Page 35 of Vampire Savage

It is what Ambrose and Kasar did to their sire, who was a true Child of the Night—a goddess-made creature who was never human.

Today is baked salmon and pears with balsamic vinaigrette over a fresh basil and couscous garlic salad. As I squeeze the lemon wedge over it, my thoughts go to Wren and how I’d like to feed her such a dish...preferably with her tied up to a chair and naked. The photo included with her reply to the text I’d sent while walking down from my room tests my control, as it’s the primary reason I have no desire to be in the room at the moment. I’d much rather be encouraging my little bird to dive into the darkness I’m delighted to be within her.

“Malachi has submitted his plans to open a restaurant and burlesque show venue in Topside. I’ve a mind to agree, unless any of you can think of a pressing reason that advancing the Nightshade business beyond the Barrows is inadvisable at this time?”

Ambrose looks to me, his brows narrowed, and the rest of the table follows suit. I chew slowly, setting my fork down, and reach for the glass of white wine chosen to accompany lunch today. After taking a sip, I return the stare of my sire.

“Should I have a reason to protest?”

Ambrose threads his fingers together, resting his elbows on the table, but doesn’t quite set his chin on his knuckles. “You’ve been spending an inordinate amount of time Topside. Malachi has been covering Lush more frequently for the past year while you pursue a personal matter. It’s come to my attention that the personal matter directly involves Wren Foster, the daughter of Oberon Benoit. It is my duty, as the head of the Nightshade vampires, and king of the Barrows, to make certain that no personal matters negatively impact our business.”

“Yes,” I droll out, gesturing towards him idly. “Because you’re so impartial yourself when it comes to personal versus clan business.”

“Landon,” my mother warns me softly, but I ignore her. The moment Wren’s name fell from Ambrose’s lips, my senses sharpened. He would not have brought her up specifically without reason.

Ambrose’s lips dip into a frown, his brows pinching together, and the rest of the vampires continue to eat as if our sire may not decide to spill my blood in a moment. After all, conflict between the two of us is not new. However, Eloise and Deidre watch our exchange with obvious fascination.

“You are always so ready to fight,” he says, shaking his head with slight exasperation. He opens his hands, as if displaying the space between us. “What issue do you take with me today? It can’t be the fact that I turned your mother centuries ago. Nor that I gave her permission to turn you. Or is it that you wish to challenge me again, to make me pay in blood for some harm I have done you?”

I say nothing, gritting my teeth. I’m aware Ambrose has done little to provoke me this time, but after so long, it's become a habit to quarrel with him.

He shakes his head once more. “I’m done with this childishness of yours, Landon.” His tone changes, and his eyes grow hard, before looking long at my mother, who stills beside me. I stiffen, lifting my chin, and brace for his next words. “I found myself curious as to your interest in Wren Foster, and more importantly Oberon Benoit.”

No. Ice-cold dread fills my veins. Why had I not suspected Ambrose would eventually go seeking answers?

I refuse to say anything, clenching my jaw to hold the words back. I won’t look away either, not even when the prickle of my mother’s curious gaze trails along my nape.

“Why did you not feel it pertinent to share with me that Jurgis Demencius was still alive and went by the name Oberon Benoit?”

My mother whispers a prayer to saints she only reaches out to in extreme situations. Now everyone looks at me, each vampire with their own thoughts clear on their faces while the human women are confused. The inner circle of the Nightshades know who he is to me, having already been a part of our clan in Kasar’s and Ashe’s cases— or having heard my story in Malachi’s case.

I make a point to reach for my wine glass and take a shallow swallow before then picking up my fork and knife and spearing a piece of perfectly cooked salmon.

“Because this is a personal matter,” I reply, my control steel-clad and absolute as I look away from my sire. A chime follows my words, originating from my phone in my pocket. A very specific sound and perverse satisfaction fills my stomach better than the meal ever could. My lips twist upwards as I raise the salmon to my lips, speaking first. “Wren is an access point to Oberon. One that has now been successfully implemented.”

The bite of salmon is all the more delicious for the knowledge that Wren is at her father’s and the worm I installed on her personal devices burrowed its way into Oberon’s private network. A less patient man would be eager to run from the table and begin the next step in orchestrating Oberon’s downfall, but I want to linger with this delight. Jurgen, Oberon, no matter the name he goes by, will suffer watching his empire crumble under him, helpless to stop it. He will know, at the end, exactly who I am and why I did it.

I smile at the table, practically fucking giddy enough to laugh, but restrain myself. My mother reaches a hand towards me but draws back and I lean against the chair, reaching over to squeeze her shoulder affectionately.

“I will say this, Landon, and you will listen to me,” Ambrose says, his voice firm and I release a sigh, rolling my head towards him reluctantly. Can’t he let a man bask in satisfaction for more than thirty seconds?

“If you’re going to reprimand—”

He raises his hand and I stop, barely keeping from rolling my eyes. Only the good mood inspired by my plans advancing keeps me from antagonizing the man who leads the vampire clan.

“In spite of our contentious history, you are a Nightshade and of my blood. We protect our own and we did not the night you went on that mission, regardless if you desired my influence or not.”

I furrow my brows, intrigued in spite of my instinct to deny Ambrose’s assumption of responsibility for the injury I received that night. He has never spoken so plainly about it before, not that I would have appreciated it. Not that I appreciate it now.

Ambrose leans back in his chair, his hands flat on the table, shoulders square and looking every inch the king our kind has proclaimed him to be.

“You began this on your own, but you do not have to complete it on your own, Lan,” he declares. “We will help however you see fit.”

Kasar nods once, sharply, while Ashe gives me a determined chin lift. Malachi reaches over, gripping the back of my neck before I can pull away, squeezing in support.

“We are brothers,” Malachi says, letting go. “Even if we annoy the fuck out of each other. This man ruined your human life. He hurt Mama Joséphine. That’s all I need to know to stand at your side. Just tell me when and where you need me.”

I snort, jerking away from him, and he lets me go. I set the fork and knife down, abandoning the luncheon and steeple my fingers. “Even if what I need is all of you to fuck off?”

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