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“Yes, sire,” Malachi and I both murmur.
Rhys hasn’t been in the Barrows since Ambrose cast Ezra out during the difficulties with demons. They’d both been orphans in their own way, forming a tight bond of brotherhood that went beyond sharing the same vampire clan. I doubt Rhys has forgiven Ambrose for what he sees as a betrayal of both Ezra and himself.
“Malachi,” Ambrose carries on as Kasar removes himself from the room. Even if Rhys will come, I don’t envy Kasar’s job to getting in contact with him. The vampire is constantly on the move, having adopted the persona of a rock star of all fucking things. Ambrose allowed it, using it as an opportunity to use Rhys as a sort of paranormal diplomat. “I want you to have our people on the streets keeping their ears out for any word of this man and his movements. Whatever Lan and Deidre can’t find, I expect you to know.”
“Sire,” Malachi says with a nod, pushing back from the table. He gives me a nod then Cassandra a small smile. “We’ll get the bastard. Eris never let us help before. Now it’s not just her looking. We protect our own.” Then he’s out the door in Kasar’s wake, leaving Cassandra, myself, Eloise, and Ambrose at the table.
“What can I do?” Eloise asks, eager to help.
Ambrose hesitates and I can sympathize. The planning won’t be dangerous, but whatever we decide to do—there will be danger. Eloise still hasn’t given in to being turned, though I think she’s getting more used to the idea. I also know that Eloise will refuse to be left out. She might not go behind Ambrose’s back right into danger, but she refuses to be kept safe at home like Ambrose would prefer. She gives him a hard look, clearly reminding him of her stubborn nature.
“Get ahold of Tara, mon lion,” he says at last. “She has taken over Mr. Tailor’s, and we will need to be ready for a social event. Her skills will be key to our success.”
“On it.” She’s already pulling out her cellphone, fingers flying across the screen as she texts.
Ambrose directs his attention to us. “Cassandra, ready yourself however you think is necessary. We’ll need your skills as a witch, I’m sure. Ashe, make sure our cars are in top form. Meet back here in two hours, no later. Otherwise, we will be in my office.”
With the final command given, Ambrose takes Eloise’s hand and sweeps her from the room.
Cassandra stifles a yawn. I get up and offer a hand to her. She quickly hides the flash of her surprise but it still churns the ire bubbling inside. She takes it and I help pull the chair back as she stands. I let go of her but don’t increase the space between us.
“You don’t need to act surprised every time I touch you,” I mutter. I can’t fully hide the bitterness escaping.
Cassandra stills, clearly taken aback, and my jaw clenches. I incline my head towards the open doorway. “You should rest.”
Cassandra’s eyes fill with a familiar stubborn glint. She meets my gaze, her lips pressed into a firm line before speaking. “We have things to discuss first, Ashe.”
There’s no use in arguing with Cassandra when she gets like this. Easier to hear her out or let her do whatever it is she’s set on. I consider arguing anyways; this isn’t a topic I’m sure I’m ready for. Then, as if a phantom hourglass haunts me just out of the corner of my eye, I hear the sands of time passing. A stark reminder that we may only have a few days left.
“Upstairs, then.”
She follows at my side as we head to my—our suite. How many times since we’ve claimed this residence have I walked beside Eris. Always on edge, never fully trusting her. Now I’m on edge for an entirely different reason. It’s as if I’m bracing myself, expecting an explosion or a gunshot, anything that will have me ducking for cover. Except I’d be protecting the dark, withered organ of my heart.
Shit, Malachi’s addiction to Married at First Sight is getting to me if I’m psychoanalyzing my feelings.
“This is certainly different than our cottage back in Willow Creek.” Her voice is soft, a soothing siren’s call I’ve never been able to resist for long. I’d never wanted to before. She pauses before the stairs that lead to the higher levels, taking in the built-in shelves filled with a combination of books and antiques or trinkets from the Nightshades’ past. They tend to be items we’ve set down carelessly and Josephine has saved, displaying them just so in the clan home.
A brass astrolabe Malachi used for years, both during his travels at sea and his own casual study in astronomy. A curved dagger, with a pure silver hilt embossed with geometric patterns and a large ruby set as the pommel, Kasar was gifted by a grateful Allamah after saving her family after a ghul took on the guise of her husband. A framed, intricately embroidered linen handkerchief depicting a bouquet of wildflowers a young woman infatuated with Ezra had gifted him. There’s even Rhy’s almost ancient, at this point, fiddle; a Chinese jade teapot of Lan’s; and gilded music box, long silenced, purchased by Ambrose when he lived in Naples.
The dark stained shelves polished until they reflect the warm light from sleek, modern table lamps make this room look more like a home than a museum of curios.
Cassandra slowly walks along the cases, a fond expression on her face as she occasionally touches items she’s seen before. When she’s completed the room, her brows are pinched together.
“I don’t see anything of yours here,” she says, but the look in her eyes makes it a question. “Even Ezra’s life is on display.”
I shrug a shoulder, sliding my hands into my pants pockets. “I just don’t leave my shit around for Josephine to pick up and put on display.” I turn and head up the stairs, escaping the conversation before I tell her the entire truth. “Didn’t you want to talk?”
I can never hide anything from Cassandra for long. I’ve never been able to; especially if she turns her innocent, soft-looking eyes at me and asks me in a voice as warm as a summer’s day.
Cassandra has always been the siren to my lonely sailor. Except now I’m clinging to the safety rope, terrified that if I embrace her only to lose her again, I won’t ever recover.
The truth is, I’ve saved more than a few items from our shared past. I simply hoard them away from the clan house. I’ve created a private sanctuary that I can retreat to when Eris gets too much. Only Ambrose knows about it, though I’m sure the rest suspect. They’re respectful enough not to pry.
Cassandra says nothing until the bedroom door is closed behind us. I shouldn’t be surprised when she speaks a lyrical phrase, one I dredge the purpose of from my memory. Warding and silencing the rooms from any listeners. A bomb could go off now in this room, and it wouldn’t be heard outside of the wards.
Nervousness, anxiety, irritation, anticipation—whatever emotion is buzzing under my skin makes it impossible to sit down. I stalk to the windows, the curtains secured back, and stare vacantly out onto the street in front of the house. The sun is sinking, traffic increases as people head home from work. An entire world that moves on without a care that I might lose my mate forever in a matter of days.
The silence draws out, strangling my nerves along with it. Her heart races, the rapid thump-thump clear to my vampire hearing.
