“Do remember it because I won’t be repeating myself, no matter how much you make Zack happy.”
Takashi had had his leg caught in a bear trap this entire time. Only his lack of struggling had kept him from cutting off his leg in desperation. Every night had been closing the trap further and further despite his efforts. Zack trusting Seamus at all was bad enough, but this torment was the sign of a festering wound. Seamus was worse than rot; he was a disease preparing to graduate from an epidemic to a global pandemic. Takashi had foolishly invited those he thought would help him, but there was no power to be had in the GLC except that which Seamus allowed.
For now, Zack’s ambition was seen as a good thing, but one talk from Seamus had quelled Zack’s urge, hadn’t it? Zack was confused. Isolated.
The party was a step toward fixing everything. Takashi just needed to keep his head level.
By the time they reached the airport, he’d managed to find the calm within and adopt a neutral smile. Supernaturals had their own exclusive airport outside of Chicago, nearer to the Wisconsin border, and the limo driver was able to pull up on the tarmac not far from the private jet.
After parking, the limo driver slipped out of the vehicle and opened the door for them. Seamus stepped out with a wide smile on his lips, no hint of the bastard who had threatened Takashi anywhere in sight.
Takashi joined him outside, grateful for the night air.
Despite the relatively early hour, two planes had already landed. Takashi was very familiar with one of them; he’d been in Nell’s airplane more times than he could count. The other boasted the logo of the NAC—the New Amsterdam Coven. Though the city’s name had changed from New Amsterdam to New York City centuries ago, the coven refused to update its name. Leadership had changed hands a few times, which had led them to the custom of making a logo for their coven rather than relying on their master’s crest.
Takashi had been expecting NAC to send their domestic ambassador to the party. That had been the vampire he’d encouraged Anton to send the invitation to. Instead of a darling young vampire about forty years turned, Faustino sauntered across the tarmac with his entourage behind him.
Faustino was roughly six feet tall with the physique and posture artists had loved to paint and sculpt since the late Renaissance. He never had a problem stripping down to reveal the well-toned planes of his chest and the thick, curly black hair that covered his chest and created a thick line down his abdomen. His skin was a light brown, while his eyes were dark as the shadows of a moonlit forest. As always, his taste in suits was subdued and bespoke, the hue of red bringing out a charmingly rustic note in his attire. Those following him were in equal, understated splendor.
Decades ago, in a Manhattan blood club, Faustino had publicly broken up with him, declaring him too much of an elitist sycophant. Worse, he’d come crawling back to Takashi that night, begging forgiveness. Takashi had given it. Thenhe’d discovered himself barred from NAC establishments with absolutely no explanation. Faustino refused to answer his calls. Humbled, he’d left the city and been a wreck until stumbling into Roger at the rare meeting for vampire kind in Nashville in 1985.
At least Nell had sent someone he liked. Evander was a vampire twice his age, and while he could be a little cocky and presumptive, he was someone who relished a good book and a great conversation. In his entourage was Collin, a slim vampire who looked frailer than a sheet of ice standing in the sun.
“Master Seamus!” Evander said brightly as he bowed. “I am honored to represent my master, Nell, Keeper of?—”
The group from Taliville was still bent in their bow when Seamus strode up to Evander and ripped his head off his body with one sickening twist.
Everyone on the tarmac froze. Takashi was left to stare as Evander’s body dropped to the asphalt. The callousness, the sheer act of it, violated every protocol Takashi had learned. He’d seen vampires die; he’d seen masters kill subordinates. But to kill someone in a greeting?
This was an act of war.
Seamus tossed the head at Collin, who managed to catch it, and said, “Take that back to Nell and tell her that any of her people in my territory will be executed less politely than that was. Remind her that she began this conflict by ordering my son’s assassination. If she wants peace negotiations, tell her to send an email.”
“Understood,” Collin said so quietly that Takashi almost didn’t hear him. The group gathered Evander’s body and hurried to the plane.
As Takashi watched them leave, Seamus’s words sank in past the shock. Seamus had deliberately told Collin about the order. Nell would assume that Takashi had told Seamus or correctly guess that Takashi had told Zack, who had told Seamus.Whatever she came to believe, Takashi’s relationship with her was ruined. She would, at best, see this as idiocy and, at worst, believe him to be a traitor.
If she told others that she no longer trusted him—and he had no doubt that she would—then his reputation would collapse. Scheming among vampires was common, but this was a sign of allegiance. His loyalty to his sire was always assumed. To show dedication to another ancient master meant giving himself over to their command or playing the game to his own benefit.
Everyone was always looking out for themselves in his circles, but the proof of it was like flashing his cards to cutthroat gamblers while having a gangster breathing down his neck for a debt. It was clumsy. It was unprofessional.
It was the end of him.
And Takashi had to stand there on the tarmac as if nothing were wrong. He had been infected with the rot that was Seamus, and there was no cure in sight. Zack was the only soul he could trust, andZackhad been the one to do this to him.That isn’t fair. But was it any less the truth? For all Zack’s protestations, he would never be able to choose Takashi over Seamus.Neverwas a strong word, but Seamus was already worming his way into Zack’s heart and spoiling him from the inside.
Takashi was slipping from the trapeze all over again, and this time, there would be no one to scoop him up from the hard-packed earth. His heart was still in free fall, was still daring to hope that maybe,maybeZack’s love was enough. That with enough time, Zack would break from Seamus, that they would reunite with Roger, and all could be well. But the chances of that were diminishing every night. Yet hope—the fucking traitor that it was—persisted.
He was doomed.
Faustino stepped forward, his shoulders tighter, and said, “Master Seamus, I hope I won’t have trouble keeping my head where it is.”
Seamus clasped his hands behind his back and turned toward him with a fang-baring grin. “Has your master threatened my son?”
“She has only well wishes for the boy,” Faustino replied. “Besides, we’ve been too concerned with our own affairs of late. My mistress is hoping that you will remember her fondly. Ludovicia took the reins at New Year’s.”
“Ah, Ludovicia! Was she able to make use of the gift I sent her?”
“To great effect. She is most grateful for your assistance and bade me to bring you several presents, some of which are in my luggage, a few of which stand behind me.”
