Page 32 of Captive Consort

The bane of my existence.

Liam took it personally that he couldn’t kill a specific vampire. He went rogue, dragging other men to their death along with him. I have lost ten good men all because he couldn’t swallow his pride. Aziel is that vampire for me, the one that got away. We have battled many times over the years, both of us escaping with our lives. Never have I run in headfirst without a game plan, putting others at risk.

The only small victory I have over him is the death of his consort. That beautiful raven-haired woman died on my blade, sending him into a spiral of rage that I barely escaped. I watched him slaughter more than ten men with his bare hands and only by the grace of God did I escape with my life, but I have a severe limp as a reminder of that day

One day, I will have his heart on a stake. I simply need to remain patient. It’s that thought that keeps me going even after all these failures.

“We need to track all of his movements,” I say, trying to keep my calm facade.

“It’s been three weeks,” Oliver replies with an eye roll. “We’ve tried everything. He used cash, took a personal vehicle without a tracker, and everyone that went with him is either dead or in hiding.”

My fist connects with the old oak desk I’m sitting behind, shaking the wooden structure.

“I ask for results, not excuses.” My voice is cold, deadly, as I glare at my greatest disappointment.

Born with every gift and more advantages than most, my son is a waste of space. Squandering everything he has been given. He has a more hippy-dippy attitude toward our mission. Believing in the live-and-let-live bullshit.

“Just do as you’re told and find me that fucking coven house.”

“Yes, sir.”

He walks out of my office, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I rub at my left leg where the constant pain blooms, trying to formulate a plan that will lead me to my greatest prize.

A knock at the door draws me from my thoughts.

“Enter.”

A young woman steps inside. I stare at her expectantly, unable to recall her name. Not that I care. Women are only part of our faction for breeding purposes. I have no idea what she could want in my office.

“A courier delivered this,” she says softly, handing over a manila envelope.

“Is that all?” She nods, leaving just as quickly as she appeared.

Using a letter opener, I rip open the envelope, pouring the contents out on my desk. Three photographs. Aziel, a massive Gothic-style house, and a shot of several men smiling together, two women beside them. What the fuck is this?

Sticking my hand inside the envelope I feel around for anything else but find nothing. Looking closely at the photographs, I study everything carefully but there are no clues who sent this or where they might be. Out of frustration, I slam the photos down on the surface of my desk, anger once more infusing me, body and soul.

Writing catches my attention and I slide the middle photo out:

“I know where he is. I’ll be in contact.”

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