Page 8 of Because the Night

“She made me promise on her deathbed. There she lay with her family gathered around, and yet some of her last thoughts were of you.”

Lucas says nothing.

“The Thorn Group has done a lot of good over the years. My grandmother insisted that a portion of your money be used to help people. Nothing she could do, however, would even begin to compensate for the deaths you left in your wake. But my grandmother also said, it’s better the devil you know. And she knew things. She continued to talk to others of your kind once you were gone. It drove my mother wild that she put herself in danger like that. I am going to keep my word and trust that my grandmother knew what she was doing. For now.”

Helena holds up a black credit card. “You can access your funds with this. Let me know what else you require. The head of our legal department is also a family member and is aware of your unique situation. He should be able to assist with anything that may arise.”

“Anything?” asks Lucas, cocking his head.

“Within reason,” says Helena in a flat and unfriendly tone. “We won’t help you bury any bodies.”

“I’d appreciate it if the house could be seen to.”

“It’ll be taken care of,” says Helena. “Items my grandmother believed would be of use or interest to you have also been collected over the years. They’ll be delivered tomorrow.”

He nods.

“I must insist that there be no further mishaps involving my staff. And know that they will only visit the house during daylight hours.”

“Understood.”

“Skye, you will, of course, be compensated, since this happened to you while carrying out Thorn Group business.”

I nod.

“Was that everything you required for now?”

“Yes,” says Lucas. “Thank you.”

“Please remember to compel the security guard into forgetfulness on your way out. It would be for the best if he never remembers you being here.” Helena sits back in her chair. “Good night, Mister Thorn.”

In the elevator heading down to the lobby, Lucas turns to me and says, “There aren’t people who operate the elevator anymore?”

“No. You just press the button you need. It’s pretty straightforward.”

He nods. “I thought that meeting went quite well.”

“She hates you.”

“There seems to be a lot of that tonight.”

“I mean, she really hates you, and she was not hiding it,” I say. “I half expected you to throw a hissy fit.”

He raises his eyebrows. “A hissy fit?”

“Yes. It means—”

“I can guess what it means.” Another thing he does exceedingly well: sneering. “I do not throw hissy fits.”

“Whatever you say.” I inspect my nails. Even they seem stronger and brighter. “Can I really not go home?”

“When I was first turned, I was a lot like you. I missed my home and wanted to see my family. I thought I could control myself, control the hunger. There was a village nearby, so I tested myself. No one was left alive come dawn.”

He gets all up in my face, backing me into the corner of the elevator, flashing his fangs. It’s more than a little scary. When he speaks again, the words are laced with a European accent.

“What do you say, Skye, still want to go home?”

“No.”

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