Page 15 of Never Run from an Immortal

“You’re a shit flirt. The wet hair? Totally transparent. Now get out of my workshop, I’ve got places to be.” She smiled at him, ushering him back to the door.

He paused mid-step and tilted his head to one side to consider her. “I can never tell if you’re just playing hard to get or if you truly mean it.”

Rae heard the hint of vulnerability in his voice, and though she sometimes wished she’d held onto a little of the softness she’d once possessed, Baxter’s ego could take the hit just this once. He’d be no doubt finding another woman to warm his bed as soon as his shift was over. Besides, she’d gotten what she neededfrom the exchange. Her money and the knowledge that he hadn’t been part of the attack on Rush.

“Good night, Bax.” Rae pushed gently on his chest, and he took the final step back, the door falling shut after him.

For a minute there, she’d almost given in to him. Something to take the edge off the anxiety that had settled under her skin, to quiet the too-loud thoughts, but her meeting at the Drunken Ram was a far more interesting prospect for the evening.

Rae made swift work of tidying up the shop for the night, dusting down the equipment and putting the tools back in their racks on the wall. Her gaze snagged on a picture of her and her mentor, Cillian. She’d been alone until he’d found her, taught her how to work with metal, how to bend it to her will with a few simple tools. Had shown her that some things were worth being patient for, no matter how much time it took, and she’d waited this long. She could be patient a little while longer.

She traced her fingers over her open sketchbook, small metal sculptures and pieces laid out across the pages, wishing the world were different; that she could make the art she wanted to rather than the pieces she had to. That something she truly loved doing didn’t have to be a front for something she needed.

With a heavy sigh, Rae flicked off the light, all thoughts turning to Ezekias and hoping to find some answers.

Chapter eight

A wet nose nudged at Aidan’s hand, prompting him to stub the remains of his smoke into the empty cup he was currently using as an ashtray where it rested on his stomach.

Quinn made a quiet noise halfway between a whimper and a bark, his way of saying,get the fuck up, now. Shiny, black eyes met his, surrounded by sleek black fur. Aidan gave the dog a scratch behind his ear, hauling himself to his feet.

Baelin had suggested rest, and though Aidan knew his Ascendant meant well, he’d opted instead to smoke himself into oblivion beside the pool. The quiet lapping of the water, the reflection rippling on the tiles overhead, the heat of the natatorium, and the way moonlight filtered in through the arched windows, all made it his favourite spot in a building he otherwise despised. It was the only one of his uncle’s additions that Aidan hadn’t torn down after he’d killed him.

In time, he wanted nothing more than to burn the fucking place to the ground. The Lord’s manor was yet another piss-poorattempt at grandeur the Vampires had attempted to portray over the years. A farce. And though he didn’t care for duty, the manor represented power to the others of his kind, so Aidan held onto it. For now.

Quinn pawed at the PAD on the floor beside him, and Aidan scooped it up, long fingers curling around the screen and swiping down the notification from Baelin. Information about the human, Rae. He thumbed through the files: a variety of photos pulled from the security cameras at Rush, most of her robbing the same dumb fucking Vampires over and over with a slightly different disguise each time. Aidan chuckled. If they were dull enough to fall for it, they deserved to have their money taken as far as he was concerned.

One photo showed her standing outside a workshop, arms folded, a sign for Silver Star Customs beside her, just like she’d mentioned to him. In this image, her hair was pale pink with long waves framing her face and a pair of goggles resting on her head. She wore a thin grey vest full of holes that revealed a dark green bra underneath, and dust marks marred her faded shorts as if she’d swiped her hands across them before the photo was taken. A bright smile was plastered across her face, a shine in her eyes as if she were truly happy. No, not happy. Proud. The workshop meant something to her.

There was no information about her childhood, just a stint in the human juvenile correction facility in the Southern Quarter for theft when she was seventeen. Canned goods, according to the report. Why humans felt the need to imprison their young for stealing food, Aidan would never understand, but then Vampires had never faced food shortages like the humans had throughout the years. The dispute between Vampires and Fae had always caused supply problems for humans, and most of their technological advances had been borne out of necessity rather than indulgence.

