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I just wanted to know that Trixie was okay. That she hadn’t stormed out of here in a fit of anger at the notice that she’d be having to give up her beloved apartment in two months’ time.
I tried not to feel guilty about the impending sale of the building, but it was an effort. This was a business decision for me, but it was more than that. It was about separating myself from my brother in every way—physically, financially, permanently.
Sebastian Kent was bad to the bone in every way possible. When my father had turned us from mere mortals into vampires, I’d been angry at him. He’d assumed that I would want to live forever in this body, in this form, as a creature required to feed off others in order to survive.
Sure, there were ways around sucking human blood, but it’d taken years before I’d become proficient at it. I went on hunting trips once a month. Animal blood wasn’t the same, but it was good enough to tide me over, paired with the stuff I ordered from the voluntary human blood banks.
Thanks to the scent of roses and honey and, yes, quite a lot of caffeine, I was able to confirm that Trixie was in her apartment. I couldn’t tell what she was doing, and I didn’t try all that hard to poke around and find out. There was a fine line between casually checking up on her and stepping into creepy territory. I desperately wanted to avoid the latter.
Slamming the window shut, I attempted to picture Trixie’s face. Was she storming around her kitchen yelling at Emmy about what a coldhearted bastard I was? Sobbing on her bed? Packing her things to move to some awful apartment in godforsaken New Jersey?
My hands were tied. Truthfully, I didn’t want to stop the deal. I needed to be separated from my bloodthirsty, murdering brother. I’d suspected Sebastian had been killing humans for decades, but lately, he’d gotten ruthless. Dangerous. He’d come out of hiding with one thing on his mind: revenge.
Now that my name was in the spotlight, Sebastian could easily drag me down with him. It wasn’t my reputation that I cared about. I cared about right and wrong. My brother was wrong, and I didn’t want to support any part of him.
I made my way into the study, unlocking the door with the little key I kept around my neck. I didn’t want anyone—maids or otherwise—stumbling into this place accidentally. I turned to face the wall where I’d tacked the research I’d been pulling together on my brother.
Newspaper clippings, blurry photos, police reports I’d sweet talked my way into “borrowing” from various precincts. At my estimate, my brother had been responsible for nineteen deaths in the last decade and counting. The newest one that Kellan had mentioned on the phone made for an even twenty. And those were only the ones I was sure about. I wouldn’t be surprised if his actual total was double that.
“Dammit!” I roared, slamming a fist against the wall.
The wall shuddered, shook. My brother’s face grinned back at me from one of the only clear photos snapped of him in recent years. Taunting me, teasing me.
I had no doubt that as soon as word got out that I was a candidate for the wildcard seat in The Circle, my brother would come crawling back to cause trouble. When money and fame and beautiful women and riches were involved, my brother wasn’t far away.
Sitting heavily behind the small desk in the office, I pulled up my phone and Googled news from the summit. A slew of articles popped up immediately, a few of the huge sites offering a rundown of the four candidates. I spotted my name, my picture, along with Trixie’s name and picture, as well as Lucas Paul the Third and Levian.
I scrolled past the first few results and sucked in a breath when I saw the title and photograph of the one I was looking for. Without reading it, I clicked to the photo of the reporter.
“You’re kidding me,” I whispered. “That idiot posted it anyway.”
I couldn’t believe the chutzpah of this guy. The reporter who had tried to blackmail Trixie last night hadn’t learned his lesson, even after everything she’d put him through. He’d still gone ahead to post a chilling article about her. It was almost impressive, the nerve of him.
The man, whose name I quickly learned was Fisher Briggs, must have sprinted out of the alley and ran to his computer, quickly typing up an article about Trixie and her candidacy. I scanned the paragraphs, hating that I was wasting my time on this drivel but needing to know what it had to say.
I wouldn’t be the only one reading this crap—far from it. Trixie would be reading this, Emmy, Trixie’s family—the entire Hollow would be filled in on this witch who Fisher claimed had been selected by The Fates despite being “dangerously and recklessly out of control”.
I shut off my phone, filled with rage. There was a lot of rage coming from all different directions—my brother, the reporter, the botched sale of this building. Nothing had gone right in the last twenty-four hours.
I stretched, needing to do something. Needing to burn off some of this energy. And since I wasn’t having any luck finding my brother at the moment, I had to turn my attention elsewhere.
Fisher Briggs. I could find him.
My phone rang. “You haven’t killed him yet, have you?”
Vix was breathless on the other end.
“Killed who?” I asked, changing into a pair of black jeans, a black T-shirt, and a leather jacket. I grabbed the helmet for my motorcycle.
“Do I need to come hunt you down?” Vix asked anxiously. “Don’t do anything stupid. I saw the article.”
I opened my door. “I’d stay away if I were you. I’ve got too much of a head start.”
“Don’t do it, Dom!” Vix shouted in a rush, as if knowing I was about to hang up.
Probably because I was.
Just before I hit the button, I heard her shout: “I repeat: Do not kill Fisher Briggs or I quit.”
