Page 13 of Redeemed
“I saw something in you that night. Your determination.” He tilted his head. “Or was it desperation? You barely owned the clothes on your back, let along something clean to change into.”
A knee-jerk flood of shame drowns out all other emotions. Shame I learned at Jacques’ knee. My memories of those days contained as much determination as desperation. If I only had one change of clothes, at least I was alive to wear them.
“Why could you not do as I asked? I’m about to take a step that will leave me stronger than ever, but instead of having you join me, I’ll be forced to destroy you, too, along with that Danaan spawn.”
He shrugs, as if talking about my final death doesn’t trouble him. “I might keep the wolf, though. He could be useful.”
Though I can’t speak, he must see the rage in my eyes. Rage and helplessness. My muscles are locked in a fight to move.
Standing, Jacques brushes smooth his velvet trousers and fixes me with another sorrowful look. “Consider yourself warned, Trajan Gall. I intend to send you to your final death, along with your friend MacPherson.”
With that, he leaves the room. I blink and find I can move. The light is still on, but there’s no chair. The room’s so small there’s barely enough space to walk around the foot of the bed.
I draw in great shuddering breaths. My maker had paid me a visit, at least spiritually. I stagger out of bed, hoping Connor and David will return soon. They need to know what Jacques is planning.
I need to warn them, and then we need to come up with a strong defense. Lord Rollie Blowhard might have been lying, but he wasn’t wrong.
I’ll only be free of Jacques when I send him to his final death.
Opening the door of the vampire room, I’m surprised to hear music, the kind made by Tibetan singing bowls. David is in the middle of the living room, balanced on his head, elbows braced at right angles providing stability. Connor sits nearby, staring over the top of his laptop. The sun has nearly set, the blue light from Connor’s laptop mixing with the warm glow from the overhead fixture.
“I thought you were gone.” The words escape before I can stop them. Connor’s expression lightens and David slowly lowers his lean legs to the ground, one at a time.
“Some detective from the LAPD is after me to apply for the supernatural liaison position.” Connor smiles ruefully. “I told him I’d think about it, but he keeps texting.”
“Because you had so much fun last time,” David grumbles. He’s sitting with his back straight, his knees wide, and his feet pressed together. “And I spent the afternoon planning someone’s demise.”
“Whose?” I can’t help but chuckle, because he’s plainly exaggerating. At the same time, his statement is uncomfortably close to my own agenda for the evening.
“Whoever reported me to the goddamn Los Angeles County Were Authority.” He stretches forward until his nose touches the ground, his languid motion at odds with the snap in his tone.
Connor picks up the explanation. “Someone filed a complaint saying he’s formed an unauthorized pack.”
I glance from Connor to the knot of bleached hair on the top of David’s head, and for a moment, I don’t want to disrupt their ordinary concerns with my drama.
On the other hand, I can’t demand their honesty if I’m going to keep secrets and anyway, the fact that we’re in some short-term rental instead of someplace more permanent means they’re part of my drama anyway.
“Jacques made a visit.”
“What?” Connor radiates concern while David straightens fast enough to hurt.
“He knows we’re here?”
“I’m not sure. He wasn’t physically present. I believe his spirit came into the vampire room, although he could have keyed off my essence somehow without having an actual address.”
“Still.” David’s already on his feet. “That tells me it’s time to move along.”
Connor’s nodding like he agrees. “What’d he say?”
I tell them the threats he made, leaving out his digs at my past. I have almost one hundred fifty years of distance between myself and the young man who’d done what he needed to survive. The past is finished.
“We can’t destroy Jacques until we find him,” Connor says, closing his laptop. “And I agree with David. This place isn’t safe. We need to leave now.”
We’re interrupted by a heavy hand knocking hard on the front door. We both freeze for a heartbeat, and then Connor tips his head in the direction of the vampire room.
“Go, and I’ll see who it is.”
I want to argue but whoever it is knocks again. I don’t leave, but I don’t follow Connor to the door, either. He opens it to find two men out front. They introduce themselves as LAPD detectives, and they want to talk to us about a fire in a condominium on thetwelfth floor of a complex in Santa Monica.