The last few photos were of the night before in Rush, of Rae dancing with the Gerentis Aidan had burnt to ash. Seeing the way the male held her in the photos, the way he eyed her like nothing more than a walking bag of blood, he couldn’t say he regretted the decision.

Most Vampires treated humans like a food source and nothing else. Most humans fawned over Vampires just to feel the high of being fed on. Though Aidan didn’t need to feed as often as most of his kind, he still needed blood. His preference was just that it was given willingly, whatever the source. It didn’t matter what vein he took: human, Fae, other Vampires. Nothing sated him as it once had. Before his magic had been taken.

Quinn whined again, and Aidan finally pocketed the PAD, following Baelin’s dog out of the natatorium and into the main halls of the house. As an Elymas, Baelin could communicate with animals, but Quinn was different; Quinn was his daemon. His fifth, because Vampires were bastards, and the previous four had been slaughtered in an attempt to strip Baelin of his power, one by each of his brothers.

Aidan knew all too well the kind of fighting amongst Vampire families that led to ruthless violence and murders; his family had been no exception, but he was all that remained of it now.

He passed a sprawling mural of winged warriors clad in fighting leathers, battling against Fae and Vampires. As the mural went on down the length of the corridor, the angels were pushed back against what looked like a ripple of water in the sky, a window to their world that they sealed shut when the Vampires and Fae drove them out. Or rather, the angels sealed the Fae and Vampires in, trapping them in this world to let them kill each other instead, until they discovered the humans the angels had left behind too. With each new brush stroke Aidan passed, the painting depicted the way the Orders turned on their prey. What a mess they’d made of the whole thing. All of them.

All the shutters were still down in this part of the house despite dusk having long since fallen. A security measure Baelin had insisted on since Aidan had released his uncle’s in-house pet Witch. The manor was the most warded building in the city thanks to centuries of paranoid Vampires occupying it—his uncle had been no exception—and Aidan didn’t need an ageing imprisoned Witch moping around pretending to maintain them.

The shutters certainly negated the task of drawing the curtains each day, though Aidan suspected his steward, Shaw, wouldn’t have minded. The only member of his uncle’s staff he’d permitted to stay. The new residents lived within the compound, tactical squads he and Baelin had handpicked. Only his First Unit was permitted use of the manor itself.

No lights illuminated the way through the dark corridors, but Aidan didn’t need them. Quinn didn’t either. There was movement outside the grounds, and before his PAD chimed, Aidan already knew who it was.

He pulled down the message on his PAD anyway.

Baelin: Thadlia’s at the main gate.

Aidan sighed.Let her in, I’ll be right down,he told his Ascendant, opting to reply the faster way. Aidan kept his mental shields in place at all times, which meant telepathic communication with others was always at his instigation, even with Baelin. Not because Aidan didn’t trust his Ascendant, but because he didn’t trust the other Providents who might manipulate Baelin’s mind should anyone ever make a move against him. And Aidan despised wearing an earpiece, no matter how many times Baelin asked it of him.

Shaw opened the door just as Aidan followed Quinn down the main staircase into the reception area at the front of the manor. Shaw was a Somniator, handpicked by Aidan’s uncle for his ability to aid sleep. Some Somniators didn’t have a malicious bone in their body, and Shaw was one of them, but Aidan stilldidn’t let him flex his abilities inside the manor, much to the Vampire’s dismay.

Quinn growled, deep and low from his position at the foot of the stairs, and Aidan resisted the urge to grin at the daemon as his foot touched the soft carpet of the reception area. Baelin hated Thadlia, and Quinn had always seemed to share the sentiment.

“Lia.” Aidan didn’t waste his breath on pleasantries. There was no hint of the injuries she’d sustained the night before, but she was restless. Though she was an adept Provident, little was secret from Aidan with the strength of his abilities. Lia’s trepidation danced along her skin, and she merely dipped her chin in reply.

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