The only problem was that she didn’t think Theodore would agree.
* * *
Camille hated asking anyone for permission. It wasn’t that she was unused to it, but rather she wastooused to it.
After thirty-five years under her grief-stricken mother’s thumb, Camille learned to despise her lack of agency. Her mother’s rapid decline and death had propelled her into being the head of their small family unit, finally allowing her the space to take charge of her own life, but until the day she pledged her allegiance to another name, the ultimate authority would always lie with Theodore.
She hated it on principle even as the beast in her understood it was necessary. Her elvish nature craved the steadfast understanding of hierarchy. Itneededto know its position in the world like her body needed meat and water and air. Theodore was her alpha, though elves didn’t typically use the word. He made the laws by right of his strength and his sacrifice for the people under his care. Instinct recognized the safety to be found in his shadow.
That didn’t mean she liked it, though — particularly when that position meant she was required to inform him of her upcoming nuptials.
Stepping out of her apartment for the first time since the internment of her mother’s ashes in the Solbourne temple, Camille eyed her stoop warily. There was nothing there. It wasn’t unusual, since her family owned the entire floor and she was the only resident at that moment, but in the last few weeks, she’d been dismayed to discover several packages on her doorstep.
Mostly, they held big containers of elvish food — raw meats marinated in rich sauces, as well as juicier, more snackable bits like rich heart and fatty liver — but sometimes it was dark chocolate, or a sumptuously soft blanket, or even a handwritten letter. She didn’t dare take any of the gifts, nor check to see if they came with a name tag. Camille knew who they were from.
Her nose told her everything she needed to know.
At least today there were no gifts to pawn off on her staff, nor notes to keep carefully sealed in a plastic bag in her office, unread. There was no risk, as far as she could tell, of accidentally encountering Viktor Hamilton.
Hustling out of the door, she hit the biometric lock and waited for the perimeter wards to snap into place before she walked to the bank of elevators at the end of the hall. Thetap-tap-tapof her stilettos was muffled by the sound-absorbing runner that spanned the length of the hardwood floor.
The apartment building was old compared to much of the city. The Solbournes built it only a few years after they took over the territory, and it had somehow survived both the calamity of 1906 and the Great War.
For what it lacked in modern conveniences, it made up for in beauty. Camille had a keen eye for design, and she loved the intricate molding and rich wood accents of the building. It had other benefits, too. Mainly, it wasn’t locked on Treasure Island like the rest of the elvish population preferred, but situated in the heart of the Financial District. It didn’t provide her complete independence, but it was near enough to make her feel slightly better.
The elevator was small and creaky, but it was meticulously maintained. She eyed it uneasily. Camille wasn’t concerned about its ability to take her down to the ground floor of the building so much aswhomight already be in it.
Security claimed no one besides her staff had access to her floor, but she knew that couldn’t be true. Viktor had somehow managed to get in and out without being seen at least five times. Coyote shifters were sneaky like that.
If I was smart, I would have already moved. Or at least pressed the issue with security,she thought, cautiously stepping into the narrow elevator. She didn’t care to examine exactly why she hadn’t done the latter.
The elevator was blessedly empty. Her shoulders rounded with relief as the gold-plated doors slowly drew to a close.
It was too bad that she was a Solbourne. Fleeing with her tail between her legs was never an option. Pride and spite were baked into her DNA. While moving her temporary residence to somewhere more secure would have been smarter, it also would have been a blow to that pride. She would not abandon her territory just because a clever coyote shifter thought he could enter and exit her life whenever it suited him.
She would be gone soon enough, anyway. If the negotiations stalled, then she would just have to make a break for her mother’s Napa estate, where she’d spent most of her life in seclusion. She could continue to manage the vineyard while Cameron was on histourand try to think of what in the world to do next.
Either way, Viktor would not be able to reach her.
Camille shoved her gloved hands into the pockets of her expensive black pea coat, her Solbourne crest pinned to her left lapel, and firmed her mouth at the thought of running away.
It’s not running,she silently argued.It’s a tactical retreat.
Never again would sherunfrom Viktor Hamilton. She was not sixteen any longer, and she wasn’t that frazzled creature from the Summit. If she played it smart, he would never take her power from her again.
When she exited the building, an m-enhanced town car was waiting for her by the curb. One of the many self-driving cars in the Solbourne fleet, it needed no driver to find its way through the gnarled thicket of San Francisco’s streets or across the stately bridge. Camille needed only to briefly roll down her window to pass through the security checkpoint at the entrance of Treasure Island.
Solbourne Tower loomed overhead as the car drove itself down a single tree-lined street. Its gold accents glinted in the sunshine as the hard, monolithic face cut a stern shape against the powder blue sky. At its feet, smaller buildings housing secure elvish homes, nurseries, the Summit Hall, and Patrol barracks sprawled over the artificial island.
Elves weren’t restricted to living on the island, of course. Many lived in the city and beyond, but there was a sense of security in closeness. With a population as small and insulated as theirs, it was nice to be near one another.
At least, Camille assumed that was the case. Her mother never let her and her twin brother stay more than a few days at a time with the rest of the Solbournes — and even that was under duress.
Marian Dia Solbourne went to Grim’s arms hating the main branch of the Solbourne family with everything she had.
A swell of grief expanded in Camille’s chest as the car passed under the gated entrance to the Tower’s garage. As much as it confused and hurt her growing up, there was a comforting familiarity in her mother’s vitriol and constant, useless plotting. She didn’t miss either, but she did miss her mother.
Only the gods know why. I certainly don’t.
