Patrick always had, and Wade loved him for that, he did. But he wasn’t going to call Patrick or the rest of his pack for this, not when the problem at hand was one he’d been sent to fix. Wade knew what he was now and what he was capable of. He could help himself these days, but it was always nice to know his pack would be there for him, no matter what.
Riordan took half a step forward as if he were going to put himself between Wade and all the vampires who’d turned to lookat them. It was a thoughtful gesture, but Wade didn’t need to be protected here, either from his memories or the vampire that lazily waved them forward.
“Come meet who you paid to see, fledgling,” Lucien said from his sprawled spot on a wooden chair, Carmen perched on his lap in a pair of satin hot pants and a corset top that left little to the imagination. Her stilettos looked like they were sharp enough at the heel to take out an eye. Einar stood behind them both in bodyguard mode, arms crossed over his chest and as still as a statue.
Wade scowled, stalking between the tables of vampires who eyed his group like they were fast food dinner. The human servants keeping their masters company ignored them, while the handful of mundane humans who seemed far too stupid for their own good if they were hanging out at a vampire bar watched them pass curiously. “I can’t believe you’re in Boston. We all thought you’d fled the country.”
“I don’t flee.”
Wade rolled his eyes, coming to a stop at the round table that sat four, but two of the chairs were empty. He did what Patrick would’ve done and took a seat without being invited to. Lucien stared at him with those creepy black eyes of his, the left one still marred by a burn scar that stretched over his cheek and forehead and down his neck. It wasn’t as bad as Wade remembered it being at the end of the Battle of Samhain when Lucien had done his damnedest to retrieve Macaria.
His efforts had nearly truly killed him. Drinking Patrick’s blood—freely offered, which was the only reason Wade hadn’t crispifried the master vampire at the time—had been enough to stave off turning to ash. As one of the very few daywalkers in existence, made by the mother of all vampires, Lucien had always been powerful.
And a dick.
Wade put his elbows on the table and focused his attention on the other master vampire they’d come to visit as Riordan claimed the seat beside him. Abhartach was taller than Lucien, even sitting down, with long blond hair so light it appeared white in the dimly lit bar. The features of his face were sharp, almost hollowing out his cheeks, giving him a starved model look. What Wade found most interesting was the master vampire’s ears—they were pointed like a fae’s. Unlike Lucien’s punk attire, Abhartach wore a three-piece business suit Wade was pretty sure was designer. It looked uncomfortable.
“I hear you come with a warning and an offer for my Night Court,” Abhartach said in a voice so thick with an Irish accent it reminded Wade of the time he and his pack ended up in a pub on the west coast of Ireland one December. That place had the best fish and chips ever. The Green Fairy was clearly lacking in the food department. “I fear no one in Boston, and I have no need for bargains, especially those given by fae.”
“Not even if you’re next in line to be targeted? You had fae trying to bully one of your human servants yesterday,” Wade said.
“The trespassers would have died for it if my human servant had been harmed.”
“Your human servants ended up fine. You have Carmen and me to thank for that.”
“I give thanks to no one. Certainly not to someone like you.” Abhartach raised a hand, and seconds later, a vampire was at his side, depositing a cut-crystal stemmed glass onto the table. A flat slotted spoon was laid across the top and a sugar cube placed on it. The vampire very slowly poured water from a glass carafe over the sugar cube to dissolve it, turning the drink a cloudy color. It smelled strongly of black licorice to Wade’s nose, and he was glad Jono never served the stuff at Tempest.
“Someone like me,” Wade echoed. “I feel like that’s supposed to be an insult, but honestly, I’m going to rank it a two out of ten.”
Carmen laughed throatily, reaching for the martini glass sitting on the table in front of Lucien, who was missing a drink. “You’re a little worse at this than Patrick ever was.”
“Worse at what? Telling Abby Boy here the truth? That some possibly prayed-into-being wannabe god has the hots for his territory and is collecting people for bargaining chips like a pro poker player? Because that’s what I’m saying.”
The smile on Carmen’s face disappeared and, with it, the glamour she was probably sporting, judging by the surprised little sounds the others around him let out. She always looked like the succubus she was to him, and as pretty as she looked, she was ugly underneath it all, in Wade’s opinion.
“A prayed-into-being god?” Carmen asked, sliding off Lucien’s lap. “You didn’t mention that yesterday.”
“You didn’t ask.”
Carmen shifted on her feet, and a hand settled on Wade’s shoulder. He glanced up, finding Ella standing beside his chair, her attention on those seated at the table. “We’re not here asking for an alliance. We’re here to warn Abhartach that Niall is targeting all our communities in Boston with the intent to take over the city.”
Abhartach leaned back in his seat, tapping one long, black-painted nail against the fluted glass. “I see he’s keeping to his namesake.”
“What do you mean?” Wade asked.
“Niall Noígíallach was a mortal king once who convinced the fae to grant him a long life in Underhill.”
“Did you vote to let him in?” At Abhartach’s sharp look, Wade pointed at his ears. “You were fae before you were turned, weren’t you?”
Riordan grabbed his hand and shoved it down. “That’s not a subject we should talk about.”
“Why not? He has pointy ears. I didn’t even know vampires could turn fae.”
Abhartach moved, a blur to Wade’s sight, but he still saw the motion. Wade flipped the table faster than Abhartach could reach them, spilling the drinks to the floor as he stood but forcing Abhartach to pull up short, even as the other vampires in the bar rallied to surround the table. The master vampire kept his feet planted where they were, not because of Wade’s actions but because of Lucien’s words.
“You’d lose,” Lucien said casually.
Abhartach’s lips peeled back from his fangs, revealing the jagged mess of them to Wade and the others. He towered over all of them except maybe Donal, smelling like blood and that musty undead stench all vampires seemed to carry in their skin. The master vampire’s nostrils flared before he looked over his shoulder, clearly dismissing them in favor of Lucien. “You called him fledgling.”
