“Yes! They were also gorgeous. You have the best taste.” She leaned her head against his shoulder. “But you haven’t said where you’ve been. You were missed.”
“I needed a break,” Roger said, subtly moving his shoulder so she had to straighten. She did. He still had no idea who could have set him up or if the Unseelies themselves had wanted him out of Chicago. Candide was an expert in guarding her emotions,but he was familiar with her expressions. He needed to see her reactions. “I admit I could have made a more graceful exit, but you seemed to have benefited from my absence.”
A sharp glint lit Candide’s smile for a brief second. They were walking past a few final rooms before the stairs. Several of them had lower lighting than the rest, adding an element of darkness that would hamper a mortal’s sight but made no difference to a supernatural.
On a normal night, thirty years ago, Roger would have preferred to lose himself in one of those rooms. But he couldn’t afford to fall into old patterns and seek distractions instead of the truth.
“I suppose I’m a touch guilty.” Candide gestured at the hallway around them. “I wouldn’t have been able to build this magnificent establishment if not for your generous, albeit unsolicited, donation to the coven.”
“That seems to have included my art,” Roger remarked.
“I was always jealous of a few pieces,” Candide said with a mock pout. “You’re not blaming me for keeping them safe. After all, you did abandon them.”
“I’m glad to see them in good condition,” Roger said smoothly.
They reached the bottom of the staircase, where two black-clad guards stood. They stepped out of Candide’s way without a word. She continued holding Roger’s arm as they made their way up, and the guards stepped back into place to prevent the random patron’s admittance.
Once they reached the top, she unceremoniously released him. Her demeanor became cold and professional, and she quickened her pace. None of which surprised Roger. Like him, Candide wore many masks. Her pleasant socialite demeanor was least like her true self. Zack had taught him a phrase, “resting bitch face,” and that best described Candide.
If she actually gave a damn about mortals or shifters, Roger would have tried to prop her up as the leader of the coven. Candide was fifty years Roger’s junior, though she’d been awake and might have gained an edge that would put her on level footing with him. However, everyone in the world around her was a pawn in her ambitious games.
She loved a few of those pawns. Roger was sure he was one of them.
“Seriously, Roger, where the fuck did you go?” Candide said shortly.
Roger had no problem keeping pace with her. Though he wished he could trust her, he continued his lie. “I meant what I told you. I took a break.”
“Without your money? Without formally releasing your pets? You had many of us in a full panic.”
“I didn’t think anyone would mind,” Roger said.
“It was chaos the first few weeks. We scoured every corner of Chicago and came up with nothing. We had to assume you were dead, though Dmitri insisted he’d feel it if you’d passed from the world.”
And yet one of the worried vampires had likely been the one orchestrating Roger’s disappearance. He took the puzzle piece Candide offered and set it in his mental picture with the others. He couldn’t quite make things fit yet. “I had to make certain no one would forget me. I always planned to return.”
“I’m glad you came back.” Candide sighed and paused. She looked up to Roger, and a hint of the wistful girl Roger had seen when she was a fledgling broke through her otherwise cold nature. She put her hand on Roger’s chest and touched the button of his shirt as if checking that he was standing before her. “It is a relief to see you, mon cher. While you’ve been gone, I’ve learned the truth of what our sire and his wretched lackey havebeen doing for centuries. Absorbing his own bloodline through a ritual is abhorrent. I was terrified you were a victim of theirs.”
Roger put his hand over Candide’s, lightly holding on to her. She’d professed an attraction to him in her early days, but he’d never felt that same flicker of desire for her. She was feminine and lovely—and completely not what Roger sought in a lover.
But they had formed a friendship, and one that stood the test of time better than any of Roger’s other relationships. He stepped closer to her. “I’m here.”
“I missed you.” Candide used her free hand to wipe a tear.
Was her sadness an act? Roger didn’t think so. “I’m sorry to have been away so long.”
She withdrew her hand. “Well, things are certainly going to be exciting with you around again.”
“Apparently, if you’re feeling bold enough to call Anton a ‘wretched lackey.’”
“He’s pissed me off. Again.” Candide brushed a potential tear from the corner of her eye. “He attempted to seduce my pet, Dryden. Hence the punishment you saw downstairs. I have a very finely worded deal with the Princess of the Northern Shadow Glen about what may or may not happen to that boy while in our realm, and Anton nearly violated it.”
“And yet you punish the boy?” Roger asked, raising an eyebrow.
“The boy knows the terms. He wastryingto break the deal, and not for the first time. He enjoys playing the brat, and I enjoy punishing him. I’m simply furious with Anton because they were an inch away from trouble when I caught them.” Candide gestured dismissively. “Talking about my randy, disobedient pet wasn’t why I dragged you away. I have a surprise for you, though it’s not nearly so grand as the one you had for me.”
“It is hard to replicate the joy of having me back in your life,” Roger said smugly.
Candide laughed and continued down the hall. “Still the jester—that’s wonderful. I meant the surprise of dragging a tamed hunter into the heart of our empire. A Gladwell with your tag on him. His ancestors are rolling over in their graves.”
