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“Grace, you sound tired,” he said instead of answering. “You need to rest.”
My eyes were already drifting closed. They were so damn heavy. “I like hearing your voice,” I admitted. “Just a few more minutes?”
“You can have as many minutes of mine as you want.” I could hear the smile in his voice.
“Thank you,” I said, my voice softening as sleep hooked its claws in me and tugged.
“For what?”
“For being here,” I said. “Even if you are just something I conjured to help make my last days more enjoyable.”
“If I really was some figment of your imagination, Grace, wouldn’t I be in your bed right now?”
“Yes,” I said, a little dazed. “You’d be right here, those delicious arms wrapped around me. Nothing between us. I’d get to finally trace the lines of ink decorating your skin. And find out what your hands feel like against the softest parts of me. It would be just you and me and…”
“And what?”
“Time,” I whispered. “Just you and me and the time I need tofeelyou.”
“Grace,” Ajax breathed my name, the sound filled with warmth and longing and something else I couldn’t place.
I woke up a few hours later, my phone still pressed to my ear, the line long since dead. And I couldn’t help but wonder how long Ajax had waited until he’d hung up. A part of me felt like he’d been here the whole time, watching over me, helping chase away nightmares that would keep me from the rest I needed.
I rolled over, tucking myself under the covers, the blanket of sleep still holding me tight as I imagined what it would be like if he really were here. Arms around me, grounding me, protecting me, and ensuring not even my mind would betray me.
7
AJAX
“They’re calling it a home invasion gone awry,” Lachlan said quietly as we walked across the courtyard to the Domum.
“Even though not a single thing was taken?” Zachariah arched a brow at the second-in-command.
“And you wonder why we’re doing more than hunting bloodmad vampires in this century,” Zachariah answered.
The payment for eating evening repast in the relative solace of the residence was the one day a week Alek asked us to eat with the nobles, and it was time to pay the piper. At least he didn’t make us dress up. Benedict might be wearing one of those three-piece suits he liked, but the rest of us were rolling in our leathers, boots, and an assortment of shirts.
I favored the Henley style. The fabric of this century had the kind of stretch I’d longed for the first few centuries of my life, especially since I wasn't exactly the smallest guy in the room. Zachariah enjoyed the crisp lines of a button-down with no tie, Dagon liked short-sleeve shirts—black, of course,—like the rest of us—and Talon was wearing a T-shirt from a band calledPink Floyd.
In deference to the setting, most of us only carried a weapon or two. My Sig was holstered at my hip, and my dagger sheathed along my right thigh. I might have enjoyed the modern convenience of guns, but I was still more comfortable with a dagger.
Then there was Saint, who looked like he’d just stepped out of one of the Matrix movies, sans trench coat. He practically dripped weaponry, as if there were a chance Samuel might walk around the corner and present himself for execution.
Ransom had blinked when we’d presented ourselves for repast, but Zachariah stepped in front of Saint and everyone was smart enough to keep their mouths shut.
If my brother wanted to deck himself out like he was a one-man army, then so be it.
“Maybe it’s for the best that the police are so quick to assume it was a home invasion,” Talon said as we approached the massive glass doors of the Domum. “The last thing we need are non-Conclave humans stumbling into this war.”
“Good point,” Alek noted before walking in with Lyric on his arm. The rest of the assassins filed in, and then we hunters stepped into the pristine hallway.
This place was as formal as the residence was comfortable.
Every aristocrat halted, moving to the sides of the hall as we passed, bowing as Alek and Lyric passed.
“You can walk up here with us, you know,” Ransom said over his shoulder. “We don’t think you’re inferior, for fuck’s sake.”
“Inferior?” I replied, grinning widely in the middle of our informal formation. “You think we let you go first because we feel…inferior?”
