be true. Because if it was, I’d made a miserable mistake.

The sun rose and fell, and I woke just as I’d slept, fully dressed, dagger at my side. I splashed water on my face and checked my phone, which was absent of messages, even from Luc. Though that absence was completely my doing—and my choice—it still stung. I’d become used to him. His jokes. His emotions. His presence. I’d given that up for a cramped hotel room and a run at a man who was threatening my family.

I opened the door, found a bottle of Blood4You, the packaged blood that most American vampires used for convenience (and assimilation) beside it, along with a note: “Have a good night, fancy vamp.”

“And to you, too,” I murmured, popping off the top and drinking the entire bottle in a matter of seconds. I was usually more careful about drinking blood regularly, but the travel hadn’t allowed for it, and I’d been too panicked yesterday to think about it.

Panic led to bad decision making, or so Luc had taught us.

And there he was again, invading my thoughts.

The lobby was empty when I walked through, the TV still blaring sports in grainy black and white. I put the promised twenty on the counter and my key atop it, and headed for the Green Clare.

The pub was hard to miss, short and squat among the multistory buildings in the neighborhood as it was. The street in front of it was marked by a vivid green Shamrock twenty feet from edge to edge. It was the only thing in the Rookery that wasn’t dirty, scraped, or peeling.

I opened the door, letting in a fresh breeze that blew around the scents of blood, booze, and smoke. Patrons, shocked by the interruption, turned to look suspiciously at me. Most were supernaturals, but their expressions and their magic were dulled by alcohol, their emotions equally passive. Fear and sadness lingered, not helped much by a jukebox that blared Delta blues.

I ignored their stares and headed for the brass-railed bar, where a barrel-chested man in his fifties was wiping down the counter.

“Drink?” he asked over the music, without looking up.

“No, thanks. I’m looking for O’Hare.”

He stilled and looked up at me, one absent eye covered by a grisly patch of skin. “Who’s asking?”

“Rose. He’ll be expecting me.”

The bartender looked me up and down, sizing me up. His emotions were relatively flat. He probably figured me for a vampire, but not much of a threat. If Danny was looking to finish his project, this guy didn’t know much about it.

And that only made me more wary.

“Suit yourself,” he said. “He’s in his office.” He gestured toward a hallway that led away from the bar.

“Thanks,” I said, and wandered through tables and gazes.

The hallway was painted black, and it didn’t smell any better than the rest of the bar. Restrooms were located to one side and a fire exit at the end.

That left only a single open door to my left.

I felt for the dagger I’d tucked into my boot, blew out a breath, and stepped into the doorway.

Danny O’Hare was a handsome man. Broad-shouldered, with a cheeky grin and a ruddy complexion. His eyes were blue, and they twinkled at the sight of me.

He sat behind a desk in a tiny office that was crowded with papers and stacked with boxes of booze. Ironic, I thought, that all that booze was legal now, but it had probably been bought with Prohibition money.

“And who of all people should walk through my door,” he said, with Ireland in his voice, “but a wild Irish Rose.”

“I’m not Irish,” I reminded him. “And you knew I was coming.”

I dropped the coin onto his desk, where it spun for a moment before settling flat again. I set the bait, and waited for his emotions to bob to the surface. But all I could sense was vague interest and childish enthusiasm. That was very much like Danny, who’d seemed to approach life like an adolescent bully. The world was composed of what he owned and what he didn’t own yet. Anything in the second category was fair game.

“I heard through the grapevine you were alive,” he said. “And I’ve seen your face in the glossy. But wasn’t me that asked you here.”

His voice had, as before, a singsong quality that belied his enthusiasm for violence. But nothing seemed dishonest. How was that possible? If he hadn’t called me here to take me out, to finish destroying those close to Tommy DiLucca—or my family, if he couldn’t get to me fast enough—then who had?

“Who’s looking for me?” I heard the mild panic in my voice and pushed it down. I was in control of my own fate. But it was Rachel’s I was worried about.

“Darlin’, times have changed. I don’t control the world as I used to. I’m a simple businessman, working my trade in this public house.”

I didn’t believe that, not for one second. He might be a businessman, but I doubted there was anything simple about it.

“You must know something,” I insisted, peeling off a handful of twenties and dropping them onto the desk in front of him.

