Page 28 of Blood Descendants
“Yes,” I answer honestly, shocked when I believe myself. There, that woman in the mirror, looks exactly like she belongs on the arm of that man.
My spine straightens just a little, and my chin lifts.
“Don’t let that crown ever slip,” Ares says, his voice low and a little rugged. My eyes meet his. How is it possible for someone to be this sincere, this intense, while also looking like he’ll be the end of me? “You’re Lana fucking Kincade. Don’t ever let the world forget it.”
I’m left without words, but Ares doesn’t ask for more. He pulls the door open and pulls me after him.
I hadn’t thought of it even once before reaching the ground floor, but I’m exceptionally relieved when, instead of heading to the parking garage and climbing onto the motorcycle, we walk out in front of the building, and the black SUV is waiting for us, Billings at the wheel.
Ares pulls the door open for me. I climb inside, settling into the plush seat.
Ares climbs in after me and pulls the door shut. With ease, the driver merges into the traffic.
“What are you doing interviews for?” I ask when the thought crosses my mind.
Ares sits with his hands resting on his knees. And I’m trying to get a read if he’s relaxed. His pose certainly shouldlook it, but he rubs his palm over his pants twice, almost a sign of nervousness.
“Things are about to get busy,” he says calmly. He scans the darkening evening, his brows furrowed slightly at the remaining light in the sky. “Stepping back into Augustus’ world is going to take up a lot of my time. I’m going to need someone to help manage my own properties.”
“An assistant?” I question. And it’s totally wrong of me that I bristle at the idea of him hiring a female assistant.
Ares shakes his head. “They need to be a lot more than that. I need someone smart, savvy. Someone who thinks like I do.”
I haven’t quite figured out what that is yet. I swear, the man is a walking contradiction sometimes.
It takes me a minute to register where we are as the car slows.
Riverside Drive.
Wealth. So much damn wealth tied to Ares Hunt.
I’m expecting something spectacular, but my imagination is far too simple, I realize, as the driver pulls over and up to the curb.
There aren’t many freestanding homes left in Manhattan. But that’s exactly what this is. I blink three times when I climb out, taking it in.
It looks like a castle. While most everything in this city gets dirty and is nearly impossible to keep clean, the white exterior of the house is pristine and fresh. I don’t know architecture, but this looks like a cross between gothic and Greek to me. It rises six stories high, dozens of windows dotting the exterior. And there’s so much detail carved into each feature.
“There are only two occupied freestanding homes left inManhattan,” Ares says as he places a hand at the small of my back. “The Hunt House is one of them.”
There, above the front door, I see a stone accent. And those exact words are carved into it: Hunt House. The line below it reads Est. 1907.
“Your family built this house?” I gape in awe. “And has owned it the whole time?”
“It’s never left the family,” Ares confirms as he steers us to the front door. I kind of expect some fancy butler to appear. But Ares just enters a code at the door and pushes it open.
Oh, I like this place.
The entryway is its own massive room. Black and white checkered tile crosses the floor, and the walls are painted a color so dark I can’t tell if they’re black, blue, or green. Beautiful picture frame molding is precisely placed everywhere. A crazy modern chandelier dominates the space overhead. And a glorious staircase leads out of the room, the walls transitioning to a brilliant, stark white as they ascend.
Movement from the right pulls my eyes, and I look over to see a woman standing from a grand desk. I’d guess this was a formal parlor, somewhere intended to entertain company, but it’s obviously a personal office right now.
The woman has gorgeous curves, it’s hard not to notice that right away. As she walks around the desk, I realize she’s fairly short, definitely several inches shorter than I am. Her features are calm, composed. She sports short, choppy hair that looks like it probably cost a fortune. It’s a warm blonde color, but the purposeful dark roots are a giveaway that her natural hair color is closer to Ares’.
“So glad you could make it,” she says with a warm smile. “I’ll admit, I’ve been anxious for this moment since Ares told me his plan a few days ago.”
A few days ago? Ares and I only met a few days ago.
She pulls Ares into a hug, and the difference between them is almost comical. Their size. Their appearance. Their entire demeanors are wildly different.
