Page 27 of A Bloom in Winter

“Because I pay you,” Whestmorel snapped, “and I amorderingyou to put her on the phone.”

Apex watched in the mirror as his upper lip peeled off his fangs. “You know what one of my biggest pet peeves is?”

“Not in the slightest—”

“Authority. I fuckinghateauthority. So if you’re trying to muscle me, how ’bout you get somebody else to wire your house. I’ll leave the equipment here since you paid for it all—”

“Wait.”There was some rustling, like the male was switching ears because he was frustrated, but too classy to curse. “Surely you can understand the concern a father has for a daughter who—”

“Nope, can’t say as I do—and I’m never having children so I have no intention of learning. Now, what are we doing here? Am I completing the work you’re paying me for, or are you going to keep throwing around the word ‘order.’ ”

The exhale that came over the connection had a begging quality to it. “The mating ceremony is in less than a month.”

“Again, not my business.”

In the quiet that followed, he imagined his “boss” was weeding through various avenues of coercion and manipulation. But here was the thing. The whole subordinate label required a two-sided arrangement, and Apex was a part of that handshake deal in name only. So the aristocrat was playing with himself.

“She must come back to Caldwell,” Whestmorel announced.

“That and a bowl of soup is your lunch, not mine.”

Another pause. Then, “All right, fine. But you are not an easy male to deal with.”

“This issucha newsflash, you have no idea,” Apex said dryly. “And I’ll take care of the project here as long as whatever is going on with your daughter stays between the pair of you. Good talk, great. I’m out.”

He ended the call, and then he braced himself on the lip of the pretentiously woodsy-casual sink.

Hanging his head, he breathed through his mouth. All he could see was the wolven on that floor up in his quarters above the garage, bleeding, naked . . . a blast from the past that knocked Apex on his ass, and sent him tumbling into his memories.

None of them good.

Like it was just yesterday, he remembered waiting by that bedding platform in the prison, the minutes creeping by, the prayers leaving his lips, his eyes burning because he didn’t even want to blink in case he missed something.

God, I can’t breathe, Apex thought as he unzipped his jacket with a yank.

How could something that was so long ago feel as recent as last night?

Pulling himself together, he left the bathroom and went out into a hallway that had honey-colored pine wainscoting, an evergreen carpet, and crimson drapes on diamond-paned windows. Painted landscapes framed by raw birch bark and old black-and-white photographs of people in Victorian garb stretched out in all directions.

Given that Whestmorel had bought this place and everything that was in it two years ago, those were men and women, not vampires.

Someone else’s family, not the male’s own. But the images were right for the decor.

And hey, the guy was always more worried about looks than his own bloodline.

Apex walked back out into the great room with the animal heads, and found Mahrci alone on the couch by the hearth. The female was staring off listlessly into the flames, and he knew how that felt.

“Was it him,” she asked in a dull voice.

“Your father?” He measured the height of the ceiling and hoped there were ladders tall enough to reach it somewhere on the estate. “Yeah.”

“Is he coming up?”

“Not that he said. But if you don’t want to deal with him in person, I suggest you call him.”

“I can’t . . .” She covered her face with her hands. Then looked through her fingers with eyes that gleamed with unshed tears. “I can’t see him right now. Can’t you put him off?”

How in thehellhad he become some kind of family counselor? he wondered.

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