Page 75 of Fangs for the Memories
Max glares at me. He has some semblance of spirit, even if it’s one which is misguided. He had potential, now entirely wasted.
“What about your mate?” he says, with a slight chatter to his teeth.
“What about her?” I take another step towards him.
“Do you really think she is safe in England?”
“Yes.”
“There are vampires there too.”
“Ones well known to the Király. They will not do anything without Dominik’s permission,” I growl. “You have no cards left, no vault to open, no shipments to hide anymore.”
“No vault?”
“You really think we’d have left it for anyone to open?” I laugh, the sound echoing harshly around the empty warehouse. “Your rogue had nothing to offer, save for your own demise.”
“But…”
“There will always be those who think they can challenge an alpha, whether it is vamp or werewolf, dragon, demon, or ogre. Even the gargoyles have enemies.” I am nearly at him, within touching distance. I stop, watching the emotions flit over his face. “If you think for a moment I hadn’t planned for this scenario, Max, you are wrong. There is no magic bullet, silver or otherwise, which will propel you to the position of alpha. Give up and you can live out your days with my father. Stand your ground and you will die.”
For a brief moment, I think he is going to offer me his throat.
Instead he drops to his knees.
I take hold of his chin and tilt it up.
“I saw a bit of me in you, cousin, but not enough. A silver cage is all you deserve.” I shake my head. “Cross me again, and it will be your throat, not your freedom I will take.”
Rustling alerts me to the movement of the rest of my pack filling the warehouse.
“Boss.” One of my wolves hands me a phone. This one is my personal handset.
There is a single text message showing on it.
I need you
“It’s your lucky day, Max,” I growl. “You get to contemplate your fate until I return. In the meantime, I’m going to leave you in Viktor’s capable claws.”
The huge gargoyle takes a step forward and the air fills with the scent of cowardly wolf urine.
Grace
It’s been a week. Nothing from Ferenc. The more time has gone on, the more reluctant I’ve been to make the first move.
After all, he bundled me out of his country without even a goodbye or an explanation as to why I had to leave, save formy safety.
While I admit being attacked by those things, the Darasz, wasn’t a fun moment in my whole Budapest stay, I didn’t think it was a reason to be summarily deported without a word and without a single contact since.
Which is why I’m walking down the street towards my original boutique, the one with the shutters down and, as I already know, all the stock inside. The one which, by rights, should belong to me but due to a pre-nup I should have never signed, now belongs to Mark…by default.
He screwed someone else and then screwed me over. My hatred of him rises with each familiar step. He disliked my business with a passion and now it belongs to him?
I want it back, and I don’t want to play nice. Not now I feel like every single male in my life has done their level best to get what they want from me and then leave me in their dust.
I check my phone one last time. The message I sent late last night and instantly regretted hovers there like a millstone around my neck.
The shutter on the main door is raised and inside I see movement. I push on the door and enter, the familiar scent of Jo Malone candles, again sourced at jumble sales in some expensive parts of London, wafts over me.