His eyes flicked to the cash, just for a moment. “I have heard tell of a woman interested in speaking with you about that night.” He sat back in his squeaky chair, linking his hands behind his head, just like Luc often did, but with considerably more malice.

Confusion engulfed me. “A woman? Who? I don’t know any women from back then. Not who are still alive.”

“Alive or dead is a fluid thing these days, my Rose. What grim’s hand would be strong enough to pluck a flower in its prime?”

I saw only the flick in his eyes to the spot behind me to warn me of danger I hadn’t even heard over the music oozing from the bar. I had but an instant to glance behind me, to catch sight of the bartender’s face, before I felt a needle-sharp pain in my back.

The world went black, and gravity called me home.

I awoke to pain. A lot of it, and spread across my body. My vision was blurred, my head pounding, and I could taste blood.

Slowly, the world stopped spinning, and fabric came into focus.

The jeans I was wearing. I was sitting in a chair, looking down at my legs, my head hanging limp from my shoulders. My feet were below me, manacled by an impressive chain to a bare concrete floor that was dotted with blood, probably mine.

My shoulders ached, and my fingers were numb. My hands were behind me, my wrists tied together tightly behind the chair. Multiple zip ties if the biting pain was any indication.

I looked up and blinked back spots. A standing light was pointed at my face like an interrogation scene in a movie Luc would have enjoyed a little too much—and probably quoted from afterward.

Longing filled me, but I pushed it down.

First, stay alive, I told myself. Then you can think about feelings.

I heard shuffling ahead of me. “Hello? Who’s there?”

No one answered, but I heard what sounded like a children’s lullaby.

“Be still and sleep, my child,” she sang. “Be still and sleep, my child. For if you wake, the monsters will take you right to the Rookery.”

I squinted through the light at the darkness ahead, trying to gauge shapes and distances. “Who’s there? Show yourself. Danny? Is that you?”

But it wasn’t Danny. She stepped into the light, and the nightmare deepened. It was Iris, and too much the same as I’d last seen her.

Like a supernatural version of Miss Havisham, she appeared not to have changed clothes in decades. Her dress was torn, the fringe missing and bare in spots like an animal with mange. Her hair was flat and matted, and dotted with paste-jewel clips and brooches. Her skin was scarred and twisted, pocked in spots where bullets had undoubtedly penetrated.

Had she been here, in this place, for nearly a century? Hiding from the world, reliving what she’d seen? Had the violence, or her experience of it, sent her into madness? Not so mad, perhaps, that she couldn’t make a deal with the devil, pay Danny and his cronies to lure me here.

However she’d done it, how hadn’t I known? How hadn’t I saved her?

“Iris,” I said breathlessly, my mind suddenly whirling, a decade of history being rewritten, and guilt quickly piling up. “You’re alive.”

“And so are you, I see.” She reached out and slapped me, hard. My cheek sang with pain, and I tasted fresh blood again.

“I was in the priest hole,” I said. “I’d been looking for the brandy, remember?”

“You left me there. You left her here. And you walked out like you were something really special. Just the absolute bee’s knees.”

She threw a copy of the magazine at me. “All this time, you little bitch, I thought you were dead. Come to find out you were in Chicago. Hiding out and showing off. Showing your nice little tits for the camera. You left us there to die!”

“I thought everyone was dead, Iris. Everyone was dead.” Still, I searched my memory for any clue that I’d been wrong, that I’d left her there to be found by Danny O’Hare, or to crawl out alive. But I found nothing. There’d been only the smell of death, the absolute stillness of it, and the tinny sound of sirens in the distance.

I’d made a mistake. But Iris didn’t much care.

She slapped me again, this time from the other direction. My eyes watered from the sting.

“Tonight we’re going to replay that night.” She stepped out of the light, and I heard the glug of liquid flowing from a bottle. I sniffed and smelled alcohol.

The light dimmed as she stepped in front of it and tossed a glass of booze in my face. Gin, I thought, smelling it as it dripped into my eyes and cuts I hadn’t yet seen, sending a new surge of pain through already stressed nerves.

“Alcohol,” she said. “For remembering. The devil’s drink, which you enjoyed time and time again. And now you’ll be punished for it.”

She disappeared again, and my heart began to race. If she meant to replay that night, had she gotten a gun? Did she plan to shoot me here and now, like an animal?

