Page 16 of Saint

His eyes narrowed. “Is there something going on with you? You know you can always talk to me, don’t you? I think of you as one of my own, just like I do Lake and West.”

Yejun swallowed the retort, forcing an easygoing smile onto his face instead.

Demitrious wasn’t the only one who understood causing a scene in present company wasn’t wise. If he misbehaved, that would reflect poorly on the Demons as a whole, and he wouldn’t jeopardize Lake’s claim to the crown that way.

“Ah,” the older man added before Yejun could settle on what he could say. “I heard about what happened at the gallery showing. No wonder you’re in a bad mood.” He reached over and patted him on the back in a similar fashion to how he’d just touched Lake. “Cheer up. At least the bastard was caught and, from the sounds of it, he’s paid the price for messing with one of the Demons. Your parents and I are very proud of you boys for handling this case so quickly.”

He was calculating how quickly he could make it to his studio on campus after this when an even more unpleasant figure than the one before him came into view.

Great.

“Uncle Bardin.” Uncle his ass. Yejun greeted him with a saccharine sweetness, the same as he always did, ever since the old man had told him and West they should call him uncle along with Lake.

Not that he was even Lake’s uncle either. The guy was technically a cousin, through marriage, but because of his age and standing in the Order, Lake had grown up calling him uncle to be respectful. If there was one thing Hendrix had never been able to tolerate, it was disrespect.

Lake hated the fact the two of them were related, even considering there was no blood between them. The last thing any of them wanted was to go around speaking to him familiarly. And yet, here they were, doing as they were told and falling in line because disobeying the Order was social suicide.

That had him thinking about Dew and Iris, and Yejun’s mood soured even more.

“Hendrix,” Demitrious didn’t pretend to be fond of the man joining him nearly as much as Yejun had bothered to. “I wasn’t aware you’d already arrived. And your son?”

“Beck is making his rounds,” Hendrix informed, turning to Yejun with a partial smirk devoid of any sort of friendliness.

Hendrix Bardin was in his mid-sixties, with salt and pepper hair, fuchsia eyes, and alabaster skin—that was no doubt as icy to the touch. He held himself rigidly poised at all times, constantly looking down his nose at those around him, and spoke in an elegant, if underhanded, matter. On the surface, he appeared to be just another old money jackass who believed himself too good for everyone else.

On the inside, he was like that too, but a little more insidious.

Yejun was convinced Hendrix was the culprit behind the poisonings; they just needed to find proof, a task that was next to impossible given their relationship with the older man. They didn’t trust him, but he didn’t trust them any more or less either.

The hope had been that West could work his magic and discover a link between the two online, but he’d been unable to find any sort of digital trail, and then Nix had come along and complicated things…Not that that was a bad thing, since he’d also helped them root out Hendrix’s accomplice. Though, admittedly, Yejun wasn’t entirely sure how Hendrix had managed to get a hold of Dew…

Then there was also the issue of Iris supposedly having been in love with the puppet master pulling her strings…

Yejun discretely gave Hendrix a once over. Sure, he was posh in his charcoal, form-fitting suit and still in perfect shape for a man his age, but he definitely seemed far too old for someone like Iris to fall for.

Everything he’d thought he knew about her had been false, he silently reminded himself. What did he know about hertastes? Perhaps she had a daddy kink. Or maybe Hendrix had promised her something—her and Dew—to get them to side with him and be his minions. There were infinite possibilities, really, and while he needed to find answers, now, at this party, wasn’t the time or the place.

Unfortunately.

They were running out of time, even if they’d checked one obstacle off the list and “found” the “hacker”.

“I’m curious,” Hendrix said then, “how did you three manage to discover the hacker? It seems rather convenient that a dead boy ended up being the criminal you were tasked with finding.”

“What exactly are you implying?” Demitrious came to their defense before Yejun had a chance to reply. “Don’t be a sore loser, Hendrix. The rest of us on the Order didn’t even agree with your asinine test in the first place, yet now that they’ve passed it you still want to cause a stink?”

Yejun covered his chuckle by turning toward one of the waiters as they passed, setting down his empty flute and selecting a new one. West’s father was doing nothing to hide his disdain, even going so far as to raise his voice so that those around him undoubtedly overhead.

Best to leave the old geezers to it.

“Gentlemen,” Yejun lifted his glass, “if you’ll excuse me. I’m going to go check on the others.” He didn’t wait to be dismissed, taking his chance to escape by quickly slipping between a small group of members passing by.

He passed through them and then kept going, turning to head for the archway leading into the library, mostly to escape the gazes of Demitrious and Hendrix as soon as possible.

There were few people milling about the library, mostly members who didn’t want to wait until after the sacrifice ceremony to…get to the good stuff, so to speak. Yejun passedby a couple older than the men he’d just left making out in a corner, and then turned to encounter a young couple sprawled out on the thin red carpet between two stacks of dark wooden bookshelves.

He didn’t disturb them, moving further, heading to the back where there was a large window seat he used to escape to whenever he’d been forced to attend a formal event here as a child. Even then, Yejun had never gone anywhere without his sketchbook and a few tools, so he’d slip away at his earliest convenience and escape here to the quiet and comforting smell of faded paper and burned ashes from the fireplace. Typically, he’d sketch until West or Lake—or both—came for him.

Irritation was coiling in his gut, and he was already planning all the ways he could remove someone if he found they were in his seat once he got there, beginning with the polite approach and ending in violence. Fortunately, when he turned the final corner, he found the window seat empty.

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