How could the same vampire, Ternin Desmond, rumored to bathe Vegas in the blood of his enemies by tearing out their hearts and eating them in front of their faces, be sitting here arguing with his friends and teasing his grandson?
These men, these feared Syndicate bosses, were crowded around a coffee table arguing over photos and bragging about their children like overly competitive grandfathers at a cookout.
It felt impossible.
Manic and Ternin were practically in a standoff, arguing over whether the grandkids inherited more from Rayla or their fathers. Ternin kept jabbing a finger into the air every time he made a point while Manic barked over him, both refusing to surrender an inch.
Syris sauntered over to them like he was enjoying every second of the chaos, occasionally tossing in comments that somehow calmed the argument while simultaneously making it worse.
While the others launched into another argument, Easton quietly stood and crossed the room toward me. The amusement in his glacial crystal blue eyes softened as he held out his phone.
“Those idiots could debate this for days,” he murmured. I laughed softly and took the phone from him.
The first picture showed a young Rack, maybe ten years old, standing off to the side while the other kids ran around behind him. His hands were shoved into his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched, watching instead of joining.
The next photo made my chest tighten.
Calix had marched right up to him, grabbed his wrist, and was dragging him toward the others while Rack looked thoroughly unimpressed about it.
A smile tugged at my lips automatically.
“That’s always been these two,” Easton quietly said beside me. “Calix charging headfirst into life. Rack standing back and thinking everything through.” His mouth tipped slightly upward. “A perfect balance.”
Something in his tone made me glance up. He was already looking at me, somehow knowingly, like he’d pieced together thoughts I hadn’t even admitted to myself yet.
“Just like a steering wheel needs an engine,” he continued lightly, though his eyes stayed sharp, “sometimes people are built to work together.”
My stomach tightened.
“And sometimes,” he added, “things drift out of alignment.” He mimed turning a wrench slowly in the air. “Then somebody has to tighten things back into place.”
I stared at him, speechless. Easton’s smile deepened just slightly.
“I knew you’d understand.”
Then, before I could even think of a response, he straightened and snapped his fingers loudly at the others.
“It’s after three in the morning,” he barked. “And unlike the rest of you degenerates, these kids have work to do tomorrow.”
A chorus of complaints exploded immediately. Syris, ignoring every single one of them, suddenly wrapped both arms around me so hard my feet almost left the floor.
“You remember this, darling,” he dramatically declared into my hair, “you are the princess of this castle.”
I laughed breathlessly as he squeezed tighter.
“And those two?” He pointed wildly toward Rack and Calix. “Lowly servants. Blood servants! Never let them forget it.”
“Syris—”
“No, no!” He waved Calix off. “I’m teaching her important survival skills.”
Then he leaned down and whispered loudly enough for half the room to hear anyway. “Emotional manipulation is a woman’s greatest weapon against men.”
I snorted with laughter despite myself.
“I’m not doing that,” I told him.
He winked. “Not intentionally, at least.”
