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She tried to call her druid, and found her silent. There were no chants, no whispers. It was as if the darkness inside her never was.
Panicked, she tried her mental connection with Conall. She couldn’t reach him. Vivienne put up another futile struggle against the gold bonds securing her before giving up. Instead she settled for looking around. The room was dark, pitch-black, but she could hear the wind howling, which meant she was in a room above the ground. She continued to listen, and heard what sounded like voices, faint, just below her window. Focusing on the voices, she listened carefully, and was glad to find that her heightened senses were still working, if barely.
“So, we’re just patrolling tonight? That’s it?” This voice belonged to a male, and from the lackluster excitement, Vivienne dismissed him as young, possibly in his twenties.
“Yes. I’ve told you that ten times already,” a female replied in a clipped, hushed tone. She had a polished accent, but Vivienne couldn’t pinpoint it.
“Why? It’s not like she can escape the chains before tomorrow. They’re made just for her kind.”
Vivienne looked down at the bonds. Well, that would explain why she couldn’t break out of them.
“Well, we’re here to make sure that if she does, she doesn’t get very far. Correct?”
“Yeah. I guess.”
Silence fanned the air, and Vivienne tried to listen for voices further out. She could make out nothing but the wind, and even that had begun to fade as she went farther.
Closing her eyes, she shook her head. It would have been a better idea to wait for Conall, to tell him what Maximilian Cronin had suggested. Even if she’d still run into the trap, Conall might be able to piece some of the information together. He’d be able to follow her. Now, he was probably going insane trying to figure out where she’d slipped off to. If he wasn’t too angry—
“So, after this whole business, how long do you think the grand wizard’s going to keep us here?”
“I don’t know how long your grand wizard will keep you here.”
“I hope we stay for a few more days. It’s England and I’ve never been here before. My Mom—”
“Silence!” It was a hiss, and it was followed by a thud, as if the female had grown tired of the incessant yapping and shoved him into something. “Be quiet or I’ll shut your mouth permanently.” There was another thud. “Understood?”
“Yeah, yeah. I got it.”
They didn’t speak for the rest of the time but Vivienne had gotten a vital piece of information. She was somewhere in England which meant that Cronin had lured her to the airport in order to toss her on a plane and bring her here. But for what purpose? Something told her she would find out soon enough.
***
There was officially a disturbance in the New York Council. On the plane, Conall had placed a call to Agar to inform the Elder that he was going to kill Cronin, and possibly the other two grand wizards, and anyone else who stood between him and his mate. He’d briefed Agar on the situation, and the Elder, while he didn’t seem to approve, had not disapproved either. Approval or not, Conall meant what he’d said. If, when he returned with Vivienne, he left a trail of dead witches behind, so be it. If the Council dissolved, they would either find new grand wizards, or figure something else out.
“So, what do we do?” The question came from Santiago, who was perched on a leather chair, one black boot on the edge of a coffee table. Santiago had followed him to London while Dominic and Drako remained in New York. It would be foolish for all four of the New York alphas to leave the country. There were rogue packs who dreamed of such an opportunity. He’d even left Sloan to act in his stead, bringing Raoul and fifteen of his best hunters instead.
“We wait.”
This came from the six-foot-seven blond giant perched against the large desk in his study. Straightening to his full height, Eirik approached Santiago, and with a slight flick of his wrist, removed the other man’s foot from the lacquered coffee table.
Glares were exchanged, but instead of slewing profanity, Santiago growled, “How long?”
“Until one of his people messes up, which should be soon. We can sniff them out, but that would take longer.”
Even with the thirty-odd wolves gathered in Eirik Lieverson’s London townhouse, it would take days to pinpoint a scent, and have it lead them somewhere successful. There were witches from other covenants in London, and their scents, mingled with those of humans, vampires, and everything else in the city would lead to many false places.