Adrenaline swamping me, I shifted back and forth against the manacles at my feet and the ties that bound my hands. But neither budged.

I’m officially in a tight spot, I thought, wishing I’d gotten more of Luc’s lecture on evasive maneuvers before this particular crisis had begun.

“You were oblivious,” she said, stepping in front of me again, this time holding a feathered hair clip in her hand. She moved forward and pushed it into my hair, scraping my scalp in the process.

“I bet you didn’t even know that I loved Violet.”

I worked to concentrate against the pain. “Violet? You two . . . ?

“Were in love,” she said. “Not that you’d notice, busy as you were flirting and whoring with every man you could find. Another reason why you have this coming.”

I guess Iris hadn’t thought much of my life choices.

“I’m sorry she died, Iris. But I didn’t know she was alive. I didn’t know anyone else was alive. I thought everyone was dead. We were best friends. Do you really think I wouldn’t have come back for you if I’d known? That I wouldn’t have helped you out of there?”

She looked momentarily confused, and I thought I was getting through to her. But the haze of trauma and madness settled upon her eyes again.

She leaned forward. “You. Are. Lying. Everything that happened to me is your fault. It has to be.”

And there it was. She wanted someone to blame, even if there wasn’t cause for it. Even if she could understand what had actually occurred.

She’d gotten me here, and there was no doubt she intended to end the story tonight. But I needed time. Time to come up with a plan, and time to get free.

“You paid Danny?” I asked, trying to keep her busy while I struggled against the binding on my wrists. I could feel the plastic slicing into my skin, but pain was irrelevant. Survival was the only thing that mattered.

“Danny O’Hare’s a right son of a bitch,” she said, spitting onto the floor beside me. “He doesn’t much care what happened in the bar that night—the past is past to him—but he’s always willing to take a coin. So he found me a man, and that man did a deed. It took every last penny I’d scrimped and saved to make him take on the task, powerful as you are now. But it was worth it, wasn’t it? Because here you are.”

She moved closer, and I saw the glint of steel in her hand. A handgun, 9mm. I had little doubt she would empty it into my body, and that would probably be only the beginning of her plans for me.

Unfortunately, vampire strength notwithstanding, my restraints weren’t budging.

I’d been a vampire a long time, and I’d faced death before. I hadn’t often regretted much. But now, this time, I regretted. I’m sorry, Luc, I silently thought, sending the words across miles, as if he could hear me. I’m sorry I pushed you away. I love you. I love you more than anything.

The tears began to fall in earnest, but I wasn’t a coward. I looked up at Iris, met her gaze head-on.

Her hand shook, and she pointed the gun at me. “And now we’ll be even,” she said.

Shots rang out like explosions, and I instinctively braced for impact.

But I felt nothing.

Shocked to the core, I looked down. Spots of blood appeared on Iris’s dress, and she fell to her knees, clutching her stomach.

“Lindsey?”

That was Luc’s voice.

Dear God, it was Luc. He was here. He’d come for me.

He appeared behind her, in his uniform of jeans and boots, and when the gun clattered to the floor, he kicked it away and out of her reach.

“Jesus, Linds!” Luc raced to me, cupping my face in his hands and pressing his lips to mine. He pulled a bandanna from his pocket and dabbed at what I assumed was blood on my face. “You like to cut it close.”

At the same time, four men in black suits walked calmly inside. The one in front, who had a long, severe face and was reholstering the gun that had floored Iris, nodded at Luc. They picked her up, more gently than I might have, and began to escort her out of the room.

“Who was that?” I asked, perplexed, as Luc worked the manacles and zip ties.

“New York’s sup department. They have that business tied down.”

“Have them check the Green Clare, find Danny,” I said. “Ensure this is done. That Rachel’s safe.”

“Guys?” Luc said.

“On it,” said the long-faced man.

I looked down at Luc on his knees beside me, and could hardly fathom the fact that he was here, how lucky I was that he’d come, that I had a second chance, that I was alive.

But my brain did not pass those thoughts on to my mouth, which was still playing good ol’ commitment-phobic Lindsey. “I told you not to come!”

“Yes, you did,” Luc said. “I ignored you.”

“You shouldn’t have.”

