This may not be a true flight. He may be able to come back. If they can report everything to the treaty council afterreaching safety. If Dima is taken into custody. If this is all a misunderstanding, and Dima can explain everything, and they find the real mastermind, and—
Out of sight, the front door opens. Then clicks shut.
Simon halts, cold veins turning to ice.
Cody swears and shoves Simon towards the garage door. “It’s him. Run.”
Of course it’s him. Echoes of centuries weigh down the very air. Simon wonders that his knees don’t buckle from the pressure. His voice is faint. “I can’t run from him.”
Dima’s reply comes from everywhere and nowhere. It chills the back of Simon’s neck, all the way from the foyer. “Why would you run, my fledgling? Come to me.”
Simon can’t resist the full force of the sire-bond. His limbs move under the control of a mind that can’t help but obey.
Cody plants himself in Simon’s way, a solid wall of muscle and fury. “Go downstairs,” Cody growls, placing a hand on Simon’s chest. “He blocked his scent somehow—I can’t smell him. He’s planning something.”
Simon pauses. The desperation in Cody’s words cuts deep enough to fracture the enthrallment. For a moment.
But Simon isn’t poisoned anymore. He seizes Cody’s arm and flings him into the wall.
He’s aware of everything; Dima doesn’t control his thoughts. Cody’s body crashes into wood and plaster, and the sound thunders through Simon’s bones.
“I’m sorry,” Simon gasps, wanting more than anything to stay. To make sure Cody’s all right. But all he can do is walk forward.
With a snarl, Cody shoves to his feet and follows.
Simon stops at the edge of the foyer, twenty feet from where Dima waits. Like an ancient monarch in his throne room.
And Simon’s first stupid instinct is relief at the sight of him. They’ll talk. Dima will explain, and everything will be all right. Or at least everything will be the kind of wrong Simon has tolerated for centuries. Simon can survive that.
“Drop that bag,” Dima says.
Simon drops it, and the enthrallment ends.
Dima looks as he ever has. Bone-white skin and glass-sharp eyes, no more alive than the marble beneath his boots. The marble is dustier than usual, and something else is different. As Dima’s colorless gaze rakes over him, Simon realizes what it is. The last veneer of civility has fallen. Simon finally sees his sire without pretense.
Everything will not be all right.
Cody surges past and halts between them. Disheveled but thankfully unhurt. He aims a gun at Dima’s heart with steady hands.
Dust scraping under his shoes, Simon edges around to see Dima, who regards them without moving. The calculation looks strangely like hesitation.
“So, you’ve figured it out, little firebird,” Dima says. The hint of affection slices deep, cutting away any hope that Simon is mistaken.
“You want to kill me.” Simon spreads his empty hands. He’s proud they don’t shake. “Why? Why all this theater?”
“I have my reasons.” Dima smiles. “Alas, humans make such fallible pawns. Perhaps this is better. I can bid you farewell for oldtime’s sake.”
A strange amount of talking. Dima doesn’t usually hesitate like this—but he’s outnumbered. As powerful as he is, Dima can’t enthrall both of them at once. A single werewolf? Yes. A single weakened vampire? Absolutely. But Simon is healed, and together, he and Cody are stronger than Dima.
Maybe Simon can get some information, before he…
Before he does what he has to do.
“Lawrence and Erica were your pawns,” Simon says. He has so many questions, but Dima’s admitted to this part already. “Why did you kill Erica?”
“You always cared about people,” Dima replies, more insult than answer. “Your most charming weakness. Erica was a useful distraction. So was her death.”
A new thought strikes like a wooden stake. “Was Tania’s death useful to you?” Simon asks, magic burning beneath his skin.
