I open my mouth and close it again because the answer I have to that can’t be what Vlad wants to hear. That’s where he’ll always be, isn’t it? By the Huntsman’s side? Why would I want to be anywhere else if this is where he is?
“I don’t know what I want,” I say instead, weakly, because it’s the only lie I think I can get away with. Vlad frowns again, and I don’t really know why.
“Go rest,” he says eventually, the line of his shoulders now tense. He picks up the embroidery hoop and puts it in the drawer next to his bed. “I will speak to you again tomorrow evening.”
Thoroughly dismissed, I step back out into the hall and let out a heavy sigh. I know I wasn’t wrong to agree to let Vlad turn me—for all its downsides, the potential I have as a vampire is basically unlimited. Fifteen years of following him around and listening to him and staying close to the Hunt haven’t really felt like much, even as young as I am, because infinity stretches before me and I can change my mind anytime I like.
Only, Vladisright, isn’t he? What if I can’t? What ifthisis the rest of my life, and I haven’t even started living it yet?
Chapter Six
Vladimir
Thedoorbellringsanhour before sunset, and Grant leaps up from his seat on the sofa. Paxton is already on his feet, shaking his head, but Grant follows close behind him as they both go into the hall.
Jeremiah watches me from the other chair. My own bag is already packed, but I know Grant wants whatever Quinn hasbought for him, and I am not certain we will be ready to leave when I wish to.
“Come in,” Paxton says, voice warmer than I often hear it—or at least warmer than when he directs it at me. Jeremiah raises an eyebrow and turns his eyes back to the book in his hands. I swallow a growl when magic passes through the wards. It is not only Quinn who has come here; the pack’s mage has joined him.
“I think we got just about everything,” Quinn says.
Paxton comes back into the room first and takes his seat beside Jeremiah again, one hand falling to land on his lover’s knee. Quinn gives me a tight smile when he comes in. Of course, I am happy for Asher and what he has found. I do not truly want his mate to feel unwelcome.
Grant ushers him over to the sofa, where he takes his usual cross-legged position at one side. Quinn sits in the middle, setting bags down on the floor before him. A lot of bags.
The mage—Sam—lingers in the doorway. His magic pulses differently to our blessings. It reminds me, for a moment, of the power Grant possesses, though I believe Sam has far more control over his magic than Grant does. He cuts a confident figure, nodding at Jeremiah before he turns his attention to me.
“Thank you for your assistance,” I say because I do not really want his magic in here, but there is no polite way to tell him that.
His smile does not reach his flinty eyes. “Of course. Our pack’s always happy to help a friend.”
Grant perks up, eyes wide, and the smile Sam turns on him is far warmer than the one he just gave me. I pick a piece of imaginary lint from my trousers and pretend I do not see Jeremiah’s subtle eye roll.
“Take a look then,” Quinn says, and Grant dives for one of the bags. He lets out a quiet gasp at the shorts he pulls out. They areincrediblyshort and silver, and I swallow a growl that I can never let escape.
“Oh my God, these areperfect.” Grant drags out some tops—mesh and translucent and cropped—holding each one up to himself and glancing around for approving looks from Quinn and Sam and Paxton. Jeremiah seems content to ignore the would-be fashion show, and Grant avoids my gaze entirely.
He drags out a pair of jeans I already know will be tight and a bundle of straps and buckles that make his face colour. Reaching into the bottom of one of the bags, he frowns, and Sam shrugs.
“Quinn said attention-grabbing,” he says, “so I figured a little makeup might not go awry.”
Grant dumps a handful of tubes and small boxes into his own lap, sorting through them and reading the labels. When he looks at Quinn, Quinn raises his shoulders helplessly.
“I’ve never tried… any of that,” Grant says.
“It’s straightforward enough.” Sam drifts closer, perching on the arm of the sofa. From here, I can see the dust of powder on his cheekbones and the darkness of his lashes. “Look online for videos. Or you can call me. I’ll talk you through it.”
“For real?”
Sam frowns. “Of course.”
“But you… You’re busy, aren’t you?” Grant quirks his head to one side. “Like, you’re your pack’s second. You have shit to do.”
“Yeah. You can still call, Grant. I’ll answer. It’s fine.”
Grant hums. I am not certain he believes him, and I am not sure why. I believe Sam is telling the truth.
More clothes make an appearance, and by the time everything has been taken out and thoroughly discussed, the sun has fallen below the horizon. It is not yet dark, but now Grant has more to pack. We have some distance to travel and I want to ensure we are fully settled before the sun comes up again.