“In which case, you’d be full of bullet holes, which I do not find attractive in a woman.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “How did you find me?”

“Your phone. I added GPS, remember? Jeff helped me do the tracking. He is unusually good at tracking.”

Jeff Christopher was a friend of the House, and an employee of Merit’s grandfather, who’d previously been city’s supernatural ombudsman.

I heard a series of snaps, and my wrists were free, sending fierce pain through my shoulders. When my feet were unchained, I put a hand on Luc to stand up.

“Um, no,” he said, leaning down and lifting me into his arms. I wrapped my arms around his neck.

“You’re actually going to carry me?”

“Without a doubt, Lindsey Rose.” He looked at me, his face furrowed with concern. “You’re all right?”

“I’ll manage,” I said, but tears still spilled. “I thought she was dead, Luc. I thought they were all dead. I never would have left—”

“Hush,” he said. “Hush. Of course you wouldn’t have left them. You’d have done everything you could to help them, to get them out of there alive. Even as young as you were. And even before my skilled tutelage.”

“You’re ruining this lovely moment.”

He laughed, just a little. “Come on, Rose. Let’s get you a bath. You smell like a walking gin and tonic.”

“I could use a gin and tonic.”

“I can make that happen.”

This time the hotel was considerably nicer. We skipped the Rookery for the Plaza, a present from Ethan and Merit to speed my recovery. I recouped in the shower, washing away blood and grime and gin.

When I emerged from the locker room–sized bathroom, my wounds already healing, I found Luc across the room, standing in front of a table and eating chocolate-covered strawberries from a silver tray.

I wore the only pajamas I’d packed, a lacy tank top and short set in a pale peach silk. Luc put down the paper and met my gaze.

The atmosphere was awkward, at best.

“I pushed you away,” I said.

“You did,” he carefully answered.

“You came anyway.”

He ran a hand through his curls. “I can’t shake you, Linds. As much as you push me away, I can’t shake you. I don’t want to shake you. I want you—all of you. If I can’t have that, then I don’t know . . .”

It didn’t matter that he didn’t know.

I knew enough for both of us.

I ran to him, jumped into his waiting arms, and wrapped my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck. And then I kissed him like I might never have another chance.

“Don’t you ever . . . leave me . . . again,” I demanded between kisses.

“You told me to leave you,” he pointed out, between pulling me harder against his growing—and impressive—erection and nipping at my lips.

The kiss deepened, grew breathless. It wasn’t just love. It was need.

Tears slipped from my eyes with the realization—no, the admission—of how much I needed him, how much he centered me, how much better I was when we were together.

“I love you,” I said, pulling back and putting my hands on his cheeks, making him look at me and see the emotion reflected in my face.

And I felt it from him, too, magnified and illuminated. Not just because he loved me, but because—fully and finally—he trusted that I loved him back and that his heart was as safe in my hands as mine was in his.

He looked utterly awed. “Christ, Lindsey. I love you, too.”

We looked at each other for a moment, until his eyes dropped to my lips and we attacked each other again. I gripped handfuls of his hair, tugging until his throat rumbled in a growl, sending white-hot heat through my body. Luc fixed his mouth on mine—sucking, biting, tasting—and maneuvered my body until my back was against the wall and the friction between us had me on the edge of a brutal orgasm.

Without warning, it burst across my body like fire, and I called out his name with a shuddering moan.

“Yes,” he said. “I want more of you.”

My body still wrapped around his, he moved back to the bed and lay me down upon it. My clothing was gone in a flash. His quickly followed, and then his body was atop mine, hot and hungry and hard for me.

He cupped my breast in his hand, teasing and inciting me again, challenging me to go further. “More,” he said.

“I don’t have any more.” My voice sounded love-drunk, spent.

“Liar.”

I hadn’t been lying, but he made a liar of me. With a single, powerful thrust, he emptied me of doubt, his skilled hips proving that he could play my body like a virtuoso.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, watching as his eyes silvered and fangs descended, and arched my neck to offer him the truest gift a vampire could offer.

Blood.

He pierced, sending another wave of pleasure through me, groaning at my neck with the pleasure of it. His body moved faster, his hands still at my body—testing, teasing, lifting—until with a final, single groan he destroyed both of us.

Some seconds later, he collapsed beside me, but intertwined our fingers.

