Page 3 of Redeemed
“It’s a queen,” Trajan finally says.
“What?”
“In the windowless room. It’s a queen-sized bed.”
He’s the tiniest bit more relaxed, and so am I. “I’ll mention it in the review.”
I slide the steaks under the broiler, leaving the oven door cracked so I can see it if they catch fire. Connor closes his laptop and for a moment I think he’s going to leave the room. Instead, he slides his chair closer to Trajan’s.
“Come,mo shíorghrá.” He holds out his hand. “Feed. You need to eat.”
The look they give each other is so hot the steak’s not the only thing that might catch fire. My lovers reach for each other and Trajan whispers, “I will not give in to him,” as he tugs Connor closer.
“I know.” Connor folds himself into Trajan’s lap. There’s nothing childlike in his posture. Instead, the tilt of Connor’s head on Trajan’s shoulder shows a rare kind of trust. The vampire wraps his arms around Connor as if he’s holding a precious thing. For two such powerful men, their moment of vulnerability pierces something deep in me. I want to join them, to wrap myself around them, but I hold off out of respect for their shared history.
And because I’m afraid of saying something I might later regret.
Trajan feeds and the moment passes and the steaks do not, in fact, catch fire. While Connor and I eat, Trajan tells us what he knows about Rollie FitzEustace and Delia Packard. Neither sound particularly threatening. I mean, beyond the fact that they’re vampires who’ve each had a couple hundred years to accumulate power. And because I’m the practical sort, I spend most of the meal strategizing the correct outfit for interviewing deadly predators.
Like, something with the highest heels I can manage.
You can’t just walk up to a vampire’s house and knock on the door. It involves correspondence and intermediaries. More than once, Connor reaches into his pocket, presumably hoping to find the badge he’d worn as a member of the Elites.
Because membership in the supernatural FBI had its benefits.
At any rate, Trajan texted a guy who messaged Connor. After a couple of rough drafts, the three of us hit the right mix of obsequious and charming and sent a formal request. In return, an anonymous number texted Connor an invitation.
“I guess we’re in,” he says, shrugging into his leather jacket. The late September night isn’t truly cool enough for that level of outerwear, but it’s thick enough to slow down most weapons. I hope.
I settle for worn jeans that aren’t entirely clean, boots with a stacked heel, and a deep purple button-down with subtle silver threaded stripes. It’s a going-out top, but loose enough that if I have to shift, I can pull it off over my head without shredding it.
“That your seventies drag?” Trajan asks. He’s still in one of the big wooden dining chairs, holding himself stiffly, as if he might otherwise devolve into a puddle of nervous tics.
“You love it.” I scratch my belly, giving him a peek at skin.
Even his smile is careful. “Mmhmm.”
“We’ve got an hour to get over to Venice Beach, so we better leave now.” Connor glances from one of us to the other.
“Sure.” I clomp across the room and give Trajan a gentle kiss on the cheek. “We should be back in a couple of hours.”
He intertwines our fingers. “Sheena’ll be here after The Club closes. Text us if things go bad.”
“They won’t.”
I can’t quite drum up Connor’s level of confidence, but I squeeze Trajan’s fingers anyway. “They won’t.”
My mind understands why it’d be problematic to have a vampire ask directly how to break from his maker but my heart winces at leaving Trajan alone. He might have survived on his own for much longer than I’ve been alive, but he’s only wanted to sever his relationship with Jacques once, and the consequences of that could be dire.
Without a lot of conversation, Connor and I pile into the RAV4. He’s found the garage door remote, so in short order we’re getting to know our neighbors on La Cienega Boulevard. You’d think the traffic would be lighter after midnight on a Tuesday.
You’d be wrong.
Ignoring Siri’s insistence thatyour destination is on the left, Connor drives past the house on our first pass. It’s several blocks from the actual beach, and its white walls and red tiled roof share an architectural style with our VRBO but on a grander scale. All the lights are on and the whole place buzzes with energy.
Our message must have stirred up the hive.
After driving past one more time, Connor parks the car a block or so away. We get out, my stomach doing twisty things. For all we know, we’re walking into a trap. Nothing in our limited communication had hinted at our acquaintance with any other vampires, but what if someone recognized our names and has sussed out our link to Trajan?
