He hangs up before I can reply and I blink at my phone as the screen goes dark. Jeremiah frowns. “Pissed him off again?”
Merletta’s head jerks up, interest flaring in her eyes. I shake my head and Jeremiah hisses at her. He’s resting Maurice on a bench, but the sooner we get him back to the base, the better.
We wait in silence, though all of us except for Maurice are on edge. Two sleek black cars pull up, one after the other, and Njáll leaps out of the back of the first. His eyes are wide when he sees that Maurice is unconscious, but he holds his panic in well.
“Take her in the first one,” I say to Jeremiah and Paxton. “Get her in the cellar.”
It goes without saying that they should not expose Grant to her, and Paxton nods at me like he knows it. Jeremiah said it yesterday. They will all look out for him.
Njáll looks as though he wishes to take Maurice entirely from my arms, but between the two of us, we get him into the car. Njáll sits in the back, Maurice’s head resting in his lap, and I take the seat up front, next to the driver. She does not look at me. Her eyes meet Njáll’s in the mirror, and only when he nods do we pull away.
“Something went wrong,” Njáll says when we are halfway back to the base. The other car is just ahead, still in my sights.
“Yes,” I bite out.
Njáll says nothing else, and when I chance a glance back at him, the look he gives me is not accusatory. This is the other issue with the number of people outside the Hunt who have recently come into our orbit. They do not truly understand what it is to be one of us. It is why Rook and Saide worked so well. It is why Jeremiah and Paxton do. Njáll might have some inkling—I am not unaware of the responsibilities his position demands—but Quinn, Asher’s little wolf? He is young and part of a pack known even among wolves for their fierce loyalty.
I turn my head towards the passenger window. Grant exists somewhere in between all this, I fear. The more the Huntsman takes notice of him, the more he is dragged in, but he was no warrior before I turned him. No fighter.
“I want to take him to the clan house,” Njáll says when we pull up outside the Wild Hunt’s base.
“No.” The word comes out too sharp, and I wince despite myself. “The Huntsman will need to see him. Check his blessing.”
Njáll is silent for too long and when I twist in my seat, he is staring at me. He is not as old as I am, but he is no young vampire, and more importantly, he is not afraid of or intimidated by me at all.
“He won’t hurt him?”
“No.”
“Not again, Vladimir. Not like last time.”
This time, I suppress the wince his words threaten. “He will not hurt him.”
He cannot afford to. Not right now, not with all these high fae on the loose. And I believe I know what Grant, at least, has been speculating. The Huntsman may not be able to take Maurice’s blessing back, not entirely. Not now that it ties him to Njáll. Njáll is far outside his control.
Njáll nods. “All right.” Whether he believes me or not, it matters little. I help him get Maurice out of the car and we leave the driver behind as we make our way up the short path to the house.
Grant lingers on the stairs, wide eyes flaring even wider when he sees that Maurice is unconscious between us. His power pulses even before he opens his mouth, but I shake my head sharply and tug on the bond that ties us together.
“He will be fine,” I say. “This way.”
We settle Maurice on the sofa. Njáll stands nearby, eyes never leaving his mate. Grant hovers at the other end of the sofa, hands fluttering as though he does not know what to do with them.
“Did you see her?” I ask, and Grant’s gaze jerks to me, face too pale. “The high fae?”
“N-no. Paxton sent me a text. Told me to stay upstairs until she was in the cellar.”
I let out a quiet breath. Good. The fewer people who know of Grant’s existence, the better, because that way I can keep him safe and—
“Are you all right?” Grant asks. He darts a step closer, eyes running over me as he searches for injuries.
“He’s fine,” Jeremiah says. The door to the cellar slams shut behind Paxton as they both come into the living room. “Have you called the Huntsman yet?”
I reach for my phone. “No, I—”
“I’ll do it,” Jeremiah interrupts.
Paxton moves past Jeremiah and squeezes Grant’s shoulder.
