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I knew the answer to that, too. Brien wasn’t a monster. He’d send people to protect her.
And if she saw that as a betrayal—after all, I was outing her current alias to a syndicate prince—well, I’d just have to live with her anger and disappointment. She wasn’t unreasonable. Once she knew why, she might even agree I’d done the right thing.
Slayers, Inc. wouldn’t be so forgiving, though.
I’d never be a slayer again—and that was assuming they let me live.
I put the coffee cup down and knuckled my eyes.
I knew the rules. The most likely scenario was that they’d send an assassin to take me out. I’d have to watch my back for the rest of my life.
Well, so be it. Dying wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to a person. Sometimes you had to take a stand if you wanted to be able to live with yourself.
A peace descended over me. I couldn’t wait for sunset so I could go to Brien.
This was one secret I couldn’t wait to share with him—a gift from me to him.
I don’t know how long I sat there, listening to the waterfall and watching Demon, when a flash of lightning made me jolt. When I glanced up, thunderclouds had blotted out the sky.
I was reaching for my cup when I caught a whiff of something rotten. I froze, eyes darting from side to side.
The shadows next to a pot of roses stirred, then solidified into Leclerc, a long black cloak around his shoulders. He was so emaciated, his nose a beak in his bony face, that he looked more like an enormous vulture than a man. Beneath the cloak, he wore his usual Armani, but the suit coat was unbuttoned, his pants sagging around his hips.
Demon hissed and arched her back, then streaked up a tree. Leaping to the wall, she scrambled up the vines and out of the garden.
The primus prowled toward me, silent as fog, eyes burning, demon-dark, in his sallow face. This close, the sickly-sweet odor was overpowering.
I stared at him, taking shallow breaths so I wouldn’t gag. For a few seconds, all I could think was:You’re not supposed to be here. You’re supposed to be locked up in your apartment.
But clearly, he’d escaped—or someone had let him out.
Slowly and carefully, I unfolded my legs and put my feet on the rock’s flat surface.
“Twilight.” His mouth stretched in a predatory smile. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“Well, you found me.” I kept my voice low and soothing, as if a lethal, out-of-control vampire hadn’t fixated on me.
This time, though, I was prepared. Except for when I was with Brien, my switchblade was always with me, tucked into the inside ankle of my left sock. I palmed it and came to my feet, my thumb on the catch.
He was almost to me now.
I glanced past his shoulder. “They can see you,” I bluffed, even though I’d never found any cams.
“There are no cams. My son didn’t install them.” He sneered. “He likes his privacy.”
“You’re sick,” I said in the same soothing tones. “Let me call someone.”
I edged toward my suite. The primus moved with me.
My stomach heaved. He smelled so bad, I could barely stand to be this close to him. The man was decaying from the inside out, the disease attacking his internal organs.
I couldn’t help feeling a twinge of compassion. He had to be hurting, and he’d be constantly thirsty, constantly craving blood.
Above us, thunder rumbled. I took another step toward my suite, and again, he kept pace with me.
Stalking me like a nightmare come to life.
I dropped the soothing tone and showed him the switchblade. “Back off, you sonuvabitch.”
