Gray shook her head, her blonde curls brushing her shoulders. “I don’t buy that. I know they tend to look the other way for a lot of stuff, but this is big. It’s going to affect them eventually, too.”
“Not up in those ivory towers,” he said.
“Part of what keeps them there is that the supernatural masses keep ourselves in check,” she said. “If things fall apart in a big way, that’s going to draw human attention on an epic scale. Right now, our biggest safety net is the fact that most people don’t believe in us. Once that net comes down, forget about it. Not even the Council will be able to stay in the shadows. As long as they want to maintain a presence and power on the earthly realm, they need us as much as they think we need them.”
“They’re already aware of the situation at Black Ruby,” I said. “But so far, they’re keeping their distance. My contact there says they’d rather let us sort it out. The humans who died weren’t—and I quote—high profile enough to cause a stir.”
“Thoseassholes,” Gray said. “I mean, I get that the humans who died signed up for the job, but still. Ignoring what happened sets a dangerous precedent for those whodidn’tsign up.”
I took another swig of whiskey, hoping the alcohol would dull the sharp edges of my thoughts. It was bad enough when we were just dealing with a psycho hunter targeting Gray and the witches of Blackmoon Bay. Now, we were talking about murders across the state and country, supernatural crime waves, hunters rising again, and a potential conspiracy…
It was hard to carry on with odds like that.
“Okay,” I said, let’s strip all this down and get back to basics. We can’t tackle all of this at once.”
“Emilio’s right,” Gray said. “Right now, our primary objective is still Haley and the others. We need to find Jonathan. The rest will have to wait.”
“Agreed,” Asher said.
“So now that we’ve got a lead in Raven’s Cape,” Ronan asked, “what’s our next move?”
“The hunter likes to play games?” I said, grabbing the whiskey and topping off everyone’s glass. “Good. We’re going to give him one right back. First step? Baiting a trap.”
“What’s the bait?” Asher asked.
“Not a what—a who.” I raised my glass and touched it to each of theirs, then sent a silent prayer to Darius in New York, hoping his negotiating skills were as sharp as when he’d practiced law. “The gutless vamp who betrayed him.”
Twenty-Two
DARIUS
Tonight wasn’t the worst of my immortal life, but it certainly qualified as a top-ten cock-up.
After leading me around by the fangs all week, Grinaldi had finally summoned me to his estate for our meeting, only to shuffle me off on one of his staff for a tour of the grounds, followed by a dinner during which Grinaldi didn’t appear and I did not dine, and a game of billiards with his eldest sired son, Francisco, who’d barely spoken as I proceeded to embarrass him at the table.
By the time he bowed out of his entertainment responsibilities, I was so out of sorts I nearly called off the meeting altogether.
But of course, one thought of my little brawler back home, and I knew I’d wander the grounds of this ridiculously sprawling compound for a decade if it meant securing even a shred of information that could help us track the hunter—that could help us keep her safe.
Now more than ever, we needed to locate the Grinaldi-sired vampire whose blood was responsible for Sophie’s death. Not only were we counting on him to reveal the hunter’s whereabouts, but the rogue was a critical component in Emilio’s latest plan to draw the hunter out of hiding.
I was still in the billiards room, gazing out the window at the lush, moonlit woods that surrounded the property, when my host finally deemed me worthy of his time.
“Darius Beaumont,” he said as he entered the room, his tone and expression as neutral as his home was ostentatious. “It has been some years, friend.”
I took in his polished appearance, but the immaculately-trimmed gray hair, tailored Italian suit, and French cologne did nothing to hide his age. He’d been close to seventy when he’d been turned, trapped forever in a body that had already outlived its prime in his own era. Despite his immortality, Vincenzo Grinaldi looked bone-tired, the brutal savagery of time wearing him down as a river wore down a canyon.
“Indeed it has, friend.” I briefly lowered my eyes, a silent acknowledgment that this was his home, and I was his guest.
No matter how badly I wanted to wring his neck.
“Shall we relocate to the south parlor?” he asked, already turning toward the hall without awaiting my answer, and neither apologizing for nor explaining his lateness. “I’ve taken the liberty of inviting some fresh… cocktails.”
I followed him into an intimate but gaudy room with gleaming white marble floors, deep mauve walls, and uncomfortably old-fashioned upholstered furniture better suited to a Victorian woman’s bedchambers than the home of the most powerful vampire family on the eastern seaboard.
But keeping his guests in a constant state of unease seemed to be Grinaldi’s primary driver, and to that end, the room was perfect.
I sat on a dainty floral-print settee as he settled into an intricately-carved rocking chair across from me and called for our “cocktails” to present themselves. Two nude women entered the room on silent footsteps, one kneeling at Grinaldi’s feet, the other at mine.
