We board the plane and take our seats. Only then do I lean across the aisle, voice low and sharp. “Explain. Now.”
Belvedere stretches out, one ankle draped over the other, looking like he’s lounging at a cocktail party instead of playing games with our lives. “It’s possible we have a leak,” he says, tone smooth as glass. “Thought I’d mix things up, see who showed up for the wrong flight. I called in a few favors. It turns out a surprising number of people will impersonate you when it comes with a week in Italy on a private jet.” He shrugs. “Practical, really.”
My jaw tightens. “Practical? You could have exposed us.”
Belvedere doesn’t even flinch. He merely locks eyes with me and gives me that silly, flirtatious grin I’ve grown to ignore. Hell, I’ve even found it funny at times. But now isn’t that time.
Esmerelda folds her arms over her chest. I can feel her bristling without even looking. Minerva mutters something under her breath that sounds a lot like “insufferable prick”.Leonard just watches, face unreadable, but his eyes flick between us like he’s gauging how close I am to losing it.
Closer than you think.
The engines roar louder, rattling through the cabin. My wolf paces beneath my skin, snarling to be let loose. I clamp down on it hard. If I start now, I won’t stop.
“You complain, dear Marcus,” Belvedere says, fiddling with his cufflink, “yet here we are. Safe. Flying. I pitch in where I’m needed, Marcus. You’d do well to get used to that.”
I stare at him, grinding my teeth. Safe? Flying? That’s not the point. He gambled with all our lives and called it pitching in?
My hands curl into fists in my lap, nails biting into my palms, because if I open my mouth right now, I’ll tear into him. And I really want to.
Esmerelda’s soft, incredulous scoff cuts through before I can explode, her gaze turning to the window instead of him.
Minerva mutters, “He’s insufferable,” and I catch the faint flicker of amusement in her eyes.
“You can say that again.” Serafina giggles as she brushes a piece of stray lint from Minerva’s coat. The two share a look that I’m too keyed up to interpret at this time.
I force myself to breathe slowly. To sit back. To stay in control. Because if Belvedere thinks I’ll justget used to it, he doesn’t know how close I am to proving him wrong.
The rest of the flight passes in uneasy silence.
We land hours later in the French countryside, drizzle clinging to everything. The taxi takes us to a low-key hotel. It’s plain, forgettable. Exactly what we need. It reeks of history but not the kind I like to study. More the kind that screams cheating husband and business deals gone wrong. Chandeliers hang overhead, glass catching the light in a way that tries for opulence, but the cracks in the marble beneath my boots tell the truer story.
It’s all surface. A polished rug that curls at the corners. Couches that sag under the weight of a thousand forgotten patrons. Staff who smile a second too late, like they’re trained to hide their disinterest but never quite manage it.
I breathe in. Is that bleach? Yes, disturbingly enough it is. I worry about what the bleach is masking. Underneath that is dust, damp stone, and a hint of mildew that no amount of cleaner can bury. It’s the scent of a place that’s endured more than it should have, and not all of it kind. I’m relieved I don’t smell blood.
In the corners, there are plants. Real ones. Their leaves stretch toward the light, green and stubborn against the backdrop of old lace and faux velvet. It’s almost funny how plants thrive where people just pretend.
I don’t trust places like this. Too many masks. But I catalog every detail anyway, because when the surface cracks, it’s always the smallest things that betray what’s underneath—like the tiniest spot of mold in a bathroom.
Since we have to wait for nightfall, Esmerelda calls dibs on the shower. Before anyone else can argue, already dragging her suitcase toward the bathroom. The door shuts behind her, and I hear water running a second later.
Minerva tosses her bag onto the sofa and flops down beside it, phone in hand. “I’ll order groceries,” she says, thumb already scrolling.
“I’m going to lie down,” Serafina says.
Belvedere sweeps his gaze around the room like it personally offends him. “Groceries? Darling, how can you worry about something so trivial. We’re about to meet ancient vampires who still think velvet capes are chic. You can’t exactly show up looking like you crawled out of an airport lounge.”
Minerva doesn’t even glance up. “Says the guy who showed up to plan a changeling attack with a bottle of whiskey underhis arm? Please.” She flicks her hand dismissively, bracelets jingling. “And if you think I’m doing a shopping montage, you’ve officially lost your damn mind.”
“That’s fine,” Belvedere replies breezily, already moving toward the door. “I wasn’t planning to let your tragic fashion sense slow me down anyway. I’ll handle the wardrobe.” He winks at her. “With love.”
The door clicks shut behind him, and the sound echoes in the space. Like the world just narrowed to this room and what happens inside it.
Minerva sighs. “I’ll say it again. The man is insufferable.”
I don’t say anything because I’m still insanely pissed at him. It wouldn’t have killed him to give us a heads-up.
Leonard and I drift into the suite’s sitting room. He sprawls across the couch with a sigh, boots on the table, and I take the chair opposite. The quiet feels different here—easier. Almost like old times.
