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Yolen shook his head. “Hey, the two of you are in this other league. You’ve got that whole blood rose thing going on and you’re a mastyr vampire. Brianna and I don’t fit the bill.”
“Maybe, but things are changing in the Nine Realms. Just be open to what’s happening between you and Brianna. This has some kind of realm phenomenon written all over it.”
“You really think so?”
He held his hands wide. “I’m here. That’s at least one indication something’s going on.”
The guard unlocked the door and Yolen stepped out, Ethan leading the way.
Because the surge kept him in a weakened state, he wasn’t fit to fly. Ethan, good friend that he was, called him a cab, then took off into the night.
Yolen climbed into the car and gave his directions.
He leaned his head against the seat, watching the come-and-go of the street lamps. They were made of old-fashioned glass, which put him in the newly renovated downtown district. He loved the city of Cameron and had a house across the river so that o
n any given night he had a view of the skyline all lit up, as well as the tree-studded hills beyond.
He knew every street, alley, pothole, traffic signal, and coffee shop. He could name the streets the prostitutes trolled, and the ones where the wealthy lived with manicured lawns and plenty of green belts. He’d shaken hands with every elven, troll, shifter, fae, and vampire businessman that kept industry humming. And he knew the users and the sellers and spent every waking hour mostly dealing with drug-related homicides.
He worked steadily to try to break the back of the latest drug-ring, the one that had sent two Invictus pairs straight to Alec’s house the day after he’d embraced his mastyr calling. Alone, Alec might have survived, but he’d thrown himself in front of his wife in an attempt to save her and the two of them had died together.
The horror of seeing them entwined in death had cemented his belief that he had to keep his work and his personal life in two very separate, secure boxes.
His city had reached a crisis state, but like hell he would place Brianna in jeopardy by rising to mastyr status. He knew the moment he did, he’d have Invictus on his ass and worse, Brianna could die because of it.
He just didn’t know who the leader of this most recent drug traffic takeover was. No one seemed to know. The kingpin was clever as hell and had serious ties to the States.
Arriving home, Yolen went inside. At the sight of the stage he’d set, the one that wouldn’t get used, his shoulders sank.
His housekeeper had outdone herself. Red rose petals littered the light gray carpet, just as he’d ordered, and a fine condensation coated the outside of the silver champagne bucket, the ice now melted. About two dozen candles, some burnt out and others barely flickering, had probably set the room in one helluva glow.
He’d envisioned sinking himself into Brianna in front of the fire, watching the flames flicker over her beautiful naked body.
Yep, he’d had a plan for the evening. Now all he had was a fat lip and a swollen eye, all the elf-lords be-damned.
He had to make an effort, damnit. Maybe he could give Brianna some kind of concession, let her know how much she meant to him.
At the same time, he had to help her understand that he wasn’t being small and withholding, that a serious bad guy had designs on their city. He always tried to downplay the danger of his work, but maybe if she knew more about what was going on in the Cameron drug world right now, she’d have more patience with him.
As he thought about how much he loved her and how unwilling he was to let her go, he finally figured out his next move. He’d have to break precedent and do the one thing he knew she really wanted him to do, but would it be enough?
***
Chapter Three
The following night, Brianna stood in the designated reception area of the Cameron City Art Gallery, a glass of champagne in hand. The exhibition had opened to several dozen guests, many of them well-shod, so that before the first hour had passed, she’d sold a quarter of her inventory.
She floated, savoring the achievement she’d worked so hard to bring to fruition. She’d spent every night for a full decade, with the exception of her dates with Yolen, in her studio, working her technique, exploring her unique city-and-landscape visions, executed primarily in oils.
A number of her works were of Cameron itself, including river views of the amazing skyline and the dark hills beyond. She always tried to capture the vibrancy of movement that characterized the city, the constant flow of traffic, of people on bikes, of realm-folk walking their dogs.
The poorer parts of the city needed serious reconstruction, an issue that she and Yolen often discussed. The thought of revitalizing Cameron frequently inspired her and more than once she’d experienced a true fae vision of what the city could become with the right attention and funding. These visions had resulted in a series of three paintings that depicted the replacing of worn out dilapidated housing with parks, playgrounds and better neighborhoods.
The visionary series hadn’t yet sold but she blamed the gallery owner for that. The price he’d set was at least ten times higher than any of the others. But he’d been adamant, saying that she undervalued her work and that this series in particular held not only a civic appeal, but a true realm feel for which he felt certain the right buyer would pay top dollar.
She was less sanguine, but on the other hand, tonight her paintings were selling.
The gallery had a perfect layout, with a long entrance from the point of the elevator that ran at least fifteen feet wide and thirty feet long and which led to the main display area. She stood next to a table of champagne-filled glasses. Greeting another group of guests, she headed them toward the carefully calculated maze of her exhibition. Beyond the paintings, a light buffet awaited the guests.
