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“And what do you want me to do, sire?” There’s not a hint of defiance or mockery in Lan’s voice now. Not after Joséphine took him to task. I give it six months before Lan is back to pushing boundaries. Something he and Eloise have in common, it seems.
I watch him, considering. Lan, in spite of his violent and extreme nature, is a highly skilled asset to me. It’s the only reason why I haven’t put him down yet. He’s the Nightshade’s reaper, and no one can deny his dedication to his duties.
“Have Ashe send you a list of targets. I want you to follow them and learn every fucking detail about them. I want to know what toothpaste they use, what’s past the expiration date in their cabinets. Every. Fucking. Thing.”
Lan gives a short bow and strides from the room with his orders.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, pressure building behind my right eye. One would think that being a vampire would prevent migraines, but alas even the undead can get them. Migraines are the bane of all creatures, natural and supernatural alike. I doubt even spirits are able to avoid them.
The fucking Latians. Goddamn piece of shit wolf shifters who worked with Markus and his fanatics. Bishop will be furious that some of them have escaped their justice. The head alpha, Draven, may consent to my vampires killing the rest, but it’ll be Bishop who I need to concern myself with. The sociopathic shifter will want to see the bodies, no doubt. I make a note to tell Lan that if he has to kill one of them to leave them identifiable for the shifter.
It seems like we aren’t the only vampires to bridge the animosity between our races for an alliance. Deidre’s information doesn’t reveal what vampires are associating with the Latians, but Kasar will have information on that by now.
There’s so much I need to consider; Deidre was able to gather fragments and she was right to believe I’d make more out of it than she ever could. It’s been a week since Eloise showed me everything and I’m still fuming and piecing all the parts together. These Latians are much more cunning than their former alpha. They’re willing to move in small increments, to hide in the shadows and blend into the background of the Barrows. Tyrion was flashy, needing to wave his dick around, claiming power that wasn’t ever his.
Brash arrogance does not a king make.
Joséphine is still in the room, the weight of her all-too-seeing gaze on my shoulders. I drop my hand to the armrest and look at the woman I consider a daughter straight on. She’s never held her opinion back, something she gets away with when I’d tear the throat from others for such an act. Even though I turned her when she was fifty-two, I still see the malnourished five-year-old girl wearing a bundle of rags. She hadn’t been afraid of me then and she’s never been afraid of me since. When the Naples Plague broke out in 1656, her mortal body had swiftly broken down. I offered her the choice and she agreed on the condition that I never abandon her like her family and late husband did. It was a bargain I happily agreed to.
A year later, Lan had come home to find his mother changed. He’d changed too, and when her once peaceful son had been stabbed multiple times and left for dead after getting into too much debt, I gave her my blessing to save him. He’d been unconscious and when he woke, there was so much anger in him. All transitions from human to vampire are difficult. The hunger is torturous, and the world is overwhelming to the much keener senses. It was more than that for Lan, however. He resented being saved and blamed me for it. Only his love for his mother kept him from ending his new life.
The anger and violence he’d returned to Naples with became worse after he’d been turned. In those early years, we cleaned up after his killing sprees across continents. When he’d finally gone too far, I gave him a choice. Pledge himself to me, not just as my vampiric grandson but as a soldier in my army and stay in control of his rage, or I would kill him and end Joséphine’s torment.
“I know you have something to say, piccola,” I murmur when she stays silent.
Joséphine tilts her head, continuing to observe me before heaving a sigh and shaking her head. “Oh, papà, why do you do this to yourself?”
I force back the instinct to snarl. She’s referring to Eloise, whom I’ve avoided since she showed me the research. It’s been two weeks of silent agony, but it was necessary. Waking up with her in my arms was too much for me, and that was before she embraced me with such genuine affection and gratitude. I still feel the press of her lips against my cheek, the smell of her sleep, the sharp taste of arousal from her fingers.
She’s consumed my thoughts when I should be focusing on dealing with this issue with Rapture and the Latians.
I can’t even bring myself to feed from her, afraid of breaking my threadbare restraint and taking her for my own.
Joséphine tuts and the sound brings me out of the spiral that is Eloise Morse. My gaze lifts to meet hers again and she’s smirking at me.
“See what I mean?” she admonishes more gently than she had her son earlier.
I let out a long breath, slouching back into my chair and running my hand back through my hair. I want to groan and bitch and do anything other than think about why I’m avoiding Eloise. My head rolls against the padded leather, my neck stretching to the side as I look out the window Lan had stood against.
“Has she said anything to you?”
“Beyond asking about you for the first two days? No. She is a smart girl. She knows you’re avoiding her, but she doesn’t know why. The little lamb acts as if she did something wrong.”
My gaze darts to Joséphine at the tone of reproach, but she’s not wrong. Joséphine may have never allowed me or my men to call her the princess of the Nightshades but she sits as regally in the armchair, flanked by deep bookshelves, that it might as well be the original throne from Versailles. She isn’t in my inner circle, officially, but not for the lack of my frequent requests and offers. She is the mistress of my household and thrives with it.
“What do you mean?” Why on earth would Eloise believe she offended me? Doesn’t she realize I’m a predator ready to snap and devour her body and soul?
Joséphine snorts with amusement, a smile deepening the lines of her face. “Oh, papà. You can be so stupid sometimes.”
I roll my eyes, but don’t disagree. Casting my senses beyond the room, I make sure we can’t be overheard. I lean forward, elbows on the desk in front of me, my fingers laced together as I look out the window again.
“I feel like an untried boy, piccola,” I confess in a quiet voice. There’s no need to risk speaking any louder than necessary. “No woman, vampire or human, has done this to me. Especially in such little time. I even considered if she was working for someone, meant to seduce me, even though I knew the idea was preposterous.”
She raises an eyebrow, the damn exact copy of the same look I give, and it’s hard not to tell her to stop acting like me. I splay my arms out, as in invitation as exasperation floods my veins. “What would you have me do, Joséphine?” I ask, a note of desperation in my words. I barrel onwards. “She’s a human, and in her twenties. She came to me because she wanted to save her friend, and I forced her to my side in a bargain. She hasn’t chosen to stay at my side, and why would she? She has an entire life ahead of her. One that shouldn’t include staying with an overbearing vampire who can barely control the urge to fuck her or tear out the eyes of any male who looks at her.”
I push up out of my chair, unable to stay still any longer. I pace towards the windows, glaring out at the sliver of a view of the Barrows. “I want her, piccola. I know what it means when a vampire reacts to someone this way but I can’t—I won’t force that on someone. I’ve told you what happened last time.”
I hear the soft swish of a cotton skirt and then Joséphine’s arm is around my waist. Habitually, I raise my left arm and she presses against my side, her head just above my shoulders. She lets me stew in silence, fighting against memories of my ancient past. I cannot recall her face, but I can still hear her screams. I’ve never let myself forget the anger and pain and shame that tore through me that day and the following years. I reach into my right pocket, my fingers brushing the smooth metal circle that was once a coin. It’s my constant reminder of why I keep myself apart from anyone, how it’s safer for everyone that way.
