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Abigail raised a haughty brow at her audacity. Then she smiled with dark amusement. “I like a woman with attitude,” the witch remarked. She shifted on the couch to sit upright and stared into Gwen’s eyes. “And yes, dear. I can do better.”
A rush of cold spread over Gwen’s skin, and a strange sensation niggled in the back of her consciousness under the witch’s glare. Abigail smiled wide, showing off her beautiful white teeth. “There’s a reason they brought you to me. And it wasn’t for the champagne and the gossip.” She leaned forward, her breasts swelling against the straining hem of her bodice. “The real question is, are you ready to hear what I have to tell you?”
Chapter Thirteen
Sirus was not surprised by Abigail’s request that he linger outside during their visit, but, despite what he’d told Gwendolyn about trusting the witch, he’d no intention of going far.
“I thought you were done with this kind of work,” Henry remarked as they reached the base of the terrace steps.
“No,” he replied.
As similar as the two men were in their demeanor and clipped communication, they’d never been anywhere close to cordial. Which was why Sirus was surprised when the creature lingered at the edge of the garden to speak to him.
“Do you still communicate with the others?” Henry asked, getting straight to the point.
Sirus didn’t need to ask to know he meant the other vampires. He turned to face Henry directly. “A few.”
The other man tensed, and Sirus had an uneasy sense of what was to come. Henry stalked past him in heavy strides, slipping further into the large garden, which was coated in the thick aroma of blooming roses. Sirus followed several paces behind, the sound of each man’s boots crunching along the fine gravel path. The air was damp as night took hold, and a fog had begun to creep over the lawn.
He’d been about to tell the creature that this was far enough, that he would not go far from Gwendolyn, when Henry stopped short in the center of the path and turned to face him. “Maeve and Quinn were here.”
Sirus shifted on his heel. Both were vampires from the Clan of Serpents, one of the now two remaining clans of vampires. Ruthless and precise, the Serpents only worked as assassins. It was all they had ever done. They were said to have never failed in killing a target once a contract was struck. A legend rooted in fear more than truth.
“To what end?” Sirus pressed. Clearly they’d not come to kill Abigail, or she’d be dead. Which made their visit that much more unsettling.
Henry let out a deep breath. Sirus assumed he was betraying the witch’s trust by divulging details, but clearly he thought it necessary. “Abigail is fond of you,” he said, the words dripping with disgust as they fell from his mouth. “But you’re the only vampire she’s fond of.”
Sirus was far from flattered, though it did ease his lingering concerns about leaving Gwendolyn with the witch. “They came for information,” Henry explained when Sirus said nothing. “Information she was not willing to give, despite what they offered.”
From Sirus’s understanding, Henry had been employed as Abigail’s body man for as long as was known. Where Abigail went, Henry went also. Always. There were whispers amongst the magickal gossips as to the nature of their relationship, but Sirus had never thought it his business. Still, he was a touch surprised by the genuineness of Henry’s concern for the witch. The fear in his eye for her.
“They will do her no harm.” Sirus answered the unspoken question. If they’d wanted to kill her, they would have. “She’s too well-known and connected.” For as eccentric as she was, Abigail was well-liked amongst the elites of the Folk, even if she was considered a rather boisterous black sheep amongst the witches.
Henry visibly relaxed, as if a giant stone had been lifted from his shoulders. His task complete, he moved to leave but stilled as he passed Sirus. “Is it true?” He asked over his shoulder. “That you cannot make more?”
Sirus was surprised Henry was bold enough to ask. It was not common knowledge, but rumors amongst the Folk about the dwindling number of vampires had long been spreading.
“Yes.”
Henry continued on his way back to the chateau. “Good,” he said low but knowing Sirus could hear.
Once Henry was gone, Sirus wandered away from the soft light the posts of the path offered and into the darker corners of the garden. Henry’s palpable loathing of vampires didn’t bother Sirus in the slightest. It was Gwendolyn who absorbed his thoughts as he made his way along the slips of shadow and back toward the terrace.
In the days since her raw display of magick, Levian had come up with nothing but theories. To deduce more, she would need more resources. More time. Sirus was growing restless at her lack of progress, and, more importantly, so was Gwendolyn.
They’d not been alone since that night they’d arrived in London, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t watched her. From across the room, Sirus had caught the little glimmers of panic in her eyes as she would drift off in thought. Would sense her anxieties growing as she became overwhelmed by Levian and her inquisitive tests. He was acutely aware of her desperation for answers. To find her footing in this new world she’d been thrust into. The others all looked after her, attended to her, listened to and worried after her. But he was the only one who really watched her. Sirus had felt her growing more and more anxious with each passing day, so he’d suggested this visit to the witch. Abigail was far from precise in her craft of scrying, but she was renowned. Levian had agreed that there was a possibility the witch could at least point them in a better direction. Keeping her hidden at Ember Hall would do for now, but not forever. It’d already been near a week.
Sirus had given Gwendolyn a wide berth. He’d reminded himself that even if she had awakened desires within him, it didn’t mean anything. She’d shown no interest to be near him again. Nor to talk to him. Perhaps it was good that he’d scared her off. Only, as the days slipped by while he watched her, Sirus had also grown more keenly aware of her. Not just her lithe curves, silken skin, and pink lips. She was bold and fearless. Willing to take on whatever Levian would try if it might help. She was easy in how she carried herself, but quite sharp too. She’d found her place between the dragon and the mage, as if she’d known them for centuries and not days. She’d even become friendly with Niah—a development he was far less fond of.
Gwendolyn was not conniving but blunt and earnest. She had a pure heart, and they could all see it. In the world of the Folk, where cunning and trickery were common traits, it was refreshing. It was why they’d all grown fond of her so quickly.
He reached the edge of the terrace and settled himself into a dark corner to wait. The women’s soft voices carried through the night air from out the open windows, but they weren’t loud enough for him to hear clearly, even with his heightened sense. He could distinguish Gwendolyn’s voice against the others, and he tensed at his instinctive response. How his blood stirred.
Sirus snarled a vicious curse at a rather ugly cherub statue and ran his hand over his beard. Abigail had been right to send him out. He was exactly where a creature such as he belonged. Alone, and tortured, in the darkness.
* * *
“Roman!” Abigail screamed, and Gwen jumped, spilling even more champagne into her lap. Levian shared her look of annoyance at the shrieking.
