“Bit different,” Jono said, taking it all in. “Still stinks of the undead.”
“Then leave. I didn’t ask you to come.”
Lucien’s voice came from above in the brand-new second level that would probably be used for VIP guests. Patrick thinned out his shields, the familiar spark of recognition one he wished he could forget, but there was no forgetting Lucien.
In the middle of the day, most vampires who weren’t Lucien would be in a death coma right now. Vampires didn’t sleep, and they didn’t rest, but the stasis their undead bodies went into for repair purposes every day meant they needed to be somewhere safe, guarded by those they owned and trusted. Patrick didn’t know where Lucien’s Night Court went to ground, but he knew they weren’t here.
Lucien was the last child Ashanti ever turned, a direct descendent of the mother of all vampires. He could walk in daylight without burning up and dying, a rare gift few of her children had acquired. He was a living reminder of Patrick’s mistakes, here only because of a promise Lucien had made to Ashanti. That he’d stayed in New York after summer solstice, putting down roots in an up-and-coming business, told Patrick the master vampire wasn’t ready to move on yet. Which, in the long run, wouldn’t bode well for anyone.
Really, fuck his life.
“Guess it was too much to hope you’d head back to Europe like Zeus and Hera did,” Patrick said once Lucien came into view on the stairs.
Carmen trailed after him, her glamour tossed aside in favor of her true form. The horns that marked her kind curled away from her forehead and back over her skull. The sexual energy she exuded made Patrick hastily solidify his shields. He didn’t want to be lust-addled when dealing with Lucien.
Behind Carmen walked a human servant Patrick was familiar with. Naheed was thin and tanned, showing off a lot of skin in her cutoff shorts and tank top. The Afghani woman hadn’t been a practicing Muslim since Lucien spirited her away from her remote village in Afghanistan when she was a toddler.
While no longer religious, Naheed belonged to Lucien and guarded Carmen during daylight hours. The necklace of scars around her neck from vampire fangs showed her as a willing human servant. For all her delicate appearance, Lucien wasn’t one to keep those who wouldn’t or couldn’t fight. Lucien only took in the best the preternatural and mundane worlds had to offer into his Night Court, which was a nice way of saying he only accepted those with sociopathic, psychotic tendencies.
The Browning holstered on Naheed’s hip wasn’t just for show. Naheed, Patrick knew from personal experience, was an excellent shot.
Patrick eyed Lucien as the vampire approached, taking in his black jeans and white T-shirt, and the combat boots that had seen better days. Messy black hair was styled away from black eyes full of the same hate he’d carried even before Ashanti had died. Lucien dressed like a punk and acted like a bastard. That would never change.
It was the promised violence in Lucien’s expression that probably had Jono stepping in front of Patrick. That didn’t stop Lucien from getting in his face.
“My business is with Patrick, not you,” Lucien said, lips curling to reveal the jagged mess of fangs in his mouth.
“You’ll do business with both of us,” Jono snapped.
“Is that so?”
Patrick stepped forward to stand by Jono. “Jono isn’t promising you anything, Lucien. I’m here. What do you want?”
Carmen stood off to Lucien’s right, observing them, while Naheed wandered away to poke around the construction tools left in the work area. Patrick wondered if Lucien had sent the construction workers on a break or told everyone not to come to work today in order to have this meeting.
“I want New York City,” Lucien said, finally looking away from Jono to pin Patrick with a hard glare. “And you’re going to help me get it.”
Patrick grimaced, not really surprised at the demand. Territory in any major metropolitan city came at a price. Lucien’s Night Court never stayed in one place for longer than a decade or two, if that, before moving on. Most vampires tended to claim territory for centuries, tied to the history of the cities they called home.
Lucien was like his mother—a wanderer.
While he didn’t have a city to lay claim to like other vampires, Lucien had built an empire based on black-market arms dealing, drugs, and illegal magic across dozens of countries. What Lucien lacked in territory he more than made up for in money and power. Patrick doubted he was willing to give all that up without a damn good reason.
“Why now?” he asked.
Lucien smirked, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Why not?”
“Bullshit. You don’t do anything without a reason, Lucien.”
“There are five Night Courts here, one for each borough,” Jono pointed out. “What do you expect us to do? Carve up a new one for you? Why not just take Jersey?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Carmen said with a disdainful sniff. “It’sJersey.”
Half a summer spent living in here and Patrick was well aware of the visceral disdain the city had for New Jersey, and vice versa. Rivalries aside, he still wasn’t getting any answers.
“You want territory? Buy a fucking skyscraper. Stake your claim here in Ginnungagap for all I care. You don’t need my help to gain territory. You never have,” Patrick said.
Lucien moved before Patrick was even aware of the vampire coming at him, that preternatural speed impossible for the human eye to track. Patrick was shoved back hard enough by Jono he almost fell, and only just managed to keep his footing. He jerked his head up at the loud snarl that ripped through the air, staring in disbelief at where Jono had Lucien by the throat and the vampire had a 9mm Sig Saur shoved against Jono’s chest, right over his heart.