When my breathing returned to normal, I glanced at him. “How do we do it? How do we keep this safe?”

Luc smiled, a curl across his forehead, and nipped at my knuckle. “Just like anything else as a vampire,” he said. “We plan for contingencies, and we take it one night at a time.”

He’d gotten permission to use the Cadogan jet, which meant my second flight was significantly more luxe than the first one had been. Lots of creamy leather and offers from the steward for drinks, food, and reading material.

With Luc beside me, and a new kind of hope in my heart, it wasn’t the worst way to travel.

We returned to the House to find Rachel in the foyer, waiting impatiently with Ethan and Merit for my arrival. Rachel burst toward me and wrapped me in a hug, and I bit back a wince as well as I could.

“Thank God, Aunt Lindsey. I was so worried!”

“That doesn’t say much for my skills,” I pointed out.

“Which are impressive,” Luc murmured, a hand at my back.

Ray stepped back and smiled. “Uncle Luc said you’d be fine. And that was before he left to rescue you.”

There were so many things wrong with those sentences, I goggled.

“Uncle Luc?” I repeated. “And before he came to ‘rescue’ me?”

Merit unsuccessfully bit back a snicker, and even Ethan chuckled.

“Kids say the darnedest things,” Luc said, in his “Aw, shucks” voice, which he usually imagined would get him out of trouble.

“We’ll discuss that later,” I said good-naturedly, looking back at Rachel. “You’re all right?”

“I’m great. Everybody’s been really nice. Helen gave me a tour of the House, and let me use the library to study, which was great. And Merit let me try these little desserts called Mallocakes, which I’d never seen but will now be scouring the Internet for. But, if it’s all the same to you, I think I’m ready to go home.” She winced, and glanced back at Merit and Ethan apologetically.

“Even the finest hotel is second to sleeping in your own bed,” Ethan said. “It was lovely having you here, Rachel.” He glanced at me. “And good to see you back healthy and hale, Lindsey.”

“Liege,” I said with a nod, then looked at Luc. “Is it safe for her to go home again?”

“It is now,” he said. “Your friend at the Green Clare has been taken care of, and the CPD went through the house just in case there were any more booby traps.”

“Did he find anything?” I asked.

“Nothing at all. Targeted attack, mostly to get you to pay attention. Which worked.”

“It did,” I allowed.

“I told the town car to wait,” Luc said, hitching a thumb at the door, “in case Rachel was ready.”

“She is,” Rachel said, pointing to her bag nearby on the floor.

“In that case, I’ll walk you out.” I glanced at Luc. “Could you give us a minute?”

“Of course.” He held the door open and waited while Rachel and I walked through.

“How was your trip?” she asked.

“Educational, I think. The past is never quite what we imagined it to be.”

“That’s awfully philosophical,” she said.

“New York will do that to a girl.”

We reached the car, and the driver put her bag in the trunk and opened the door for her.

“I’m really sorry you got wrapped up in this,” I said. “It was something from the past I never thought would kick up again, and you got dragged into the middle. You could have gotten hurt because of me. I’m sorry for that.”

“Hey,” she said with a smile, “every family has its skeletons. It’s just yours are more likely to be animated super-ghouls or something.”

“I don’t think those exist.”

“You think that now,” she said, pointing at me. “But life usually proves us wrong.”

We exchanged a final hug, and she climbed into the backseat. The driver shut the door, tipped his cap at me, and the car disappeared down the street and into the darkness.

There weren’t many hours left before dawn, but Ethan gave Luc and me both the rest of the night off, promising he and Merit would keep an eye out for intruders. As that would require them to keep their hands off each other, I found the offer dubious. But it had been a long couple of nights, so I didn’t argue aloud.

Luc and I retreated to my room, where I offered a treat for the man who’d traveled half a continent to save me, even when I’d been sure I didn’t need saving.

He lay on the bed in boxer briefs and a smile. When I emerged from the closet, his eyes widened just as I’d hoped they would.

“You’re wearing the boots. And very little else.”

I put my hands on my hips just above the lacy undergarment that covered only what it needed to and smiled cattily.

“If we’re going to be in a real relationship, I figured we should get started on the right foot.”

“Damn right,” Luc murmured, holding out a beckoning hand.

For once in my very long life, I didn’t hesitate.