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Samael smiled and flexed his hands. “Touché.” He turned to Declan. “I think I’ll come along, if you don’t mind.”
Declan eyed the demon lord closely. He was unsure of the demon and his motives, but if he was willing to help Ana, that was good enough—for now. He turned to Nico. “You ready to
hunt?”
The tall warrior grunted. “I’ve been ready for days. Babysitting a bunch of teenagers isn’t what I signed up for.”
“Let’s go.” Declan headed for the door. He paused and scooped up a bag of goodies, filled to the brim with charmed daggers and special weapons used on supernatural beings. As the three of them stepped into the fresh night air, they startled a squirrel on the railing of the porch. It froze and then scurried away, disappearing into the gloom.
Declan flexed his arms and called upon the power coiled in his gut. His gaze swept the now-empty porch.
Smart little bastard. He wondered if the vampires would be as accommodating.
He looked at the demon and jaguar warrior and then stepped down.
Somehow, he didn’t think so.
Chapter 34
Ana sat in the corner of the sparse room and ignored the cameras protruding from every corner. The bright light overhead was harsh, the tiled floor cold. She was stiff, her face blank, but inside emotion raged hard and fast.
Ransome was pacing. He’d been pacing ever since they’d been escorted inside, which was hours ago. She knew it was now early evening. Why the hell hadn’t council come for them?
The whir of the camera sounded as it followed the werewolf. Ana fought the urge to throw up her middle finger and wave it. Actually she’d like nothing more than to take something long and hard and shove it up Alistair’s—
The door opened suddenly and a tingle of anticipation rolled through her. Good. It was about fucking time.
She stretched, took her time, and slowly rose to her feet. Ransome stopped his endless pacing and glanced at her. He arched a brow.
Showtime.
The tall vampire didn’t move and she felt the weight of his stare upon her back. She let her hands fall loose and cracked her neck. Her long auburn hair fell wildly about her shoulders. She tucked an unruly curl behind her ear and smiled as she turned to him.
Alistair—member of the local vampire council. He was an ancient, a cold son of a bitch, the vampire who’d hunted and killed Cerise. He was in fact the council’s executioner and head of their security.
He stepped into the light, his dead eyes clear and filled with anticipation. He was dressed in black, a long duster made of velvet that touched the floor as he walked. He took another step and crossed his hands behind his back and smiled. It quickly turned to a sneer as he spoke.
“I hope you’re both well rested.”
Ana’s urge to slam her fist upside the vampire’s head was violent, but she lowered her eyes, took a second to compose herself. She needed to keep to her plan. Play it cool.
“I don’t know about rested, but I sure as hell could use some red meat,” said Ransome.
A snort of disgust fell from Alistair. “You will not speak unless I ask it, wolf.” He turned his black gaze to Ana and stepped aside. “Shall we? It’s time we had a little chat. We’re most interested in finding out how you became aware of our location and why you’ve dared to bring a wolf into our midst.”
Ana started forward, her steps unsure, hesitant. She kept her eyes lowered—didn’t trust that the hatred she felt was hidden—and she prayed he wouldn’t sense the undercurrent of magick that empowered her blood. It was the ace in her pocket. Of course the fact that Alistair believed all women were inferior could only help. His tendencies, both sexual and political, swayed toward the male of their species, and the only female he pretended to admire was the queen.
Ransome fell in behind her and she was grateful he held his tongue. The tall wolf wasn’t used to taking shit from anyone and she knew he would like nothing more than to rip into Alistair.
Wolves and vampires had a longstanding grudge, most of which was empowered by ignorance. Those stuck in the past, such as Alistair, would never change their shortsighted view of the world.
Two guards stood outside and led the way toward the main house. She and Ransome had been held in one of the smaller outbuildings. The night was crisp, the air cool on her face. In the distance an owl hooted, its cry sad, melancholy. A shiver rippled over her flesh at the sound.
Not a good omen.
The main house was impressive, if you liked over-the-top, gaudy architecture. It was a large, gothic-looking monster with stone gargoyles and several turrets that seemingly had been put there just because. Retro was in and she was amused to see the vampires had jumped on the bandwagon.
The foyer was large, opulent, filled with shades of gold, crimson, and black. A huge staircase dominated the center of the room and her gaze traveled upward, resting on several paintings that lined the wall. A stab of longing fell over her as she settled on a portrait of her parents. As direct descendants of the queen they were honored in this way.
