Page 55 of Death God

“You!” I pointed a finger at my mage ally rudely. “The one with the freckles. My nephew wants a new playmate, and you’ll do.”

He rolled his eyes, not impressed. “I’m their guard, not anyone’s plaything, lady.”

I blinked, faking shock that he dared to deny me.

“You want to get fired, Freckles?” I asked.

He sighed, grunting something under his breath, and sauntered into the suite after me. Bruce tried to follow, and I slammed the door in his face.

Against the door, I listened. A guard from Going-gray’s side murmured something about me torturing the poor new guy. The other guard agreed but didn’t show much sympathy.

I gestured for Dylan to stand by the door to stay guard, just in case anyone barged in, while I hugged Freckles fiercely.

“Can’t breathe,” he whispered.

I pulled away, grinned, and punched his muscled arm.

“Ouch!” he whined loudly for the benefit of the guards outside, although it wasn’t entirely fake. I had strength in my punch, and shifters had great hearing.

“Don’t do that again, little guy,” Freckled kept on. “I’m not going to let you ride me no matter how hard you kick me. I’m not a pony.”

Jacob blinked at him. Somehow, he’d walked to our side.

Before her son could correct Freckles and ruin it, Sam led him to the far table by the window and gave him whatever snacks he wanted. My nephew seemed to love chocolates the most.

I gestured for Freckles to follow me into the inner room and closed the door when he slid in.

“What’s up, Pip?” he asked, grinning at me.

I turned my eager look to a glare. “Shouldn’t I be the one to ask that question?”

“Be my guest. Interrogate me,” he said and sat down on a chair while I paced the room. “Just so you know, I’ve been trained for years to withstand torture.”

“Very funny,” I said. “How’s Marlowe? Has he survived without me?”

“He has to. Don’t you want him to survive with or without you, just to be selfless?” he asked, and I paused to stare at him. Bangs, his sister, should have come instead of him. She was more socially adept. “He’s growing stronger and getting his army ready to come for you. The first wave of his vampire army arrived from Europe yesterday.”

My eyes brightened. “That’s good, right? We’ve got more warriors now. When we get even more, we’ll have a big army to kick the horseman’s ass.”

“We suffered heavy losses, though,” Freckles said grimly. “One-third of our first force was cut down. Shifters and mages ambushed us at every leyline in North America. We don’t have the numbers to go around guarding that many leylines, and our communication to other continents is also cut off. We’re flying blind.”

My eyes burned. Spartoi’s specialty was war. He was forged as the angel of war. When it came to war, we were at a disadvantage. We needed to fix it. But how?

“Even if we can ship the entire vampire army from Europe, we’re still outnumbered.” Freckles continued to bring me bad news. “King Nyström has been negotiating with Lord Lucian and his sister, Princess Luna, for an alliance. The negotiation has been difficult.”

An uneasy feeling surged in my stomach as Freckles turned his face away to try to hide something from me.

Even though Lucian had been ruling over North America for a millennium, the Vampire God still outranked him. Other than Seattle and the sea cities, the rest of Washington State had always been Marlowe’s territory. His steward governed the mountain area on his behalf.

“Marlowe was confident that Lucian would answer his call to war,” I said. “They had an agreement centuries ago. So why are Lucian and his sister being difficult? What is it you don’t want to tell me?” Then something clicked in my mind. “Does it have to do with Princess Luna?”

I had dealt with a rotten shifter princess before, and I really didn’t want a vampire princess adding to the pile.

Freckles swallowed, his eyes downcast, a muscle twitching under his left eye.

“Just tell me, Freckles,” I demanded. “I can handle the truth.”

“The vampire princess intends to be King Nyström’s queen,” he said, letting out a pent-up breath, then he darted a guilty glance at me as if he thought he had wronged me by association.

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