“The kids,” Gentry croaked, “did they escape?” That was the one piece of the puzzle she’d yet to know about, and she prayed that they hadn’t sacrificed so much for nothing.
Wren nodded, blinking away tears. “Yes, all the kids except for one are back in Skadra. Our leader, Darisius, is housing them and you temporarily while we hunt for Drayer Netherton. The whole city is after him. And, I’m not sure if you know this or not, but Kit’s missing.”
“Drayer took him,” Gentry confirmed, sitting up and wincing from the residual pains. “She’s planning on turning him into a vampyre and then stealing Amelia’s body. You have to tell someone right away.”
Immediately, Wren ran out of the room while Gentry closed her eyes and tried to see if she could lock on to the bond. It was just out of reach, mocking her. Colors danced behind her eyes and the thoughts were too quiet to hear.
Frustration made Gentry growl and she wrestled herself out of bed, her limbs awkward and cumbersome as she became reacquainted with her body again. But she didn’t have time for such delays. She soldiered on to the door and forced it open. She was surprised to see Adrienne sitting on a golden-brown arched bench, a book in hand.
The Weaver looked up, set her book down, and then steered her to the bench. Then she walked two doors down the hall and knocked. “Clea, it’s time to make good on your word!” It was theloudest Gentry had ever heard the woman speak. Then Adrienne stormed off.
She abandoned her book.But before Gentry could call her back, Clea burst into the hallway, her dark hair plaited into a braid and her entire body encased in leather. Blood coated one side of her neck, but her dark eyes were clear and focused when they landed on Gentry.
“Hey,” the Weaver greeted cheerily, “nice to see you didn’t die.”
Gentry scowled at the Weaver, not really in the mood to deal with the psychotic witch. “What do you want, and why aren’t you out looking for Kit and Amelia? I thought you were atracker.”
Clea tilted her head as if puzzled by Gentry’s anger. “No hair or body parts,” she said bluntly, “the techs are working on it, but that lair is mostly filled with the bad guys’ blood. I was about to go out and look though, but not without talking to you first. I found someone you might want to talk to”—she hooked a thumb at the door she’d come out of—“he’s in there. I got special permission to put him here instead of the dungeon so you wouldn’t have to walk so far.”
Confusion had Gentry rising to her feet and following the vicious Weaver towards the mystery room. Part of her wondered whether it was a trap, but she dismissed that concern. Adrienne wouldn’t set her up.
Clea paused at the door. “Careful to not let too much light in,” she said seriously, “it’d be a bitch if he burst into flames now.” She then slipped through the door.
Gentry followed to find a suite identical to the one she’d woken up in, only its blinds allowed no light through. A witchlight washed the room in a yellow hue to reveal a man bound to a chair. He was pale and tall, his blonde hair handsomely tossed about an aristocratic face, and he looked thoroughly miserable.
For a second, she didn’t recognize him. His eyes were no longer bright red, and he no longer looked like a vicious monster. “You,” she said, shocked, “you’re the vampyre who attacked me and my dad.” The one who’d gotten away, who they had ran to the desert to escape from.
“Yes,” the man sighed, “that was me.”
“We caught him wandering the streets last night in the direction of the rescued kids, rabid like a dog because Kit killed his master,” Clea provided helpfully from the corner. “He’s been a great source of information.”
Gentry’s eyes widened at the news. For as long as their masters breathed, vampyres were little more than slaves. But now… “You’re a freed vampyre.”
The vampyre smiled sadly. “Yes, a slightly better situation than I was in. Now that I’m freed, I have better control of my bloodlust and likely can tolerate a little sunlight. But with the things Lydia had me do, it’s unlikely I’ll be allowed to leave this complex. The Weavers do not distinguish between crimes I committed willingly, versus the ones I haven’t, but that shouldn’t be your concern. Tell me, you’re Maxwell’s girl, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” Like she had a million times before, she tried to recall that fateful day where everything had changed but drew a blank. “Were you at the warehouse?”
He nodded. “I was with them a long time. Lydia Made me against my will at around the time she Made her sister, Freya. Freya…” He shuddered. “She was in no shape to be changed into a vampyre. Her body had decomposed far too much. I think that’s what drove them to do what they did.”
Gentry blinked, the onslaught of information making her head spin. “Freya, the leader of the Cobalts, was Drayer this whole time? The records never mentioned Freya had a sister!”
“Lydia was her identical twin,” the vampyre confirmed wryly, “but she’d been a private individual and had cleverly married a Netherton at just the right time. After the war, the Nethertons used their influence to wipe the records clean, and the Weavers never pressed the issue after Lydia altered her appearance. It was all swept under the rug.”
Her indignation fading at the incomplete records, Gentry focused on the implications. She now had Freya’s name, but Kit and Amelia were running out of time. “Do you know where Freya went? She’s about to Make someone, and then she’s going to steal a little girl’s body.”
The man lowered his head. “No, I don’t. I’m sorry. I don’t think Freya would be stupid enough to return to any property with the Netherton name on it. Really, all she needs to perform those tasks is a quiet place with no witnesses. A roof would be preferable so she wouldn’t burn her new vampyre. Either that, or she’ll wait for nightfall.”
“Thank you,” Gentry said, unable to hide her disappointment.
“I hope you find them,” he said softly.
Gentry left the room, Clea silent at her heels.
“Can I take the vamp to the dungeon now?” the Weaver asked, straight-to-the-point, “My father will likely throw a bitch fit if he stays up here much longer.”
She looked at Clea, really looked at her, and saw not an ounce of pity on the woman’s face. “You’re okay with putting an innocent man in the dungeons just because it’ll please your father? Didn’t you hear how none of that was his fault?”
Clea shrugged. “There are plenty of innocent people in those dungeons. Quentin the Victim Vampyre won’t be the first or the last to go down there. Also, this isn’t about pleasing my father. This is about not screwing up Luke’s new promotion. Father just put him in charge of the enforcers for discovering the roles theNethertons played in the kidnapping. Luke has been gathering information on those rich pricks for years.”
