Page 168 of Eternal Surrender

“Find a way to reverse this,” her voice sounded distant. “I want him back.”

What if I don’t make it?

“Then Ingrid will pay the price for your failure.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Blinded with confusion, riddled with fury, I flew toward Piccadilly.

Lingering in the foyer of the Ritz Carlton, I tried to still my frenzied thoughts, hoping I could stay calm long enough to have a reasonable conversation with Lucas. Threatened with his possible betrayal, I tried to unravel actuality from conjecture, the truth out of deceit.

If Paradom was Dominion, the plan had been brilliantly executed. No one would have suspected this mad vampire to be the one to lead the rest of us through the twenty-first century. He could just about lead himself to open a can of cat food.

But if separated. . .

Who was Dominion?

Head down, hands in pockets, I used the stairs to get to the hotel room.

Lucas and I had once shared a fondness for the use of code among other things, including our love of the Ritz.

I’d traditionally stayed in one of her more sumptuous suites, the Arlington, with its luxurious if not modest decor and a good view overlooking the courtyard. I’d failed to persuade him that the Prince of Wales suite was preferable, but Lucas’s simple tastes had won out.

This was easily Piccadilly’s finest London hotel, built in the neoclassical style of Louis XVI, with its exclusive Parisian architecture mirroring Paris’s most famous street the Rue de Rivoli.

I took in the room.

Though Lucas had delivered on his promise to bring Ingrid here and safely ensconce her in this, the Arlington suite, he himself conveniently wasn’t here.

There was an open box of tissues on the coffee table. An uneaten sandwich rested on the oak Chinese cabinet, and next to that a plate of untouched strawberries. An uncorked bottle of Champagne rested on ice.

Ingrid’s cheeks flushed when she saw me. “Lucas told me not to open the door to anyone.”

Classical music filled the room, the notes tumbling out from discreetly hidden speakers.

“Was Lucas planning on coming back?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“You okay?”

Ingrid, the only person I trusted right now, standing there as beautiful as ever, her hair tussled, her eyeliner smudged, vulnerable yet ever resilient.

The small gash on her neck where Sunaria’s knife had rested was not the only evidence of her assault.

“Lucas. . . he’s fine now,” I said, stating the obvious.

“I can’t get the image out of my mind of what Sunaria did to him. I couldn’t help him.” A lone tear fell, threatening others. “I suppose this is where you tell me I’m safe and she won’t hurt me again?”

I strolled over to the Chinese cabinet and lifted the bottle of Krug Grand Cuvee out of the ice bucket, pouring the Champagne into the crystal flute beside it.

“Lucas told me all about Sunaria,” she said.

“Let’s not talk about her.”

Ingrid sucked in her breath. “You didn’t have her knife against your throat.”

“Trust me it felt like I did.” I shook my head. “I’m sorry.”