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“I couldn’t say.”
I’m suddenly in front of him. Is he trying to be especially vexing today? “I don’t have the time or the patience for these games, Fintan. Tell me what went on in my territory. And speak plainly.”
Finn tips back his glass and empties its contents before facing me. “I didn’t recognize the witch, but I tracked her scent yesterday in the square. I found her eating out on the patio at her hotel and watched her for a bit when she turned in.”
I’ve known him long enough to know there’s something he’s not telling me.
Before I question him, the door to Rune’s room squeaks open and a black cat prances through the opening. I meet Finn’s guilty gaze and stiffen. “What the fuck is going on? If Zana’s familiar is here, the healer is as well. Is Rune down? Why wasn’t I told?”
Finn sighs. “It was a massive clusterfuck. Horace broke position and got himself ended. We lost our advantage of surprise, a second wave of wolves came out of nowhere, we were outnumbered—”
“And Rune got bit.”
Finn swallows, dipping his chin. “And Rune got bit.”
“How bad?”
Finn shrugs. “I got him back as quick as I could and then raced to get Zana. I didn’t want to leave in case she needed anything. I should’ve sent word for someone to tell ye.”
Yes, he should have, but he’s obviously not himself, so I give him a pass. Fintan MacBochra is as solid a soldier as they come, so for him to lose focus, there is more going on than just a battle not going his way.
“The important thing is Rune.” With that, I stride toward the open door and peer into Rune’s quarters.
The old Cajun healer, or traiteuse, as she’s called in Louisiana, is a petite, wiry woman with deeply tanned and weathered skin, bearing the evidence of a long life spent outdoors in the humid bayous.
Her hands, gnarled from years of crafting remedies and tending to the sick, move with surprising deftness as she works. Her steel-gray hair is pulled back and covered with a kerchief, and her penetrating gaze is locked on my closest friend.
Bent over her patient, she takes pinches of herbs from her gris-gris bag and works them into the welted mess that used to be Rune’s shoulder.
Vervain, silver dust, garlic, holy water…
Having had the agony of experiencing that healing blend myself more than once, I wince as his skin sizzles and smokes.
Before I can ask how he is, she holds up a crooked finger and shoos me back toward the door.
Yes, this is my domain… and yes, I’ve killed people for less… but I don’t argue. Zana has saved me and mine enough times over the years to earn a little sass toward the Vampire King of the French Quarter.
I step out of Rune’s suite, and she follows soon after.
“How is Rune?” Finn asks, striding over to join us.
Zana’s gaze flicks over to me before quickly returning to Fintan. The witches always like him better. Out of the entire horde, he is probably the most approachable vampire.
I used to think it was because of his skills as an empath, but I’ve come to understand it’s just who Finn is. Maybe he kept more of his humanity than the rest of us when he turned.
It’s been so long for me it’s hard to remember what humanity felt like.
“He needs rest,” Zana says, “and he’ll need to feed when he wakes, but he will survive.”
Good.
Rune and Fintan are more than my seconds-in-command.
They are my brothers.
They are of me—my creation. I made Rune, and he transformed Fintan. That bond ties us together tighter than the blood of familial relations.
They are the only two people I trust in this fucked up and unforgiving world. “Tell me what you know about the woman the wolves were so interested in?”
