Niko chuckles, nuzzling his nose against mine. “There was a platform just under the helipad. I saw Isi get in position, so I jumped and got on. Why didn’t you follow?” He hugs me tight. “Fuck, I thought you might not make it.”
I try to comprehend his words, but my racing thoughts make it a real challenge. “There was a platform?”
“Yes, leading to the emergency stairs. Didn’t you see it?”
I replay our escape from the roof, but for the life of me, can’t recall any extra platforms or stairs.
“That’s a no, then.” He embraces me again, his hair flying in all directions and into my eyes. “Fuck. It’s fine. It’s over. I’m so glad you are okay.”
I am too, especially since I really believed for a few moments that he’d jumped to his death. But he’s fine, and I’m fine, and we pulled off this impossible mission like it’s nobody’s business.
Shuddering, I kiss him deep and dirty. His taste explodes in my mouth, grounding and real and the only thing that finally calms down my spooked heart. When we part, I slide to the seat next to him and strap in.
“We did this, Isidoro,” I say, grinning at our vampire, who’s fiddling to take off Andras’ mask. After a couple of tries, he seems to manage, revealing the unexpectedly attractive face of the vampires’ ex king. “We got Andras for you. Now you hold your end of the deal, and I’ll make you the new king.”
Isidoro’s smile disappears faster than the freshly made triple chocolate and walnut cookies from the bakery across my place. “No, no, no.” His incisors show up, looking somehow longer. “This is…” He looks me dead in the eye with such grim intensity, my stomach tries to eat itself. “This is not Andras!” he roars, his voice like thunder. “This is Julian, Andras’ son!”
“What?” I zero in on the vampire in question, just as his dark red eyes open. He snarls, tries to shake off his restraints, but when he gets nowhere, he slumps back in his seat, defeated.
“You gotta be kidding me…” Niko mutters, despair in his tone.
That’s when everything clicks, the way nothing matched the intel we were given.
Fuck.
Did we seriously kidnap the wrong vampire?
23
Nikolas
Iknewsomethingwaswrong. I shouldn’t have been able to fight Andras and live. Not from my experience with the Crimson Crew and not from what Isi told us. He’d never lie about an enemy as dangerous as the vampires’ ex-king.
I stare down our captive, then study Isidoro’s face. His expression is tight, borderline desperate. I can relate, I feel the same way inside. How did we mess up this badly? I’ve never botched a job like this before.
“Isidoro… Altamirano… You are…” Julian’s voice cracks and he spits blood. The wound on his head has probably healed by now because I don’t see any more of the sticky coppery liquid flowing down his face. “You—I should’ve known—”
He goes silent. He tries the restraints again, but doesn’t get anywhere with them. I saw how Isidoro secured them. When Julian comes to terms with the futility of his attempts, he stares out the window in thoughtful stillness.
Dread fills the chopper as we make our way to what I assume will be Isidoro’s place here in New York. The city, which is now washed in artificial light, sprawls under us and around, blissfully unaware of what has just taken place. Or what will follow.
Tommy and I messed up big. But this can be salvaged, I think. We can use Julian to get to Andras, and if he refuses to come, we’ll just kill his son. It’s a classic hostage situation.
I glance at Isidoro. His eyes meet mine, and I can tell he’s thinking the same. Great minds think alike and all that. Next to him, Julian is now staring daggers at both of us, which tells me he too must have caught up to where our strategic minds took us. Well, that should make things easier.
“Julian Corvath.” Isidoro turns to the other vampire, clasping a stray lock of his black hair and tucking it away so he’s not hiding behind it. “Where is your father?”
I catalogue Julian’s features. His face is a mix of delicate and masculine, and he’s got a straight, proud nose and striking dark red eyes. Despite the shitty quality of the pictures Isidoro showed us of Andras, you could tell he had a harshness to him, to his features, demeanor. I don’t get that from Julian, not at all, even though he’s bulkier than Isidoro.
The helicopter turns and starts descending. We hit the ground a moment later, and the loud blades finally come to a stop.
I think I catch a glimpse of satisfaction flash in Julian’s eyes, but it’s gone so quickly I’m not sure I didn’t imagine it. “Now, now. That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?”
Isidoro’s calm demeanor snaps in a matter of milliseconds. He pulls hard on Julian’s inky hair, his other hand shooting out to wrap tightly around Julian’s neck. “Do you think this is a game? Do not test my patience, thief.”
Wrinkling his nose as he seems to struggle to keep the airflow going, Julian snarls. “Technically, my father’s the thief. I can’t take any credit for stealing the throne from under your nose.”
I gawk at the vampire. Shit, does he have a fucking death wish? This dude is mental.
