There is a plot against your life. Be wary of Winslow.
Take care—Derwin and Mars mean you harm.
Beware Safina and Titus. They are conspiring to kill you.
All three found in his room, on his desk.
He didn’t lock the door except when he was in it—there was nothing he was concerned about losing. Etienne had suggested posting a guard to the door, but that would cause more problems than it solved. It would send the impression that he needed help protecting himself and embolden the attempts against him.
Plus, Etienne was right, damn it. If someone had to watch his back, it had to be someone he could trust—and that list was very short. Etienne and Addie had their own home. Getting Dominic to relocate would be a feat—and then that would leave Godfrey alone. Not wise in a vampire that old. Too many friends had encountered the wrong end of Rupert’s temper in recent years, and even more had met the sun in the last century.
Kendrick sighed, feeling the weight of years upon him as he approached his rooms. No one told you how hard it was enduring long past all sense or reason. So few things could hold your interest.
But the note-leaver held his attention.
If he could not sniff her out on the streets of London, he could lay a trap, lie in wait for her to come around. She obviously came during the night while he was out and left no sign. He could?—
The nearly silent click of boots on stone reached his ears.
Kendrick stilled. The noise came from the hallway of furnished rooms. The hallway where only he resided.
He reached for the sword at his shoulder and advanced in silence.
As he rounded the corner, he heard—andsaw—the door to his room click shut.
In an instant, he ran forward to jerk open the door of his room, naked sword in hand.
It was empty—but a new slip of paper waited on his desk.
He snatched it up and ran to the hallway, searching up and down the passage.
No one was there.
Kendrick stilled himself andlistened.
That was close. Too close.
Once around the corner and away from the light that spilled out of the master’s room, Genevieve leaned against the wall and let out a slow breath. Her bones had felt like water as Kendrick had run forward like a marauder and thrown the door open, passing within a foot of her. She hadn’t even dared blink as she had inched away from his frightening visage, complete with sword in hand.
She hated coming to this section of the Ossuary because it was a lie. The corridors and passages here looked far more like a real dwelling. Rooms had doors, and the walls were planed smooth. Sconces hung from the walls, and the lights and lamps were lit and replenished. The higher-up vampires used these rooms if dawn rose too soon for them to return to homes not connected to the Ossuary.
As far as she knew, Kendrick had used it exclusively since his takeover. No one else had wanted to get near him, and the other high-up vampires were keeping their distance until they discovered which way the wind blew.
Genevieve passed a hand over her face. Using her talent usually felt as easy as drawing a curtain over herself. Now she felt too shaky to even reach for the invisible drapery.
Too close,she told herself, setting off back into the darkness. She had become too comfortable, too confident in her invisibility. No other vampire had ever been able to sense her when she was near or following them through the Ossuary. He must have senses keener than a bat. Next time, she would not risk passing him a note. Next time, he would have to take his chances with no warning and?—
A strong hand clamped around her arm and swung her around, pushing her back against the wall.
“You have some explaining to do, miss,” Kendrick growled, his gold eyes shining in the dark. “Who are you, and why have you been leaving me these notes?”
ChapterEight
If Genevieve’s heart could still beat, it would have been seizing in her chest. Her lungs gasped as she wrenched unsuccessfully at the grip of his hands.
He felt like stone—immovable. The old panic rose in her throat.
He was frowning, saying something, but she could not hear him over the roaring in her ears. Her lungs kept doing the completely unnecessary heaving. She was dead; it didn’t help anything. They were not susceptible to reason, it seemed.
