Usually only a handful of vampires remained from each of the oldest lines, but every Dracos offspring had survived to the modern era. (It probably wasn’t discussed by slayers because the Dracos were so far flung, so there was no reason we would have realized it.)
“Yes,” Considine wryly said. “It has been a full-time job.”
He must have really cared for Ambrose.
Even back as Connor he’d hinted that he’d lost someone important. To think he still carried that loyalty to his friend to this day.
Considine rubbed the back of his neck and closed his eyes, and I realized we were at a crossroads.
I trusted Considine with my life. Now, I had the choice to trust that he didn’t plan to betray me, or to assume that he would.
We’d lied to each other, but in the end, Considine—despite his age, his power, everything slayers historically knew about him—had helped me.
And if Considine was still angry with his friend for dying hundreds of years later, and yet still fulfilling the promise he’d made to him…
Trust. I think I’ll go with trust. It might not be the smartest decision I’ve made in my life, and I might be an idiot for deciding this when I’m running on no sleep, but I think I can start to trust him.
Trusting Considine—even if I didn’t understand everything he was planning—meant a lot of things. Including recognizing when he was at his limit.
“I have your dagger,” I blurted out.
Considine’s eyes flicked open, his dark red irises captivating as he stared me down.
“From the hospital,” I said. “You lent me a dagger that I stabbed Gisila with.”
“Ah, yes.” He relaxed. “I recall what dagger you’re referring to now.”
“Do you want it back?” I asked.
Considine shook his head, then paused. “Did you like the feel of it? The balance?”
“It’s a good dagger,” I said.
“Of course it is,” Considine said. “It’s mine. But did it fit you well?”
I thought about it for a second, then nodded. “Yeah, it was nice.”
“Then I’ll take it back,” Considine said. “It’s sized so I can sheath it on the small of my back, I think.”
I headed for my kitchen. “Why would you keep it there?”
Considine followed behind me at a far lazier pace. “For your convenience.”
“Huh?” I unzipped my work backpack and dug the dagger out of it—I’d been carrying it to work, daily, with the plan of giving it back, but I could never find a good time to bring it up.
“We’re partners,” Considine said. “Obviously, we should each carry weapons for each other that we can conveniently reach and use.”
I pulled the dagger free from the depths of my bag. “Or we could just carry our own weapons.”
“Unacceptable. Fighting in as close of quarters as we will be, it makes sense for me—at a bare minimum—to wear a dagger for you,” Considine said.
I handed him the dagger and zipped up my backpack again. “Why would we be fighting in such close quarters?”
Considine took the dagger and checked it over before smiling at me. “I told you already: we’re partners.”
“We apparently have very different definitions as to what partners means,” I said. “The definition I use—the same one the task force uses—is about fighting together, not physical proximation.”
Considine made a noise in the back of his throat. “It’s an inevitable end, but fine. We can delay it if it makes you uncomfortable.”
